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Talulla targets LCD Soundsystem

Whilst most well-bred, well-educated girls dream of a successful career, or getting married and having kids with a big house and a white picket fence, Industry Boy’s friend Talulla has much simpler aims in life. One – to have sex with as many people in the dance music industry as possible. Two – to someday write a novel revealing her eye opening encounters and retire off its earnings. 

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Herbal highs and a dirty bathroom

“I am absolutely ruined,” complains Dwayne down the phoneline. Before I could do any work today, I needed to speak to somebody who was feeling just as bad as me. “It’s like someone beat the shit out of me with a baseball bat, and used my tongue to hoover dog shit off the carpet,” he sniffles. 

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Back in the rat race

The sound of a million mice running on wheels wakes up Industry Boy with a jolt. Last week’s marathon session in Miami has given me a mild form of narcolepsy. A recording of a posh lady says: “The next station is Picadilly Circus. Please mind the gap between the train and the platform.”

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Redemption at 30,000 feet

Run. Faster. Must go faster. Industry Boy gallops down the horizontal metal escalator in Miami airport towards gate number 57, nearly knocking over a fat kid’s ice cream. Now I know why Miami airport is also known as MIA. Missing In Action. Without an alarm, I had slept uninterrupted for eight hours. Briana’s snoring had woken me, and the time on my watch confirmed that I was well on course to missing flight number two.

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From a Miami girl to a goddess

“Will you come visit me in Toronto?” asks Sandy. We had spent days together, but all that was left was seconds. “Of course I will,” I reply. Both Sandy and Industry Boy knew that it was a little lie, but a sweet one all the same. We exchange numbers, and with a ping she is gone. The beautiful Miami girl is replaced by a reflection of Industry Boy in the elevator door who mocks me from his shiny metalic universe. Reality rushes like a slap in the face. 

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A missed flight

Industry Boy and my Miami harem float on yellow sunloungers in the middle of the hotel swimming pool. The electro house and rock sounds of Tommie Sunshine can be heard pounding away in the background. Underwater, it sounds like someone is firing machine-guns excitedly into the air.

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Dwayne, a famous DJ, and magic mushrooms

The usual hangover is little more than a whimper today, despite my body being being burnt at both ends. I sometimes think a hangover is nothing but a warning to stop abusing your body. But sometimes, the body just gives up and accepts its fate. With yesterday’s accomplishment still fresh in my mind, I agree to meet Dwayne for a beer. Bragging isn’t really Industry Boy’s forte so I keep quiet but Dwayne as always, is keen to share the grisly details of his night. 

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Getting laid in Miami

Another unfinished breakfast, another hangover, another Strawberry Daiquiri. The perfect start to the WMC day. Now it’s the time to get rock & roll. Abuse the power and the free booze. Smooze with the superstar DJs, and lay on the British accent for the groupies. Industry Boy wants to get laid. I want to get shit-faced. I want to embrace Lady Desire in my arms and let her abuse and dominate me with forbidden pleasures, and not just tonight, all fucking day.

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Miami: the land of silicone and saliva

Two headache pills and three glasses of water later, and the horizon has stopped moving. Industry Boy stares down at his vast breakfast plate unable to summon the strength needed to fit in another mouthful of scrambled eggs. No wonder in America there are so many fat people.

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Three rings for Miami’s WMC

The first one goes off at 5am on the dot. Five minutes later number two rings. The third alarm, finally forces Industry Boy out of sleep and out of bed. Rise and grime. There’s a plane leaving for Miami in three hours and I’ve got to be on it.

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Monday morning battles

This is probably what soldiers felt like standing in the trenches in Versailles during the Great War, about to go over the top. OK, Industry Boy is exaggerating somewhat, but today will be an epic battle for sure. There might not be death, but there will be tremendous pain and suffering.

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Meet Dwayne, my masturbating friend

A phone rings, shattering a beautiful lucid moment. After being turned away from the Ice Bar last night, we had limped back to my mate’s penthouse and sat in his hot tub till the early hours, getting old man fingers and drinking Bollinger. A phone call at 8.52 on a Sunday morning was akin to a knitting needle down the trouser snake’s eye.

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Bouncers should be seen and not heard

No matter what country you’re in, no matter what club you’re at. One thing is always guaranteed – there will be a troupe of man-mountain monkeys acting as security with only half a brain cell between them. They are meant to make your night out safer, but whoever thought a bunch of muscular ex-convicts and steroid-abusing skinheads would be conducive to a safe atmosphere has clearly been taking too much ketamine. 

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Welcome to my world

Welcome to London. Welcome to my world. The city where you can always find an electronic beat. A pub on every corner, a bar on every street, a club in every borough, a place where genres are born and young people come to meet. The nightlife of this steaming metropolis of 12 million people was built on ecstasy and rave music. 

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The 20 from Beatport.com

Issue: May 2008

View All

#12
'Rising Sun'
  • [Planet E Communications]
  • Sebastien San

If you are just now becoming familiar with the name Sebastien San, you’ll wonder why you hadn’t heard it before. It certainly becomes evid...

#20
'Le Crew Normand'
  • [Karat]
  • Guillaume and The Coutu Dumonts

The one-man act that comes off as entire team by name has made a surprise leap out of the Montreal, Quebec scene. And sometimes it does fe...

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