LAGER TIME: On Eating That Marshmallow

Easy

Latest Lager Time episode is up - it’s called On Eating That Marshmallow and it’s about delying gratification.

As per the others, it starts with a quote from Meditations by Marcus Aurelius, this time it’s Book 8. I’m going to do 4 and then we’re done with this series, mate

You can subscribe to both the podcast and blog on Substack, which is where I host it, or you can hear it as audio on Spotify and Apple.

Source: https://cree.substack.com/#details

LAGER TIME PODCAST: On BullS*it Detection

Greetings, bonjour, what’s happening?

Another week, another Blog / Podcast for Lager Time is up. Continuing with my work, writing peices in response to Meditations by Marcus Aurelius.

This week, I get stuck into a quote from BOOK 3 of Medittaions - it’s called on On BullS*it Detection

As ever, I host it all on Substack where you can listen to it as the podcast but also have the text to read, as well as other benfits, like Substack only stuff. It’s also available on Spotify and Apple Podcasts and bare others.

Hope you enjoy

Keep it Larger than Life

Paul

Source: https://open.substack.com/pub/cree/p/on-bu...

Lager Time: On Moaning, Self-Loathing and Pointing the Finger

Greetings, bonjour, what’s happeing?

The latest Lager Time podcast / blog epiosde is up. It’s called On Moaning, Self-Loathing and Pointing the Finger.

In this one I get stuck into a quote from Book 2 of Meditations by Marcus Aurelius, I talk about mental-health stuff, managing stress, etc etc. It;s not as misreable as it sounds….

As usual, you can listen on Spotify below, also Apple podcasts and bare other podcast providers, but if you want to be a certified Lager Time Lagerlite, then subscribe on Substack where I host this thing, if you do that, you can read it in blog-form occasioanly I’ll slap some extra stuff on there. There’s no fee or anything but you do have to bang your email address in.

Hope you enjoy it anyway

Paul

Source: https://open.substack.com/pub/cree/p/on-mo...

LAGER TIME - On the Support of Football Support - Meditations Book q →

Easy easy easy

The first Lager Time episode of 2024 is up; it’s called On The Support of Football Support. In it I talk about my love of Millwall FC and my simultaneous dislike of crystal palace.

It’s the first in a new series I’m writng, in repose to 12 quotes from the 12 books of Marcus Aurelius’s Meditations (one peice for each book)

Something a little different to what I’ve done before but I’m enjoying writing it, hope you enjoy reading / listening to it.

Spotifty link below and also the sign-up for the Subtack wher eyou can also read it and have it as en email newsletter, as well as the other podcast. It’s also available on Apple on loads of other streaming platforms.

 

LAGER TIME: On Reading Books / Meditations on Meditatations - Intro

Greetings, bonjour, what’s happening?

I hope you are well in the land of lager, or whatever your equivilant tipple-is-that-serves-somewhat-as-metaphor-for-getting-some-things-off-your-chest.

The latest Lager Time episode is up. In it, I talk about my relationship with reading books and introduce will be the next little season on Lager Time. I’ll be writing twevelve repsonse peices, for the twevlve books that make up Marcus Aurelius’s Meditations; I also explain why it is I’m doing this, aside from just giving me something to do.

Hope yous all enjoy

Have a banging Christmas and all that

Peas and taters

Paul

LAGER TIME - Young UnProfessional EP 6 - Just Another Day(te)

Greetings, bonjour, what’s happening

The last in this current little mini-series of Young Unprofessional is up. In this episode, Reece finally goes on the date with Alice, who he met through the dating section of the Gumtree website. It’s a little later than expected, but I explain why in the introduction.

I’ve enjoyed writing this little mini-series, it felt like the natural evolution of the Satellite Stories series, whilst incorporating my desire to start writing from the perspective of a fully fictional character, from a fictional town (even if lots of it is based on my experiences)

I’m still undecide on the form of it, so what I think I’d like to do next is sit down and look over what I’ve written and work out what’s working and what isn’t etc.

I don’t know how any of these stories are landing with people but when I get into it and start writing, I enjoy it and I feel there is more to come. They are all works in progress, as is the whole podcast, so they’re raw and rough round the edges. I have a feeling that if I can refine my process, I can improve on what I’m doing with it.

I’ve also enjoyed featuring my own music (which is handy as I don’t have to worry about licensing etc) – something which I’ve neglected to mention. It helps break the stories up at bit and can put a contextual frame round it, as well as giving a legit excuse to write more music; again, I have no idea how any of this is landing, but, I do this because I enjoy doing it, anything else positive that comes of it is a bonus.

So what next? I have a few old stories from the Reece stuff I’ve written over the years, which I’d like to put up. I’ve also slowly been compiling a load of quotes from the books I’ve been reading and have an idea to use these as an impetus to write some thoughts, in an attempt at some essays; so at some point, at least one of these will emerge.

As scatty as I can be, in my own dysfunctional way, stuff does get done; and I would like to improve that and in general, improve myself, otherwise, what is the point in all of this? I think it’s a little bit like the Reece character, he is flawed and is somewhat aware of this, and in his own doomed way, is trying to do something about it, he just doesn’t really know how.

I hope you enjoy this latest episode, if you like it, please subscribe and share it, as much as I do this for me, when someone tells me they like it, it kicks me up the arse to do more. On the Substack, there is a link to the Young UnProfessional series which you can click and have them all in one place.

Peas and taters for now

Paul

Lager Time: Spin, written by Christana Lei

Easy

This week’s episode of Lager Time was a special one, as it’s the first time I’ve put someone’s else’s work on there. That someone is a very good freind of mine, called Christana Lei, who’ve I known for number of years now and we’ve colloberated before on a few projects.

The story is called Spin. I asked Christana to write an introduction for it; so see below

SPIN

Written by Christana Lei

Voiced by Paul Cree

Intro by Christana Lei

This story is a chapter that never made it into a novel I’m working on.
Inspired by my love for the young people I was lucky enough to spend serious time with, when working in a PRU back in 2010. Inspired too by the lyrics of a song called Sad But True by the legendary Metallica (1991), whose lyrics are used throughout. When I write, I tend to imagine my writing like a film playing out in front of me, and if I had the production budget, Metallica would be the soundtrack to this one.

Maybe you’ll hear themes in the story but that’s not intentional: It was just an exercise in witnessing and acknowledging the violence that happens with no rhyme or reason, no matter how much we want to find reasons for it, in an attempt to impose order on chaos. It seems that the attempts to do this by those of us who are on the edges but not in the violence; an attempt we make to preserve our own sanity and faith in human nature, more often than not just leads to victim-blaming.

I hope Spin pays homage to some of the experiences some of us (hopefully) survive in this messy, sometimes brutal business of being human. And that now Paul has performed it, I can forget about it completely, because it is out of my system. (Which means Paul is now kind of an Exorcist). Enjoy.

Christana Lei

Lager Time: 22.9.23 - Young UnProfessional - EP 2

Greetings, bonjour, what’s happening

The latest Lager Time podcast is out. This week it’s the second instalment in the Young UnProfessioanl series. It’s called The Urban Explorer (but in Sick Trainers)

Reece decides, on a whim, to have a little adverture over in London’s trendy Brick Lane.

Have a blast - you can find Time on Substack, Apple Podcasts, Spotify etc

As I menton at the start, this is a new series which I’m writing as I go, so I’m slowly finding my feet with it; I’m having fun

Paul

LAGER TIME PODCAST: A DATE WITH MATES - PART 2

Easy. Couple of weeks late but it’s the second part of the Date With Mates story, enjoy

To subsribe to the podcast on Substack click https://cree.substack.com/

If you'd like to support my work with a small donnation, here's a link to my Ko-Fi account https://ko-fi.com/paulcree

Spotify https://open.spotify.com/show/33Q2Gem...

Apple podcasts - https://podcasts.apple.com/gb/podcast...

@paulcree Twitter / Instagram

@paulcreewrites Facebook

https://paulcree.co.uk/shop/thesuburban - To purchase my first book; The Suburban

LAGER TIME PODCAST: SATELLITE STORIES - THE 405 (PART 1)

Easy

The latest Lager Time podcast is up. This week it’s the first part of a story about getting a long bus journey, across Surrey to Kingston.

I didn’t get around to finishing it in time, so that’s why it’s in two parts, no other reason.

With these stories I’m trying to add in a bit of production, sound effects etc. I messed up the dialogue in one of the bits by sticking the character Donovan, on a channel where I’d put some reverb on it. I think it was what I used for the story intro. Didn’t intend on doing that.

As I go along with Lager Time, I think, to improve it, I’m going to have get a bit more disciplined with how I record it. Probably need a bit more time for the writing, the recording and the mixing. At the moment, it’s all a bit slap-dash

We keep on and all that

To subsribe via Substack, where you can get the written email and podast, subsribe HERE

OR SPOTIFY HERE

OR APPLE PODCASTS HERE

Paul

Lager Time Podcast: Satelite Stories Vol 2 - Drunks and Bunkers

Easy

The latest Lager Time Podcast is up; Satelite Stories Vol 2 - Drunk and Bunkers

This week is a ittle story about a school escapade. As ever, if you enjoy it, you can subsribe and have it as an em amail and podcast via https://cree.substack.com/ or you can search it on APPLE and SPOTIFY

Large up

Paul

Another update

 

One two

Greetings. Bonjour. What’s happening?

Thought I’d pen a little update for the site about some goings-on – adding it to the consistently-inconsistent blogs and general updates that already exist on here.

So what have I been doing with myself?

LAGER TIME

Since late October last year, I’ve been regularly writing and recording a podcast / blog using Substack which I call Lager Time (some of which you can see below) I’ve been doing it every week (give or take the odd week off) and tend to share a piece of writing that I’m working and sometimes music, as well as having a general update on what I’ve been doing.

The reason it’s called Lager Time, is because it’s where I like to let off a bit of steam; which for me, I often associate with drinking lager. When I lived in Morden for a few years, with my mate, Dean. I’d often put on a Children’s TV voice and pronounce ‘it’s lager time’ to my mate Dean, whenever I went down to Ganley’s; the big Irish pub in the high street. I used to love going there, sinking a few jars with my brother Nat and chewing the fat.

I’m still figuring out what I’m doing work-wise, post pandemic and where, if at all, I fit in to everything. Even before the pandemic, I had this duel feeling of being a bit lost in the two worlds which I tend to operate; subsidized theatre and spoken word and figured I should try and carve out my own path. Figuring out what and how, is what I’ve been doing since and Lager Time is one aspect of that.

I’m enjoying doing it and gradually getting better at the production aspect of it. I’ve still not quite figured out the best shape of it but I’m excited, as it presents other opportunities. It’s a little platform that I’m slowly building and I’ve got a few ideas for it going forward. Like live-streams, live-events and guests.

You can subscribe directly on Substack, and have an email sent to you every week or you can subscribe to the audio, and have it on both APPLE podcasts and SPOTIFY.

Last week I recorded a live-set, which included a bunch of new poems, stories, a couple of songs and a bit of chat. I’m aiming to do a few more of this over the next couple of months as well as doing a video live-stream.



The big vision, is to be as fully self-sufficient as I can be. Ie – I can produce as much of my own content as I want. Audio, video, graphics, books , music and these are all things I’ve slowly been learning how to do. Earning some dough would be nice too

TOAST IN THE MACHINE

Speaking of music, I’m on the verge of releasing a new self-produced EP called Toast In The Machine. It’s five tracks (two of which I’ve already out put: Whichever Way It’s Blowing and Now, What Do You Wonna Say?) but I’ve remixed those and hopefully made them sound better.

I’ve been dabbling with music production for about fifteen years but never taken it that seriously. This is the first time I’ve attempted to mix and master my own music and mate, it’s hard! Though I’m treating everything with this project as a learning curve and I have zero expectations, I’m thinking maybe I should give it over to a proper producer / engineer as at the moment, it’s not quite sounding but I hope to have it all finished by next month.

 

RISE

Someone who is a proper producer, is my good pal Conrad Murray. This week he put out this track, RISE (OUTSIDE) which was one of the first track we wrote for High Rise eState of Mind but never ended up using. Have a blast and you can hear me singing on the chorus with Lakeisha Lynch Stevens aka Kiki.

MAKE YOUR OWN BED AND HOPE FOR THE BEST

I spent probably the first six months of this year re-writing this show, it’s now ready to go into production (I think) but I now have to go through the rigmarole of getting Arts Council funding to make that happen, so watch this space… have a look at some of the stuff I’ve done in the past with it…

WORKSHOPS

Aside from all that, I’ve been leading projects in theatre, music and spoken word with Dream Arts, City Academy, Wildcard Theatre, National Literacy Trust with future projects coming with Green Shoes and Mountview. I’ve also helped a couple of mates out with writing wedding speeches, If anyone is interested in any of the above, don’t hesitate to get in touch

So that’s it for now

Thanks, as ever, for the support

 

Paul

Substack Post: On the Death of Skibadee: Part 2

This post was originally published on my Substack Blog: Lager Time. If you subsribe, you can have it as an audio podcast, or as a weekly email

I mentioned in the first part of this, that it’s probably going to be a bit all over the place. It is. And I’m probably going to contradict myself.     I’m trying to work out where I stand on the sincerity of social-media posting, particularly in times of tragedy.

I’ve always had this stubborn side of me, that wants to quietly rebel against consensus. I’m not quite sure why but I find it pretty annoying; as in, why can’t I just accept things like most other people. I suspect it has a lot to do with my own ego, which, despite calm / gormless appearances, can be a raging-mess, like a quaint, inconspicuous (and fully soundproofed) village-hall; housing a packed, drug-fuelled gabba-rave.  But that’s not the only thing.

My first memory of it rearing its head was in primary school, watching some slapstick-theatre show, prancing about the school assembly hall. All the kids were cracking-up; except for me. I can remember this conflicted feeling I had – this sort of frustration, that I wanted all the other kids to understand that this is shit, it isn’t funny ­- versus the feeling (though I could be making this bit up but I’m pretty sure it was the case) of actually wanting to laugh, because perhaps; it was funny, in places.

The classic one these days, is if someone recommends me something to watch, or listen to, that’s current, or popular, or both. My normal reaction is something along the lines of that’s probably going to be shit. See, I can be a prick. However, in some cases, that inner-prick, is often right; subject to my own preference and opinion, of course. Kendrick Lamar is a decent spitter, but he ‘aint top ten, no-where near it, mate. And Line of Duty, was no better than a soap-opera. It was alright, but nothing special. Sometimes I wish I could accept the consensus though. Life would probably be a bit happier.  

Sometimes it’s not all ego-driven, or just something being over-rated. Sometimes, it’s a hunch or a suspicion, that something else is going on. The bull-shit detector. If it’s mass-consensus, sometimes it could be tribalism that’s driving it, or self-preservation perhaps, which gets masked as earnest, which then makes it insincere, thus bull-shit; especially in the realm of politics. Sincerity is important to me.

There’s numerous cultural and political examples I could give here. A major tragedy happens, a mass-shooting, a war, some big social-justice-type moment and immediately social-media timeliness are awash with more platitudes than a political speech-writing-workshop. But why?

My own reaction to this sort of stuff could well speak to that inner-prick, he exists, most certainly. Also my own social-inadequacies. If I wasn’t so awkward, perhaps ‘d be jumping on board the big save-the-world-sloganeering. 

Sometimes it’s an insecurity thing; they’re probably related. I mugged off grime when it first came about. I think deep-down, I thought it had stolen drum and bass’s thunder. How stupid is that? Like I own drum and bass, or something?! It’s all music. I love music. I’m glad I saw through my own bullshit there. I love grime. Equally, I used to cuss-off 90’s R&B music, saying it was cheesy. But in truth, I did like some of it, I think my issue was that I associated it with men that were confident with the ladies; which of course, I wasn’t.

What’s triggered this post, is the recent death of UK MC Skibadee. Unfortunately, with easy access to instant news, it seems not a week goes by without some legend passing away, and it’s always sad, especially when that person means something to so many. Skibba meant a lot to me (and many, many others of course) but it was the first time I felt moved to write something and post it online and even then I was conflicted. Only time will tell if I’d detected the smell of my own bullshit again, whilst writing it.

The only time I’ve ever chipped in previously was when Leslie Neilson died, and that was only a short tweet. But this one’s bought the conflict up in me again. This conforming thing. I’ve seen a lot of it of late, but for some reason, it doesn’t sit right with me and I don’t know if it’s just that egotistical-dick-head-insecure-not-in-the-cool-club-side-of-me, or the side that’s sometimes, is right to be suspicious[U1] ?

I fully understand that there were many people that knew him, or grew up listening to him, or knew how much of an inspiration he’s been. But some of the things I was seeing, from accounts that I’ve never seen post anything about him, or drum and bass even, felt insincere. Call me a prick here but it seems that if his passing somehow fitted into the sphere, however tenuously, of those accounts own ‘online brand’, then they would comment. Like an industrial trawler, sweeping up everything off the ocean floor, so long as it looked like a fish; it all has a value.  I’m not going to include any examples here, as I’m well-aware I could be completely wrong. I’d rather keep focus on the general sincerity online, or lack of, whenever any big tragedy happens and the cultural-capital that can come with commenting.

I know only too well, what a few of those heart-like-clicks can do to my brain, I can feel it fiending for them, like my dog when I whip the treats out, whenever I post something and then check in, at numerous intervals, to see if anyone has liked it. I’ll be checking the stats on this post, no doubt. That dopamine hit from a click validation – it’s addictive.  And what better way to get those hits, than writing something, in emotional times, that appeals to people’s sense of loss and occasion? Get it right and you’re a wide-boy with the keys to a charlie-factory.

As I write my way through this, I realise it’s probably a mixture of both.  Sincere and insincere. Maybe it’s ok, to reach out for validation, in times of high emotion. The day before I got married, when the pressure was on, I felt the sudden need to reach-out to my parents. I had a little cry and I hugged my mum and I think that was what I needed in that moment. It wasn’t online of course but I would never share anything like that online, that’s just not me but I think the motive may be have similar. For some, maybe that’s what it is, a little reach-out for a virtual-hug, as well as wanting to honour the dearly departed. No shame there.

But is that the case every time? I don’t think so. There’s some people, out there knee-deep in clicked-sourced-dopamine and looking for that next hit. But you tell me. These things are very difficult to prove and of course call-out, due to the sensitive nature of the subjects. I guess it's down to perception at the end of the day, that and smokey mirrors.

We’re all still figuring out the dos and don’ts of this social media thing. What I do know is, most cultures have specific ways to honour their dead, they’re time-honoured traditions and every part of it, is designed to serve a higher purpose, way beyond gassing-up someone delivering a half-arsed eulogy. Large up the real ones and RIP Skibadee.    

Substack post: On the Death of Skibadee: Part 1 →

This was originally featured on my Lager Time Substack blog, where you can both read it and have it as audio. You cal also subsribe and have it as an email, or in your podcast feed, or both

I’m not sure exactly where I was when I heard Skibadee Mcing, for the first time but I’m quite sure it was on the school bus, sat next to my mate, Graham, who lent me a copy, which I copied, of a DJ Brockie set; from a One Nation tape-pack. What I do know is, that it was on that tape, that I first heard Skibba and it stayed in my Walkman, for a very long time. I still have it somewhere and can still recite many of the MC’s lyrics on it. We all have a that tape – I’ve got two, this is the other one.

The year was 1998, I would’ve been about 14. The tape itself, was definitely from 98. That was the year that another legendary UK MC passed away, Stevie Hyper D. His name, along with ‘R I P’ was chanted a lot throughout that tape and a lot of the other DJ sets that were in that same tape-pack. It was pertinent, because from my point of view, and a lot of others, Skibadee went on take Stevie Hyper D’s crown, as the King of Drum and Bass MC’s and all-round UK MC legend.

For those that don’t know what, or who I’m talking about, that’s ok, I’ll try and explain but I’m not quite sure where to start. Perhaps yesterday (Sunday, 28.2.22) I saw online, whilst sat watching that new Kanye West documentary on Netflix, that Skibadee had passed away. I felt that pang in my chest and belly, took in a short breath and paused the telly. This, a week after another UK music stalwart (albeit, from a younger generation) Jamal Edwards, had also passed away.

This morning, I felt compelled to put some thoughts down, not quite sure why but I hope I’ll figure that out as this goes on. It will probably be a bit all over the place, as I’m going to try and link it to something else that I’ve been thinking about, which is something along the lines of; posting-things-on-social-media-as-a-form-of-expression- and-when-is-it-genuine? But I’ll deal with that, in a second post, I’ve got too much to say about Skibba and it’s probably more interesting.

But back to Skibba and that DJ Brockie tape. If you grew up in the 90’s, were from the UK, London or the surrounding counties and were tuned in to underground dance-music, chances are, you’d know about jungle / drum ‘n bass. Maybe you went to the raves, maybe like me, you had a mate and an older brother, who played you a tape, or a record, maybe you heard it blasting out of a souped-up Ford Escort XR3i, or maybe you were playing with the radio dial one day and you picked up one of the numerous pirate-stations that were broadcasting off London rooftops. And if you were nerdy, like I was and still am, you’d get obsessed and chances are you’d know that line of lineage, from Jungle to Drum and Bass - to UK Garage, to Grime, to Dubstep, to UK Rap to Drill, and the roots of that line from rave / hardcore, breakbeat, acid-house, techno, hip hop, bashment /dancehall /ragga / roots-reggae and dub. And you’d be proud of it. Too me, being a nerd is just an extension of passion, after all.

I loved Drum and Bass. I still do. I’ve talked about it a lot in my writing. I played the actual drums as a kid, so I love beats, big beats. When I first heard sped-up, chopped up, amen-breaks, I lost my shit. I soon learned that there was this whole scene, that came from London, just up the road from me, in Surrey and in it existed producers, DJ’s, promoters, pirate-radio stations, raves, flyers, tape-packs from said raves, record shops, record bags and clothes and of course, MC’s. It was sick. And it was from London.

But back to that tape, again, finally. When first hearing it, I didn’t yet know how it all worked. The raves, the pirate-stations and the setups, how the music was communicated, with the DJ’s and the MC’s and how they worked together. I had little or no exposure to that world. I knew hip hop and knew about house and techno, through my older siblings, amongst other sounds. But Hip hop was on TV, house and techno were on BBC Radio 1.  I remember trying to exclaim to my brother, Will, that I’d heard this tape with all of these London MC’s on the records, that the DJ was playing. He had to explain to me, that the MC’s were live, on the mikes, at the event, hyping up the crowd and spitting their lyrics over the beats the DJ was playing. That was how it worked. Despite its similar DJ/MC lineage, 90’s hip hop and its era of wildly successful recording artists, making actual tracks in studios, were hardwired into me at this stage. I had no idea, I thought all those voices that I was hearing on the tape, were recorded on the records. I even thought Skibbas name was ‘Skipper-d’ for a good while.

The whole thing was exciting to me, for a number of reasons. A lot of the MC’s were rapping in the double-time style. Super-fast lyrics, that sounded like machine-guns. I love breakbeats and what there were doing, was making their voices into rhythmic instruments, like watching a drum solo from Buddy Rich, not just sitting in the background providing a beat. I often had no idea what they were saying but it sounded sick. Sometimes they were freestyling, I couldn’t believe that either, just making it up on the spot, like it was magic, they all seemed so talented. But they were doing it, over Drum and Bass beats, which I loved and they had London accents, often intermixed with Jamaican ragga styles. But that sounded far less alien, to this pasty kid from Surrey, than an American accent on a hip hop beat did; as much as I loved hip hop, of course, it was American.

Typically, on a DJ set from one of the big raves, like One Nation, if it was Drum and Bass, you’d have two or three MC’s, sometimes more, sometimes less. The raves would then produce the sought-after tape-packs that you could buy, with all the DJ sets recorded onto cassettes and they’d have these mad futuristic designs on the covers. That first tape from the One Nation 98 pack that I heard, if memory recalls correctly, had 5ivo, Shabba, Fearless, Moose and Skibbadee all MCing on it. Skibba wasn’t on it much but when I heard him, he really stood out. I assumed then, that he was like a young up-and-comer, so only got a little spot. Again, highlighting my lack of understanding about how those big rave events worked, he was all over the other tapes that I later heard, just not the Brockie one. I wanted to hear more of him, though. That little segment was enough to get me hooked. He came on, mid-set, with that lyric that included the words ‘when am I gonna get my dividend’ which is also where I first heard and later learned the meaning of that word; financial education from Skibadee – what was school for?

His staccato, double-time flow, sounded so cool to me. No one did it like him but we all tried. Go on, say that above sentence to yourself, rapidly, without pausing for breath and you’ll go someway to understanding why he was so effective as an all round MC .

‘when am I gonna get my dividend, I get my piece of the action’

His vocal tone, flow and energy, just sounded perfect. I’d rewind that bit, over and over, loving it when he cut in and rode the beat, like a horse to war, full of slickness and confidence. It was his bars and a few of Stevie Hyper D’s (someone else I’ve also written about) that I first tried to copy, when I decided I was going to be an MC.

Since I’ve been into it, Drum and Bass’s popularity has often fluctuated. At the time I first heard that tape, it wasn’t that popular anymore, it didn’t seem it anyway. Wide-boys at my school were listening to speed garage – maybe their elder siblings liked Jungle back in the early 90’s but it was seen as either too fast and aggressive, or just a bit mental. The music was definitely quite-dark, back then, when I first latched on to it.

Me and my brother Will, would go into the newsagents and scan through the big dance music magazines of the time, like DJ and Mixmag and see if there were any Drum and Bass features, it was slim pickings, they barley got a mention. I remember getting upset one day when Loaded magazine casually said it was ‘dead.’ How arrogant have you gotta be to say that? Regardless though, that music soldiered-on, along with its infrastructure of raves like One Nation, Helter Skelter and Droppin Science.

With the commercial success of UK Garage, came the rise of MC-led garage and the So Solid Crew era. Suddenly, UK MC’s were at the forefront, as rappers, on tracks and in videos, not just crowd hypers at the raves anymore. UK hip hop has always been around, as far as I can remember but it was very niche. At this point, Drum and Bass seemed to get more popular again, this time, with a lot more focus on the MC’s, so naturally, Skibba rose to the top. He even featured on a chart-topping Shy FX track that got playlisted on BBC Radio 1. I remember getting pissed-off when Chris Moyles played the record on his drivetime show and was doing bad impressions of Skibba. I felt like he had no idea who Skibadee was and had just disrespected an underground legend, who’d found commercial success.

This era also spawned a whole load of rudeboys, to want to pick up a mike and start MCing – when I first was in my early teens, everyone wanted to DJ, Mc’s were thin on the ground where I grew up. That all changed. Skibba was the one they always seemed to gravitate towards, trying to imitate his rapid double-time style. When am I gonna get my dividend. Everyone loved Skibba. But there’s only one Skibadee and a DJ set, with 7 rudeboys doing bad impressions of him, could easily be MC-overkill and ruin a DJ set and often a whole event; which it did, many times. Thus, the tables had turned somewhat, in the eternal conflict between DJ’s and MC’s but it turned off a lot of people, myself included.

I was heavily into Drum and Bass, for a long time but as I got into my early twenties, I gradually started to drift away from it. I’d been Mcing for a few years and had a few gigs under my belt but had gradually transitioned to focusing more on writing lyrics and trying to make tracks but not drum and bass tracks - hip hop, grime and whatever else; drum and bass was still very a much a club-based scene and I didn’t think I had what it took, to be the hyper-energetic rave MC. That and I got fed-up with moter-mouthed rudeboys trying to hustle the mike off me all the time.

I can’t pretend I’ve been this unwavering, hardcore Drum and Bass head. I haven’t. I still went to the occasional event but chances are it would be something like Rupture – which focused a lot more on the breakbeats and didn’t seem to attract the crowd that wanted the MC’s, spitting constantly over Jump Up beats. In some of those circles, it was almost frowned upon to like those MC’s, or the beats they typically rapped over. Even in an underground sub-genre, with sub-sub-genres, there was still elements of classism and cultural superiority. I certainty had traits of this but if I’m honest, I still loved a bit of Skibba and Shabba on a jump-up set. Every now and again, I’d blast an old tape with MC’s like Skibba spraying all over it. And with the advent of You Tube and the wider application of the internet in general, people were uploading all sorts of old DJ sets from raves and radio and records – so I’d go down these rabbit-holes and enjoy the lyrical-barrages of an MC Convention set, in the safety of my headphones and a few premium-strength lagers.

I work a lot with young people and I often ask them what music they listen too. Many will cite British-born rappers, in fact, these days they’re more likely to listen to British rap music, than they are American. It’s a huge turnaround from where it was, when I first got interested in all of this. I remember people smirking when I told them I liked UK hip hop. Those drum and bass MC’s, along with the UK Garage MC’s and of course the likes of So Solid Crew, Heartless Crew, Pay As You Go (as well as the UK Hip Hop guys Like London Posse, Blak Twang, Roots Manuva, Jehst and Skinnyman) made it a lot more acceptable for your average British kid, to listen to UK MC’s.

The wider acceptance of British underground dance and rap music, was helped massively with the advent of BBC 1Xtra and Channel U. Both national platforms, with a much bigger reach than anything before, where a wider audience could be cultivated and it was. These platforms allowed rappers to have legitimate careers and it sent Grime into the mainstream. I was always chuffed, when those stations showcased the Drum and Bass guys that came before; Skibba was often on 1xtra doing freestyles. And you’d often hear the first wave of successful Grime MC’s, who were getting major record deals, paying homage to Skibba, Shabba, Dett, Stevie Hyper et all, preserving the lineage.

Years later, with social media, I’d be able to occasionally check in with these guys. I followed SASASAS all those MC’s and DJ’s from my past and have regularly watched short video clips of all those guys, shutting down raves and festivals the world over, still going after all these years and as someone that still likes to rap and MC, fast approaching 40, it’s inspiring to me that they’re all still doing it, into their 40’s and 50’s even, and still headlining events. It was only on Saturday, that I looked at a picture of Shabba, Harry Shotta, DJ Phantasy and Skibadee, with the caption asking their fans what festivals they wanted to see them at this year.

With the current crop of Drill rappers, making their way in the music world, I don’t know if they know, from whence they came, in terms of the rap industry in the UK. It’s neither here nor there if they do, they’re doing their own thing and I respect it, as any new generation should -  however, if they care to look – they’ll see Skibadee up there, as one of the great UK MC’s, who helped blaze a path for this whole British rapping thing to happen, and me, and countless others who grew up on the tape packs, pirate-radio and car-stereos and raves, will forever be indebted to his legacy.

I hope he’s up there, in his final resting place, going back-to-back with Stevie Hyper D, keeping the eternal rave-souls lively in the dance. Skibba dealt with the matter and dealt with it proper.

New Substack blog: Sunday Loathe

This first appeared on my Substag blog; Lager Time. You can hear it on there as audio as well as in text form, if you like it, do me a lemon and subscribe. You can have it as an email or a podcast

Sunday Loathe, by me Paul Cree.

Greetings, bonjour, what’s happening.

Something a little different this week. It’s a short story, that I wrote around 2014. This   will most likely be a bit longer than my usual offerings on here, bare with me, I’m trying something.

I have this character, called Reece, who I’ve written a number of stories about, over the last ten or so years, which I’ve never done anything with (apart from entering this one into a short story competition; I’m assuming I didn’t win.)  

He first appeared as character, in a spoken word piece, called My Town, which I wrote around 2010 and used to perform it a lot, it was like my flagship piece. I stopped performing it, because I felt didn’t really fit with everything else that I did, which was largely autobiographical. So I decided I was better off keeping him in short story form and every now and again, I’d dig him out, along with his mates, and start writing. Saying that, I wrote a draft of a two-hander play, in which one of the charters was Reece. Also, never went anywhere.

I always enjoy writing as this character, just never really know what to do with it, which I spoke about in the first blog on this here Substack. Most of the stories are just ideas, really, some a bit more developed than others. This was one of the better ones.  

Hopefully, I’ll have a crack at writing some more at some point. Hope you enjoy it.

SUNDAY LOATHE

Sunday Roast

I'm at an age in my life where I don't actually mind living with my parents but they probably do. Well, my dad definitely does. I don’t blame him, though. My parents are old school. As a man, you leave home at eighteen - nineteen, get a job, make your way in the world, get married, set up a new home, have a couple of nippers and all that, then once-in-a-while you feed them on the odd Sunday lunchtime, Christmas or Easter, like they did you. That’s it.

 I'm approaching thirty and I haven’t yet flown the nest. I pay rent and bills, like most other people (just not as much with the rent bit) but I make up for that tax-break with massive debt re-payments from historical credit binges and general financial mismanagement, that sees me permanently squatting in my overdraft, with nothing to show for it, other than several pairs of once-banging trainers, several hundred booze ups and a few holidays abroad with mates, where we got boozed up, just like we normally do, except under the sun; sporting t-shirts with un-imaginative names written on the back.

Being at home, I sometimes get the benefit of Mums cooking. The meals can be a bit samey but I'm not that fussy when it comes to eating and I don't like cooking, so I'm grateful, most of the time. Really. I am. I just hate sitting around the table to eat as a family. This day was another one of those days, Sunday lunch, the important one, with me, hungover, again, having got cunted the night before, again, which never really helps, does it.

'This looks lovely Pam'

Normally Dad rubs his hands together at this point, like an excitable child, upon being presented a plate full of Mum’s finest Sunday roast. There was no cheery hand-rubbing on this day though. I figured he’d not had his customary pre-match clear-out, which had probably put him out of sorts. This is all part of the build-up for Dad. I normally hear it in my room, unfortunately positioned next to the carzi. It’s awful, though not as bad as the main event, that comes after dinners done.

'Sorry but I think the potatoes are a bit overdone.' Mum, modest as ever.

As I work varying shifts at the call centre, I'm often able to get out of sitting round the dinner table to eat during the week. Sitting together brings it all home for me and stamps it on my face. I'm all too aware that I'm encroaching into my parent’s final swansong, as they approach retirement, like a London Marathon runner, looking like a prick, in some stupid costume they probably regretted as soon as the cameras started rolling; staggering down the Mall towards the finish line, glad that the whole ordeal will shortly be over.

There's not a day that goes by, when I wish I wasn’t an inconvenience on their part. I'm grateful for the roof and the food but I find this tired ritual of eating around the table a mild form of torture, and so does my sister, and it's likely that so do my parents, yet they insist on persisting with it. It's as if were at a conference and I'm the resident fuck-wit, speaking on how to be a complete waste of valuable oxygen and maximise parental disappointment, with a sticker across my chest that says BELL-END, it wasn’t supposed to be like this, was it.

'Can you pass me the pepper please Dad?'

'Speak up Reece, I can't hear you, you're mumbling.'

'Can you pass me the pepper please Dad?'

Dad was in one of those moods where he doesn’t really want to talk. Tip-toeing around him can be like walking across a minefield, blindfolded, not that I've ever walked across a minefield, blindfolded, but I imagine it to be pretty stressful. Closest I ever got, was picking the football out of the stinging nettles in the garden. I was hungover and in no mood for walking, let alone tip-toeing, that required delicate movements and intense concentration. My sister Kerry, was kicking me under the table. I looked at her and she nodded at my hand, which was underneath my chin, elbow resting on the table, supporting my head like a really shit pillar, as if some can’t-be-arsed student had made a crap attempt at a Greek Amphitheatre using cardboard and Sellotape, for a GCSE tech project. The one free hand, my left, was forking up little bits of food then tipping it back over onto the plate.

Over the last few years of being at home, me and Kerry have developed this physical dialogue and perfected it; this wordless and slightly painful form of communication is used specifically for meal times, mostly on Sundays. There were several phrases, most of which roughly translated too;

'REECE YOU MELON, IF YOU'RE HUNGOVER AT LEAST TRY TO LOOK LIKE YOU'RE NOT HUNGOVER, YOU KNOW IT WINDS THEM UP.'

Dad shovels his first forkful into his cement mixer of a mouth, lips smacking like a racehorse with the munchies. I find the sound of people eating repulsive. It's one of the most basic of human functions yet, I can’t stand it, even when I eat. We piss, shit and fuck separately, why do we all have to do this one together? Sat around tables like a bunch of mugs, pretending to enjoy each other's company. Most of my mates' families didn’t bother with this tired ritual. They thought I was posh because my family did it, was always really awkward when they came round for tea. What’s the point in having a fucking sky-dish if we’re not gonna spend dinner time gorping at the Fresh Prince, like a stoned Goldfish? I must have automatically winced when Dad made a particularly loud lip-smack, because Kerry spoke me again, KICK;

'REECE, FOR FUCKS SAKE GET IT TOGETHOR!'

'How’s work at the moment Reece?'

As ever, Mum attempts to break the ice, whilst desperately trying in vain to hold this pangea together, instead of letting evolution explode us in to our independent land masses; for the record, I'd probably be some crap island cut adrift in the North Atlantic, fuck-all minerals to mine and too weak to defend itself from imperialists, who'd want to use it as an military base to attack somewhere much bigger, wealthier and generally more useful to humanity.

'It's aright...thanks.' I say, forking up and twisting another bit of mash.

'Nothing new then?'

'Na... not really,' staring at the mash, thinking that it looks like a fluffy cloud.

'Your mum is asking you a question Reece.'

Dad interjects with a mouth full of food, speaking words as if there was a sock stuffed in his mouth. A lone pea and a couple of bits of swede escape out and fly onto the table cloth, like debris from a restaurant bomb-blast shattering into the street, I follow the peas trajactory. The pea lands just in front of the water jug, right in my eye line;

'Sorry Mum, just don't have much to say about it at the moment, nothing positive anyway...The mash potato is really nice.'

'Dunno why we bother Pam.' Dad ploughs back into his food.

My response was C/D borderline at best, could do better, just like most of my school reports, reminding me of that time I made that half-arsed Greek-Amphitheatre out of Sellotape and paper for my GCSE tech project.

I looked at the pea for a moment and wondered if he was hoping, that another one of his mates might come flying out of Dad’s mouth to join him on the table, whilst Dad was barking at me. Alas, he was still on his own, isolated. must have been hard for that pea, despair was something I could empathise with. Dad finally swallowed then spoke, the pea must have winced;

'You spend full working days there, five days a week and you have nothing to say!?'

'Not really...What do you want me to say, Dad?'

'I want you to give your mother a proper answer, not some crap attempt like the poxy one you just gave.' Think Dad must have been constipated again.

'Leave it Tony, he doesn’t want to talk about it.' Mum speaks, her eyes closed and her chin to her chest. KICK

'YOU FUCKLING IDIOT REECE, MUM'S UPSET NOW, WHY DO YOU ALWAYS DO THIS?!'

Mum looks as if she could cry, she stares at her plate, composes her-self, then asks Kerry about how her A-levels are going. Kerry answers, Kerry to the rescue, she speaks well, talking about her uni-choices, giving Mum and Dad reason for optimism.  A daughter that could genuinely go on to make some actual achievements in life. Kerry knows how to play this game. She finishes her modest Oscar speech ,then gives me a double KICK;

‘I'VE GOT YOU OUT OF THIS ONE AGAIN, SEE, ALL YOU HAVE TO DO IS ENGAGE THEM, IT'S NOT THAT HARD REECE, IS IT? STOP FEELING SORRY FOR YOUR-SELF, YOU’RE LIKE A FUCKING CHILD SOMETIMES!'

Mum and Dad start talking about the Seventies Weekender they'd just been on down at Pontins, after Kerry had tactically asked how it went. They seemed to perk up at this, even Dad raised a smile, sounds like they really enjoyed it. I’m glad they enjoyed.

I looked at the pea again, the lone, green pea, the maverick escapee, seeking asylum from the death camps of my Dad's guts, where the stodge of low quality white bread, streaky bacon, digestive biscuits and shitty larger, permanently undulate in one mass gloop of shite. Sitting quietly on the kitchen table cloth, lonely and isolated, far removed from his earthy beginnings. It wasn’t meant to be like this, was it Pea?  I reckoned he was waiting round to see if anyone else made it out. The swede were straight goners to the floor, no chance anyone will ever find them other than the hoover. This pea was probably well educated, expecting great things from the promised land of the table cloth, but he was on his own, no help from anyone and probably seen as a piece of shit to be disposed of, but he's free, free, if only he knew it!

Somewhere in-between fantasising about the pea, the conversation had moved from the seventies weekender in Pontins, to Mum and Dad's history together, a regular feature at the meal time and one that always left me feeling worse than I already did, upon hearing their achievements and inevitably comparing them to mine. More appeasement from the school of Kerry’s-Diplomacy.

'1984 I think it was, me and your Father managed to buy our first place, a small flat in Norwood, I think we were 22?' Mum looks at Dad, Dad shovels another load of food in his mouth then replies;

'No, 21. We were both the first in our families to ever get a mortgage'

Every time, years younger than what I am now, married and on the property ladder. I'm pretty sure they don't do it on purpose, but stories of Mum and Dad’s achievements are like someone laying the boot in, a real wind-stealer right in the ribs, whilst you're already lying on the floor, having had the shit beaten out of you by the school bully, in front of everyone, after making the mistake of trying to stick up for your-self.

tell myself it's pointless making comparisons, they didn’t have Pimp My Ride back then to microwave any ambitions they might’ve had, but still, I couldn’t help making those comparisons and inevitably feeling like a massive piece of shit that had taken up permanent residence in their bought-and-paid-for home; me and the pea were one now..

'Norwood was a lovely little place. That area was a bit different back then, really nice little community it was, you knew who your neighbours were, not like it is now, no, couldn’t go back to London now'

I looked at my parents and watched their mouths moving as they spoke. I began to imagine that I'd conducted a full-blown MRI scan on their brains as they were sat there at the table, whilst talking to Kerry, and I was now analysing the results, via the medium of Mirocoft Powerpoint, the lone pea, wearing a little lab coat, glasses and holding a clipboad, as my assistant;

'if you see the red patches here these are momentary flashes of xenophobia, normally triggered during moments of nostalgia, quite common amongst people of this age.'

'That's right. Wouldn’t go back to Norwood now, no chance. Ted from work still drinks there from time to time, when he goes up to watch the Palace. There was a shooting on our old street Pam! It's all gangs fighting over drugs now.'

If you pay particular attention to the male, these yellow patches here are nerve endings, sending messages to the bowels to release a highly toxic gas, known to stink-up the whole top floor of a house, often requiring fumigation afterwards. There is a severe build up of this gas in the gut, due to years of bad diet and stubborn refusal to adhere to any type of dietary advice. This blue light here just above it, is directly linked, it's a revulsion for anyone who dares to suggest implementing a dietary change, and anyone that does is either an obnoxious middle-class twat or just plain homosexual. This green light here is an internal query, queering whether-or-not 'plain homosexual' makes sense as a phrase, and this purple light is an insecurity, due to the word 'query' being used internally in reference to homosexuals, sounding a bit too much like 'queer' triggering this red light here at the back of the brain, which is an anxiety about whether or not there is a subconscious link.'

'That was lovely Pam, really hit the spot that did.'

Dad gets up from the table and goes into the kitchen, returning with two slices of white bread to mop up the gravy still on his plate. I look at the pea and I'm sure I could sense a small feeling of humour, emitting from the little green being, like a snigger or something, at the look of Dad with the white bread.

'Would you like any more love?'

'No thanks Mum, I'm stuffed.'

'What about pudding? It's apple crumble, your favourite.'

Apple crumble has never been my favourite, I might have said I liked it once, when I was about twelve. I stopped eating puddings a few years ago, yet Mum still insists on offering it. I read somewhere it was bad for your digestion, to eat a load of sugar-blasted food straight after a heavy meal. This was probably instantly dismissed by my parents as 'codswollop.' Even though Dad would’ve most likely gone upsatirs after the meal to obliterate the toilet, yet fail to make the connection, whilst condemning the upstairs part of the house, again. KICK;

‘STOP THINKING ABOUT DAD'S EATING HABBITS!'

'I'm ok for pudding thanks Mum, I'll go and start the washing up.'

I got up and left, washing up was my exit card. A chance for me to stick my headphones on, listen to some beats and block out the dull and painful thud of my own failings. As I got up from the table and walked into the kitchen, I suddenly thought about the pea, stranded, no longer under my protection. BANG;

'That bloody boy, doesn’t clean up after himself!'

I suddenly noticed that my leg was hurting from all the kicks. It wasn’t meant to be this way, was it.