‘Back in the early ‘90s, whenever the pirate radio MC announced ‘a pause for the cause’, I usually pressed pause on my cassette recorder. That’s something I would regret years later, when ad breaks had become cherished mementos of the hardcore rave era. Luckily, back in the day I often left the tape running while I went off to do something else. So a fair number of ad breaks got captured accidentally for my later delectation. Not nearly enough, though. So in recent years I started combing through the immense number of pirate radio sets archived on the internet.
‘A few of my original unintended ‘saves’ and latterday ‘finds’ are included in this wonderful collection, focusing on the audio equivalent of the rave flyer: MCs breathlessly hyping a club night or upcoming rave, listing the lineup of deejays and MCs, boasting about hi-tech attractions like lasers and projections, mentioning prices and nearest landmarks to the venue, and occasionally promising ‘clean toilets’ and ‘tight but polite security’. Some of these ads are etched into my brain as lividly as the classic hardcore and jungle tunes of that time. Names of deejays ring out like mythological figures: Shaggy & Breeze, Kieran the Herbalist, Tinrib, Food Junkie…
‘These ads capture the hustling energy of an underground micro-economy; but most of all they are hard hits of pure nostalgic pleasure, amusing and thrilling through their blend of period charm, endearing amateurism, and contagiously manic excitement about rave music’s forward-surge into an unknown future. The best of these ads give me a memory-rush to rival the top tunes and MC routines of the era’ (Simon Reynolds).

A compilation of the deepest and most affecting songs by The Philosophers National from Nigeria, beginning in the 1970s. Lilting, multi-layered, pulsing music, with muted trumpet solos, mesmerising guitar runs, driving percussion, and concise and clear-eyed lyrics sung so beautifully by Celestine Ukwu.
‘Celestine ditched the jaunty dance rhythms and relatively facile lyrics typical of the reigning highlife tunes, and ignoring the soul music tropes most of the highlife bandleaders were appropriating in an effort to inject new life to their ailing format. Instead Celestine concocted a new highlife style that was more contemplative and lumbering; with the layering of Afro-Cuban ostinato basslines and repetitive rhythm patterns that interlocked to create an effect that was hypnotic, virtually transcendental. Meanwhile, Celestine himself sang as he stood coolly onstage in a black turtleneck and a sportscoat, looking like a university professor. The message was clear: this was not necessarily music for dancing—even though the rhythms were compelling enough. This was music for the thinkers’ (Uchenna Ikonne).