Monday, 23 November 2015

Thank you from the RMC

Dear Pranksters, non-gangsters, peeps, dreads and indeed Rastas, multitudinous thank yous to all who attended the RMC gig at the Fiddler’s Elbow this Saturday gone. Thanks also to the people who couldn’t attend but wished to attend. We talked about you kindly in the smoking zone, surrounded by patchwork pop art graffiti caricatures and an ever-slowly-descending cluster of drooping bags of rainwater; we jested that such bags contained piranhas – but it wasn’t true.
The gig itself was rather phat – to coin a Byron Belle Sacha phrase - despite the fact that Tom left his pedals in a dodgy looking container on the bus, and despite also the fact that Watto D had his Amplifier flattened by a tornado-wind, prior to the gig (yes the wind blew over an amplifier).

Needless to say, Tommy F played like the rock God he is, Watto fully MacGyvered his amp back into workingness – also playing like the rock God he is, and the rest of us mans did very well. Pedro Fernandes sang with a Rolls Royce of a voice, and remains the best looking bloke in the band (with no disrespect to Good Looking Dave of course). Roland Trimmer, just two rehearsals under his belt, drummed like a Beat God, having warmed up by practising skateboard jumps without a skateboard. Steve Harry The Wheels Harrison Clive gelled it all together with dictionary-DJ blasts of dub piano and organistic keyboard sonority... whilst I leapt about with a red hat on. The Red Hat of Khan if you must know.
The crowd were great - some of whom had travelled from blimming Devon – for instance, my lovely daughter Stephanie, and her man, Andy. Big up to Wuz ‘n; Bex ‘n Lex ‘n Danielle ‘n Gawain (sorry you missed the actual gig bro), Jackie, Watto A, the rest of the Jackie and Dave crew, not to mention Iain Elliot & my Brother Harvey. Louie London, cheers for popping down to take the photographs – see you Thursday brother.
To whet your appetite for the next ramshackle behaviour, here is a link to Crazy Voodoo – because it is tough; mixed by Simone Slipway (Simone Filali of Slipway Studios in Hampton.)
Peace out. See you at the next one. KB

Wednesday, 18 November 2015

Ju Ju Belle by Kingsley Beat

This one aint pixellated. One picture and managed to blur it. Bumper cars. KB

Monday, 9 November 2015

Letter of Hinvertation:

Letter of Hinvertation:

Dear Geezers and Geezerettes, you are fruit-squashedly (cordially) hinvited to the RMC’s next gig. It is an event most likely to be wicked. We are playing from 6 onwards, so anyone playing Sunday league the next morning, will be able to get home early, watch Match of the Day and eat pasta.

For those not playing Sunday league the next day, 2 other bands (Rival Empires + Red Head - I’ve looked them up, and they appear to be wicked) are on after us and a rather fat ska disco (Coast To Coast Club Night with DJ CELLO & special guest SIMON COBB (WORK YOUR SOUL! will sweep the rest of the revellers away on a Ska disco tip from 9 ‘til 2. This will be indubitably safe.

The Ramshackle Music Collective will be singing songs from their recent album, which is imaginatively called ‘Album 2.’

Attached for your sonic edification, is a track from this Album, ‘Feel Flow’, which is regarded by many mans to be wicked.

See you at the Fiddler’s Elbow on Saturday 21st November at 6pm.

P.S. we’re mucking about with video cameras that night, getting footage for a music video entitled. ‘Crazy Voodoo’. That’s linked here too.

Thank you for your time and attention, Kingsley Beat.

P.P.S. If you can’t make it ‘cos you are not in the country, don’t worry, we’ll send you some video clips, and we’ll see you next time you’re in London, craving cool music.

Feel Flow’
‘Crazy Voodoo’.



Thursday, 5 November 2015

Happy Mondays - Loose Fit (Original Album Version)

Is it one of the coolest grooves ever, or is it just the whiskey talking? Right now in favour of the former. Peace out. KB

Wednesday, 28 October 2015

DREAM GARDEN Kingsley Beat feat mp4

Think Magic!

Video Hall

Shooting a video for 'Crazy Voodoo' at the Fiddler's Elbow - Camden on November 21st 6pm onwards. Please wear a silly hat or some form of striking outfit. In honour of the upcoming gig and shoot, check out our new Video Hall!Enter Video Hall

Tuesday, 27 October 2015

Today's Hamster Day LISTEN HERE

Friday, 23 October 2015

THE BEATS OF BABYLON Chapter 13 The sensational sacking of Danny Venus

Chapter 13
The sensational sacking of Danny Venus

Now the Fairy Prankster had heard of he that cruised content a splashing orange trail along the Uxbridge Road from Acton to Shepherds Bush, and she sought him there this day; prancing around before and after Danny Venus and sometimes perching upon the handlebars of his proud BMX - then up to whistle in his ear the Judy Song so full of cheer that he should hum it too. To prank upon the pavement she enjoyed to dash between the passers-by and murmur commands that their minds thought came from within to make them bump into one another  - and she giggled her infectious strains of the laughter bug until Danny caught it too and had a chuckle to himself and then a snort.
Babylon beckoned for this mock humble master. Washing up day in the Havelot Tavern and Venus rode in backwards, with sleeves rolled up already to get stuck in. There was a demon chef they called the chief who holla’d and barked and grabbed the barmaids roughly and was arrogant - and most likely to have used a knife on someone who didn’t deserve it - and he was in a grim frame of malicious mind today. Now Danny was cheery and liked to play pranks; a banana skin in the till or a joke with a sausage. He usually managed to make somebody smile, especially if they were stressed because the last thing you expect to find yourself doing when you are stressed is laughing - and you know it really is a compliment if somebody has somehow discovered the composure to step back from the hot stress cauldron and play a harmless joke or trick on you; it shows that they are being thoughtful, thoughtful about you - which is nice because nobody really thinks about you at work unless they want something from you like a piece of your mind or the use  of your body.
Millennyway, here comes Venus with a ‘Merry Monday’ for everybody, to plunge his soldier’s arms into the depths of the Havelot Tavern sinks and wipe and scrape the residual once-tasty-now-mucky stuff left on the fancy plates by pretty well-off types. Pots and pans and plates and forks and knives and big spoons and little spoons and cups and saucers and whole plates of barely sniffed expensive good nosh that get wasted senselessly by more-money-than-sense types.
Oh dear oh dear what have we here? The thundermouth juggernaut roar of an angry fat 6 foot 4 chef - fat is not an insult you understand here; I state his fatness as relevant because his overall shouting personage was made nuff intimidating by his largeness too - what can Danny do? ‘cos he’s scrubbing clean and quick, as much as he can as fast as he can, but it just isn’t good enough for the Masterchief who roars ‘Venus! Where’s my lucky pan? Come on you stinky scruffy waste of space - you know Ant and Dec will dine in the Havelot today and I want my lucky pan!’
But the plates are piling up from the busy hordes of lunching Babylonians, and though Venus moves fast with aching back and legs and wrinkly chickenwater soaked finger skin, he can’t reach the lucky pan without toppling the leaning tower of crockery.
‘Er… in a minute chief!’ he calls to buy some time, and quick catches a flying saucer from an in-a-hurry-hates-herself-and-wants-to-die waitress. It sure is hectic at lunchtime. But in storms the brute of no regard, no patience, no kindness, no heart. The chief snorts a snot bullet from his left nostril, to face seething and threatening the apron soaked labourer of love whose eyes twinkle with goodness and head is soaked in goodsweat. The chief growls, ‘Where’s my flu-nkinggg pan you ingrate?’
‘I’m working as fast as I can chief.’ But the chief is in a fury and crushes with great delight a shouldn’t-be-there beetle with his size 14 big boots; shouts some more like a brutish villain and Venus turns his attention away from the thieving tirade and onto the gentle panic of a rare butterfly which cannot find freedom in the angry kitchen. His goodly godly eyes zoom in to touch the red shapes on the black wings - they are perfect hearts one on either side - but watch out! Thumping fist of satan smashes the wall - the chief has seen it to but he missed…
All of a silly sudden, a window opened by itself, and as the heaving cook-em-up beast went for another blow, he felt the smack of his lucky pan knocking his dirty lights out, and Venus - his hand forced by the fairy Prankster  -could only stare in astonishment at his rash deed.
But the butterfly escaped and thanked him with a grateful graceful wing dance as he fled into the spring outside. Venus took the window too because it seemed the thing to do. And as he dashed with haste away, he heard the groggy villain say: ‘Venus you’re sacked!’ and all that other ‘if I ever get my hands on you’ claptrap that thwarted villains are wont to say. ‘Fairy Nuff’ calls the liberated Daniel, who is now in doting chase along Uxbridge road after the rare butterfly whom has gone gone gone, but there is a Kingly Bee running fast within the magic walls of Acton, something tells him.

Tuesday, 20 October 2015

The La's (Full Album)

The La's (Full Album)

first track - I don't know no riddum like it - does such a pattern exist or has he made it all up?


Vintage The Ramshackle Music Collective - imovie classic with the video - special effects and everything.

Monday, 19 October 2015

Chapter 12 The Beats of Babylon, by Kingsley Beat

Chapter 12
The war of Love and Fear

‘You can’t get The Fear,’ wrote Fact, sipping a can of Genius and smoking, ‘If you don’t want your crew to get The Fear, then you can’t get The Fear.’ Fact was writing, syphoning off the latest news updated off the Radio Alabama 1928 App, whilst enjoying cold pizza, and trying to tell the story, as it happened, - all the while listening to The Great Wise Tiger’s magnificent soul-stretching style of narrative, and the story of how the legendary crew he sat in company now of, had made it off that crazy little Spidermonkey planet.’ You can’t get The Fear,’ he wrote again, ‘you gotta tap it out.’
Khan’s theatrical mutations were a sight to behold, contorted colours and faces and voices merging into the figure that roar-recited gently from on the golden stool. The Pranksters were transfixed, bathing in the ego-sauce of the recounting of their legendary story.

*         *         *         *         *         *         *         *         *         *         *         *

What is this powdery potion to be just add water to set you free in stand wonder oh pot of old dry noodles and processed soul pieces with a sachet of ketchup. This is not magic this is puff pastry powder louder grown longer and Chris Kiwomya for full flight of fallen down fancy we can tear asunder nothing but our bedsheets and our minds as we grow uncomfortable and make complaint against complaint - what is it that agues you oh Dangerous Dave?
For you have removed and replaced your jumper one hundred times between Ealing Broadway and Stamford Brook - can you not sense the goodness in that song that plays over in your mind, Belle and Sebastian I think you will find, all lilting and sweet and triumphant as if it were composed in Maryland - a far off future place - future though it is indeed concurrent with where you are sat now on District Line. What’s this? Stuck between stations? Late and mixed up with so much boiled and braised trouble on your platter, with a healthy side salad of girl trouble too. Difficult to stomach like the white cider gut rot you and your mate Kingsley have been glugging like crying cannot-be-appeased babies. But at least you laughed. Here now there are many beauties upon this carriage and they have seen your pretty face but you’ve got no dough bro. And only the quirky ones who used to like The Cure will see the merit in your tatty jumper and one must be a smoothy in this day and age - not a bag of nerves, but if only they could see you play the drums! A-one a-one a-one two three four bom bom bah bom ba bom bah bom bom bah bom bah bom bash badda dada dada dada dada... oh what excellent fills. But ‘you could never be a sessionist,’ says a Nasty One perched slobbishly on his left shoulder, really enjoying the train delay. ‘Yes I could!’ blurts Dave out loud (just before the age of ‘hands-free’, when it was easier to spot the nutters you see). He tries in vain to stay looking sane whilst snapping back at his demons, for all to hear on the train.
‘Oh no you couldn’t!’ suddenly sing a chorus of the little bathtards and Dave had to laugh out louder upon the train which made the sweet smelling leggy career type blond start and look at him with careful passing disgust before turning the page of her Metro to read some more crap.
You see there was some kind of interference in Dave’s mind that was distorting the magic signals, the sweet melody of the homecoming swansong that beautified the brains of his Prankster pals, was disfigured by doubt; cruelly de-harmonised by a terrible war in his brain. The Nasty Ones were gaining an alarming runaway lead in the polls whilst the Nice Ones were tired and disorganised, slovenly and sheepish, with no comic counters or vigorous voices to defend the poor young man. The two sides had always been fairly matched until now because Dangerous was a very bright star - especially when he banged his drums; so much excitement why should he keep still? His eyes sparkled so much to think of what was here on Earth for him and what could be done, but with every second he sat in supreme shuffling discomfort upon that sorry train, his eyes grew dimmer as the war raged on. The election had been postponed due to outbreaks of sporadic violence between The Nasty Ones and The Nice Ones, and worse still some of the latter’s troops were turncoat terrors in disguise, ship-jumping fairweather friendly villains. By now there was a funny-silly ensemble of malicious musicians swelling the ranks of the Nasties - a riotous punk band in Dave’s head - which mock serenaded him about all his faults and sung him songs about hanging his friends and they were so catchy, he had to fight to stop humming them.
The Judy Song was all wrong in his head, and by the time he staggered into work, he was a barmy boy with a very noisy mind. How indeed please miss, we should have asked at school, are we to proceed in the workplace and answer telephones and listen attentively to our boss, when there is a full scale war of Love and Fear exploding its bombs and siren song chaos - messy messy theft of calm calamity boom smashing - perpetually in our poor diseased brains? Or to put it another way - why is there no A level, or a GCSE at least, in coping with fear?


The fairy Prankster does what malignant sprites do only nice things. There was the tale of the runner who ran for glory and his life and got distracted once too often. It was night-time and the swell of something in his mind and heart had made him fear the invisible chaser who followed him everywhere and raced him to lampposts before cars got there and wouldn’t let him relax.
This runner had done some good and done some bad and ever since he was a child he knew he was chased, chased to school, chased home from school and sometimes the evil spirit got inside a weak young aggressor and made him start on the poor boy, at least he could see his enemy that way.
Now on this night his head was funny and he hadn’t stretched properly but at least he was out there on the balls of his feet breathing in that messy mixture of life and pollution. The fumes from the beasts had made him dizzy, and superstitious people must remember their rituals or else they panic and lose concentration. Now when he ran past the cemetery he forgot to do what he always did which was to salute the dead. He did this because it allowed him to stop feeling sorry for himself for one moment at least and to thank the universe for his feelings which - though a straggler - he knew meant life and to be alive is a miraculous thing, and to be still alive is even more extraordinary. But on this sorry occasion he forgot to salute the dead and though he told himself it was okay it didn’t matter it was a silly ritual anyway and that he should be pleased with himself that he had enough self-love to exercise, he couldn’t leave himself alone.
But then he stopped, cold. And a wave of nastiness carouselled - shot like a swift and spiralling snake around his spine.  He found himself against the wind against the tide of life; making back for the cemetery. ‘You’ve still got time,’ a very clever Nasty One with the voice of a very very Nice One urged him on. He was rushing back, when he should have been homeward bound to reward himself with tea and hot bath soak, he was rushing back to salute the dead - and as he turned the corner of Chase Road North Acton - no time for irony now young man - he saw death sprinting after him, the ghastly shadow was tearing it down the hill after him and so he tore as fear – a bomb-inside-a-robin exploded in his chest and sent shards of chaos into his poor brain, he turned to run what else can we do? And ninny ninny nah nah you fool you fool - ‘we tricked you we tricked you!’ dn b sl man… don’t be silly man, death ran after the poor boy and tripped him with his scythe at the crossing of the A40 called Gypsy Corner; he had not the composure or room in his overcrowded overladen overlooked and overcooked mind to keep his feet.
Death tripped him with the tiniest tip of his blade and he was smashed out of life by a thundering stop-for-no-one 7 and a half tonne blue and yellow beast that bore the mysterious letterings ‘IKEA’. No one else saw death trip him, no one knew of his horror of seeing in tangible there-it-is shadow shape, the invisible chaser - who had followed him, sometimes teasingly sometimes furiously, since the moment he had learnt to run.
So, no witnesses then.
Verdict: ‘misadventure’ what a magnificent collection of letters that bogus usage is. Dead dead, unlucky Fred, your poor broken mother and her son’s empty bed.
Well my point - would you believe there is one - is that the fairy Prankster follows those who give enough energy of belief to her and her deeds are invisible blessings, like but not like the invisible curse of death. She grants you life with all manner of invisible interventions.

READ MORE HERE: The first 3 chapters of 'The Beats of Babylon'

Friday, 16 October 2015

Steve Harrison - The Wallpaper Song

Steve Harrison - The Wallpaper Song -

One of the best recordings I have ever heard: Steve Harrison - 2012 Houdini.

Unfortunately, me can't find dat one, but you can definitely find it if you type in 'Steve Harrison Houdini 2012' to Spotfy.

In de mean time, here is 'The Wallpaper Song:


Youu aint, heard it, moozik like this before...

We Are Kin

This lot'll turn the whisky into coffee. Listen when you arrive home and are playing with the toaster, the sounds of your friends still ringing in your ears...

we are kin

Tuesday, 31 March 2015

Kingsley Beat: The emergence of The Book - Addendum 1

Kingsley Beat: The emergence of The Book: The time has come the Walrus said to talk of buzzy Kings And whether ships have shake and vac And the Dynasty of the Mings  The digital...

The emergence of The Book

The time has come the Walrus said
to talk of buzzy Kings
And whether ships have shake and vac
And the Dynasty of the Mings

 The digital releas-isation of the seminal satire of self and society: 'The Beats of Babylon', by Kingsley Beat. Available on Kindle in about ten hours time.  You Live By The Sea (Dungeon)

'Gotta Lotta Love For You' by Kingsley Beat promo 4