Oi! Sasha, mate. Yeah, you. Hey, look at me when I'm yellin' at you! Listen here-- I'm what your sodding marketing exec calls a 'target demographic,' and you have taken a large unforgivable shit on me, you bastard.
Don't give me that, you weasel! You're Sasha, one half of dynamic DJ duo, Sasha and Digweed, club scene stalwart and hocker of over twelve mix CDs. And don't fake me that you're that German pop sensation Sasha Alexander. I got your number, mate, and I also got your debut album, Airdrawndagger.
Well, that's the reason I'm yelling at you, you plonker! I remember your early days, when you released the don't-call-it-an-album-nor-an-EP The Qat Collection. I remember when your style of club wax was termed 'epic house.' I dug your highfalutin' 13+ minute tracks. But me and thousands of my 'demo' have been waiting nearly ten years for your full-length debut.
I've been busy, you know. I did save NYC's Twilo club from ketamine meltdown and hung out with me mate Digweed at Bedrock.
Shut it, Sashmate. If you really expected people to enjoy this record, you're loonier than you look. It's as wet as a Welsh spring morning! I bet this disc's feistier moments only came about because that Junkie XL bloke you persuaded to join you spiked your Horlicks with a dash of Red Bull.
Actually, I was going for a more chill-out vibe. I want my audience to distinguish between Sasha the Megastar DJ and Sasha the Artist.
Pish! Even if I bought into that BS, no one could seriously consider the tediously safe Airdrawndagger the work of an artist. Pull the one, mate, it's got bells on it. Or am I missing something? Like a Phazon soundsystem? Yeh, my home stereo can't provide the right sonic spectrum for which this 'masterpiece' was created, eh? Arse!
For one thing, mi ol' china, what fucking took you so long? Where're the goodies for all that effort? Far as I can tell, you ripped off some of Pete Namlook's ambient noodling, tealeafed a few stale breaks and spent three months on hold with the ProTools helpdesk. How else can you explain ever-so-atmospheric cobblers of "Mr. Tiddles" or "Magnetic North", your blatant rip-off of Future Sound of London's "Papua New Guinea"? And what's with sampling King Crimson for "Cloud Cuckoo"? Surely you of all people, with bankvaults of dosh, could afford to hire Robert Fripp to kick out a jam or two. Cheap bastard.
Well, at least I didn't pull an Oakenfold and, like, invite an errant member of Collective Soul to make a guest appearance! Or that Nelly Retardo chick. Give me some credit for keeping creeps like that out of the picture.
Yeah, cheers. But then you went and followed Orbital down the toilet! UK dance pioneers or not, sounds like they've exhausted the juice in their glowsticks and retreated to briar pipes and slippers.
Now you know how I bloody feel. Are we going to have to wait another ten years for you to crawl back out of the crapper with something a bit fitter than this? Or is this the last word? Well? I can't wait forever. If I've got to find another false god to worship...
