The irony is not entirely lost upon me: handing in my article on Breathless femme fatale Jean Seberg for the upcoming Ex-Pat issue of Stop Smiling I can barely breathe come the Stop Smiling party on Tuesday night due to an allergy attack. Lucky for me, my publishers are similarly voiceless, so I spend much of the night wheezing to Dave Tompkins and Pete Relic instead, as Chairman Mao and Pete Rock spin like its 80s Night.
Go figure that the first portion of Dave's Scorpio meditation is all about huffing hay (and features fine deployment of the word 'williwaw'). Dave corrects one trainspotter who opines Gigolo Tony when in fact it's Afro-Rican. "Throw the D" comes on, and it's as if I'm trapped inside the head of a madman. Which reminds me that I need to YSI him these Pompidou tracks (the Jamaican toaster known for his 'synthesizer voice') as it'll push Dave's long-threatened vocoder book back another decade, thus giving us hacks some breathing room.
