junkies
We searched the globe high and low to find the finest funkiest Junkies. A collection of wannabes, hasbeens, shouldabeens and gonnabes! Each new recruit must go through a rigorous testing procedure that we like to call The Pub. Then they are taken to the studio to show off their riffs, licks and beats. Only after the final hurdle of 3am coffee making with a run down to the all night garage for Kit Kats, Frazzles and 20 B&H – do we decide if they can join our exclusive club. Ladies and Gentlemen, we present, The Funky Junkies!
Trucker Trash
You gotta love this guy. He thinks he’s a rock star. All because he played keytar in an 80’s electro combo dropped after that unfortunate incident in Bangkok. We gave him a chance though. Here’s why. The dude can play. He can really play, man. He showed us how it was done … and anyone who can play late night poker like that is alright by us!
Jim Jammy
Jim is one cool cat. He takes it slow, he loves it fast … he’ll have it any which way he can get it! And the dude plays the bongo like no other. You could put him up against an octopus and Mr Jammy would still quaver his way through a drum ‘n’ bass tune faster than you could say “It’s in 9/8 you numpty!” A legend in his own time signature. The man is pure rhythm and we are all better for knowing him.
Mad Axe
“Can I just say how gorgeous you are?” “Will you let me hold you?” It’s not until he gets them home that the rough stuff starts. The plugs come out, picks them up … and forms the chord of E! CLAAAAANGGGGG! Smoke, lights, dry ice … the works! Then his mum calls down for tea. Mmmmnnn … nuggets! (Yes … he looks like a she. It’s the lighting.) Wouldn’t change a thing about it.
Alf Alpha
The ‘Production Music Guru’ Alf has the odd TV use under his belt, the income from which sustains a tragic addiction to Monster Munch and Cola Bottles. Remix work for major labels, scoring ads and running one of London’s pioneering Deep House labels, making our tea … he’s a busy, busy boy! He clearly has no mates. Except for us … of course! We wouldn’t have it any other way to be fair.
Captain Ska
Ahhh … the Captain. Now what can we say about our breakdancing, bodypopping, foxtrotting wonder?! Well first off we should mention his bedroom studio. One computer, two speakers and a waterbed to impress the laydeeez! Captain Ska likes to dig the crates, sample the plastic, twist the pan pots, hit the faders and bust a move. We like the results! Can’t argue with that now can you.
Coco Pop
This guy eats studio equipment for breakfast. Seriously. One morning we came in and he’d eaten a delay unit. Took him forever to string a sentence together … Coco knows his sonics. We whack him behind the desk just to blow our minds! The bass gets fatter, the drums get punchier … and that’s before he’s even touched a dial! Absolutely crackers but we love him.
Jake Breaks
Cheeky breaks, bouncin’ bass lines, wakka wakka dj scratching (old skool like … none of that 6 deck madness!) … Jake Breaks is our resident recycler! If it’s useable, it’s nickable! You’ll find him sitting in the corner of the studio with his big headphones on as he creates, waits patiently, and then wafts the air freshener about! What a legend. Wouldn’t swap him for all the money in the world to be fair.
Jonny Hey
The Junkies’ Resident Raver comes to us all the way from … Banbury! But don’t let the postcodes fool ya … this kid can rave! Give him a keyboard and he’ll turn any studio session into a full-blown warehouse party. He showed up stinking of Vicks Vap-o-Rub in a hazmat suit … and he hasn’t taken it off since. We’d love to pay him properly but he keeps spending his fee on glow sticks. Best cheesy raver we’ve ever worked with.
Marky Mono
Marky is our resident vibe merchant. He’s always out and about DJ’ing to the masses and picking up on what the cool crowd are getting groovy to. The geezer is upfront and down with it … big style. Some facts. He’s been on the telly. He doesn’t like sushi. He dresses the coolest out of all of The Funky Junkies. And it’s his turn to make the tea!
Rob Rocker
The guy knows beats. It’s as simple as that. He knows when to make ’em soft. He knows when to make ’em loud. He spends his evenings meticulously sampling and looping them left, right and centre. And he knows when to add a stonking great bass line and get the whole track shuffling like a pack of fresh cards. He is … in effect … Da Beats Man. No question about it at all to be honest.
Roger Dodgers
Rogering, Dodgering … what other name could we give him!? We call him “The Man Who Brings The Coffee.” At the studio 10.30 sharp (give or take 50 minutes) he turns up with Maccy D’s Finest Blend for all and a grumpy story on why he’s late. Then why he has to leave early! Our little ray of sunshine. Oi! Roger! This coffee’s white again!??!?!
The Ronster
With a name like that … he’s gotta be cool. Well … never judge a book by its cover. Cool isn’t everything. Good Tunes are! We don’t know how but every time this dude walks into the studio the tunes start coming. Grabs a guitar … RIFF. Gets on the drums … GROOVE. Picks up the bass … FUNK. He’s basically a library version of Prince! And honestly we wouldn’t change a single thing.
Tony Tapeloop
We found Tony busking outside a kebab shop in Dalston at 3am playing a jazz version of the Countdown theme and honestly? Magnificent. The man’s got lungs like a bouncy castle and fingers quicker than a pickpocket on Oxford Street. He joined us on the condition we never mention his brief career as a cruise ship entertainer. Too late, Tone!
Chill Bill
Bill turned up to his audition in flip flops. In January. He played three notes, yawned, and asked where the hammock was. Thing is … those three notes were perfect. He makes steel drums sound like Caribbean sunshine on a Tuesday in Croydon. Never been on time for anything, including his own birthday. But when he plays? Absolutely worth the wait. Every single time without fail.
Buster Dust
This fella blew so hard on his first day he set off the car alarm outside. Twice. Buster learned trumpet in a brass band up north and has never let anyone forget it. “We played for the Queen!” Yeah … the Queen of a Working Men’s Club in Rotherham, mate. But fair play … the guy can absolutely blow. And his round-buying game is genuinely top tier. He’s well and truly one of us now. Lovely fella.
Jack Robot
BEEP. BOOP. BZZZT. That’s basically all he said in the interview. Turns out he’s a robot. Which explains the monotone voice and the fact he keeps trying to charge himself from the studio sockets. But stick him in front of a circuit board and he creates sounds from the actual future. He also makes excellent toast. Not sure how. Don’t ask. We don’t. Best not to if we’re being completely honest.
Steve Baguette
Steve walked in smelling of garlic bread and flat out refused to apologise. He plays accordion like he’s serenading a Parisian sunset … odd because he’s from Swindon. Claims he busked the Champs-Elysees. We checked. It was a Toby Carvery car park. But the man can squeeze a tune and the baguettes are outstanding. Can’t argue with any of that.
Lionel Itchy
Don’t shake his hand. Just don’t. Nobody knows what Lionel’s deal is but the man cannot stop scratching. Despite this, he plays the fiddle with the finesse of a concert violinist who’s been drinking. Which is exactly what he is. He turned up, played three Irish jigs back-to-back, then asked if we had any calamine lotion. Naturally, we hired him.
Elton Wrong
He’s not Elton John. He wants you to know that. He’s wearing massive sunglasses and a sequinned jacket, which doesn’t help. Sit him at a piano and … pure magic. Mostly. Occasionally he hits a wrong note but powers through with such confidence nobody notices. Hence the name. Refuses to make the tea but worth it? Absolutely.
Pat Noodle
Named after his favourite snack and his inability to pronounce “Pot.” Pat is our low-end merchant. He showed up with a bass guitar the size of a small child and proceeded to shake the foundations of the building. Literally. We had to replaster. He eats nothing but instant noodles and plays nothing but absolute filth. The bass kind of filth obviously. We love him for it. Brilliant little fella actually.
Percy Filth
Don’t let the name mislead you. Percy is actually quite refined. Well … he drinks tea with his pinky out. That’s about it. Everything else is exactly as filthy as the name suggests. He plays harmonica like a man possessed and tells jokes that would make a docker blush. He’s banned from two pubs and a Harvester. His mum is very disappointed. Bless him. Harmonica work though is second to none.
Vanilla Slice
She walked in, grabbed the mic, and sang a note so pure the studio engineer welled up. Then she asked for a vanilla slice. Then another note. Then another slice. This went on for about an hour. Turns out she can’t perform without cake. We now have an account at Greggs. A small price to pay for that absolutely stunning voice of hers.
Onion Master
Nobody knows why he’s called the Onion Master. He won’t say. We asked once and he just stared until we felt uncomfortable. What we do know is the man produces beats so layered, so deep, so complex … they make you cry. Like an onion. Maybe that’s it? He brings his own lunch. It’s always soup. We’ve stopped asking questions. Best that way.
Freddie Mars
Not from Mercury. Not from Earth either, apparently. Freddie claims he was sent from Mars to deliver the ultimate guitar riff. We’re not sure about the space bit but the riff was absolutely banging. He dresses like a rock god from another planet, plays like his fingers are on fire, and smells faintly of Findus Crispy Pancakes. We just nodded.
Phat Matt
Matt is not phat. Matt is, by his own admission, “a bit lanky.” But the beats he produces are PHAT with a capital PH. He showed up with a drum machine older than most of the other Junkies and proceeded to create rhythms that made everyone in the room start nodding along involuntarily. Fuelled entirely by Vimto and Space Raiders. A man after our own hearts. Proper phat beats from a proper skinny lad.
Fruity Luke
Luke showed up wearing a pineapple shirt and didn’t explain why. He dropped a mix so fruity it made your ears tingle. Tropical beats, juicy bass lines, and the occasional sound effect that we’re pretty sure was a mango. Or a kiwi. Hard to tell with Luke. He’s banned from three fruit markets and one Waitrose. Don’t ask about the watermelon incident. Seriously. We cannot stress that enough.
Warm Alan
Alan is warm. Emotionally. Physically. Literally radiates heat. We don’t understand it either. But when he picks up that cello and draws the bow across the strings … the room melts. Women swoon. Men swoon. Even the cat swoons. He once played a piece so beautiful the postman stopped and just stood there crying. Alan offered him a tea. Classic Alan. Wouldn’t change a thing.
Kurt Burger
Kurt wandered in eating a burger. He was also carrying a guitar, which was reassuring. He sat down, finished the burger, wiped his hands on his jeans, and played us the most soulful acoustic riff we’ve ever heard. We asked where he trained. “YouTube,” he said. Then he ordered another burger. The man is 40% beef and 60% talent. No complaints from us. His guitar work is second to none.
Al Dente
Al turned up late, smelling of bolognese, and immediately asked where the nearest Italian restaurant was. We told him this was a recording studio. He said “Same thing.” Then he picked up a guitar and played something so beautiful we forgot about the bolognese. Almost. He cooks for us every Friday now. The pasta is perfect. The music is better. The man is a national treasure.
Digit Al
Everything Al does is digital. His music, his workflow, his watch, his alarm clock, even his toaster. He walked in with a laptop, three hard drives and a face that said “I haven’t been outside in a week.” Then he played us a track so crisp and clean it sounded like the future. The man lives and breathes ones and zeros. We just nod and let him get on with it. Certified digital genius at work.
David Gotsound
David walked in and said “I got sound.” We said “Yeah, your name gives it away.” But he wasn’t joking. The man is a sonic wizard behind the mixing desk. Everything he touches sounds better. Guitars sparkle. Drums thump. Vocals soar. He once mixed a track so well it made the kettle sound musical. Has not once made the tea himself.
Remi Chickslam
We’re not sure what a chickslam is but Remi invented it. Part beatbox, part hip-hop, part something we’ve never heard before. He walked in, made sounds with his mouth that shouldn’t be possible, and asked for a Tunnock’s Tea Cake. He can recreate an entire orchestra using nothing but his lips. Absolute genius. What a glorious freak.
Fred Bux
Fred turned up with a clarinet and a flat white. Refused to play until the coffee hit “optimum temperature.” Twenty minutes later he blew a note so smooth it made the studio cat purr. Obsessed with coffee, spends a fortune at every hipster cafe in London, plays jazz like he was born in a smoky New Orleans bar. Born in Stevenage. Close enough. Clarinet skills are out of this world.
La Rox
Part singer, part enigma, part reason the electricity bill went up. La Rox performs with so much energy the lights flicker. Nobody knows if La Rox is a first name, a surname, or a lifestyle choice. What we do know is when they open their mouth, studios fall silent and producers reach for the record button. The voice is electric. The ego? Manageable. Just about. But we wouldn’t have it any other way.
Colin Bootsie
Colin turned up in the biggest boots we’ve ever seen. Platform, leather, absolutely ridiculous. But the man can groove. He locked into a tuba riff so deep the floorboards bounced. Claims the boots help him “feel the vibrations.” We think he just likes being tall. Either way, he makes low-end sound like a religious experience. All hail the Bootsie.
Rich Vital
Rich is vital. To the band, to the sound, to the biscuit run. He does everything. Keys, synths, arrangements, making sure there’s always lemon puffs in the kitchen. If the Junkies were a football team, Rich would be the captain, the goalkeeper, AND the one who brings the oranges at half time. Always first to the kettle. Good lad. Never leaves without washing up. We could all learn from Rich.
