However, people born in the UK had to put up with these inbred and entitled toffs from the day they came into this world – they had no choice.

But when I received my British Citizenship in 2006, I did not have to swear any oath of fealty to a god, deity, or stupid fairytale.

What was non-negotiable was swearing undying loyalty to the Queen… and ALL her heirs and successors. Which means I had to pledge allegiance to the brats, “Il Tampolino“, and Andrew.

I literally had to pledge undying fealty to Rapist Pedophile Andrew.

More than seeing Andrew, Trump and all the other Epstein buddies go to prison, what I desire is for Brits to finally realise: The monarchy serves no purpose. All the idiotic arguments that “They’re great for tourism!” drive me insane.

I believe you’ll find, sirs and madams, that Italy and France get plenty of tourists without useless, overrated, racist puppets.

Imagine how much money we could make in revenue for the national treasury if we rented out all the rooms in Buckingham Palace, Windsor, and every other castle to naive, rich, and deluded Americans willing to pay £100,000 a night to stay in one of those fancy pants rooms that they’ve seen on The Crown?

For more on my hatred of the monarchy, you can read this, an op-ed in The Globe & Mail (Canada’s largest newspaper), for which I got more hate-mail than for anything I’ve ever written in my entire life. (Full text here.)

I can’t believe I said an oath of allegiance to Andrew M-W.

I feel horrifically, incomprehensibly filthy…

And not in a good way.

1. Buy tickets to see the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra perform a very special gig nearby in an art deco masterpiece.

2. Dress up for the evening, and like a good girl, brush your teeth diligently.

3. Wind up with a bristle from the toothbrush stuck at the back of your throat. Ow.

4. Attempt to extract the bristle with tweezers. No luck.

5. Bring tweezers to the gig, hoping your friend – an expert model maker who is highly skilled with tools – can extract it. No luck. Tweezers too short.

6. Desperate to avoid a trip to A&E, where you will no doubt have to sit for seventeen hours waiting for help for this very non-lethal inconvenience, message a friend across town who makes fucked up art and no doubt has a huge pair of tweezers that might work.

7. Have friend confirm, yep they have huge tweezers – but they’re too high at that moment for the requisite hand-eye coordination.

8. Travel 90 minutes across town. Obtain tweezers (which are enormous), and call another friend who lives nearby to ask if they wouldn’t mind doing this very strange favour for you. Friend agrees.

9. Walk twenty minutes to this very kind friend, the third destination of the evening.

10. Open wide and say AAAAAAHHHHH…

11. Experience the unique joy of seeing a dear friend triumphantly brandish one single toothbrush bristle in front of your face with a pair of giant tweezers. A joy you never even knew existed.

12. Make it to the tube station in time for the last train, arriving home at a decent hour – spared the misery of four night buses or a very expensive taxi.

So in one evening I enjoyed great music, historic architecture, a pretty darn good transport system, and – above all – brilliant friends who came together to help me avoid a miserable trip to A&E (and gave me the ability to eat and drink comfortably again).

Nice one London: 9/10.

(One mark deducted because the brush shouldn’t have malfunctioned in the first place. Only in England would an attempt at normal dental hygiene wind up in a crisis…)

Well it turns out: There sure used to be.

Back in the 70s the high street was  known as the “music mile” with a string of venues that hosted countless legends from Bob Marley to Dusty Springfield. And apparently no venue hosted more legends than the Gaumont State Cinema (also known as The State), a huge and beautiful art deco theatre which opened its doors in 1937 with a capacity of 4,000 – at time the largest purpose built cinema in Europe.

Sidenote: Remember when we all went to the cinema for the ritual of experiencing films with other people in an enormous room kitted with a great sound system – instead of just whacking Netflix onto the telly in our living rooms in solitude? I miss the past.

Back to The State: The Beatles, David Bowie, Frank Sinatra, Ella Fitzgerald, John Coltrane, Louis Armstrong, Thelonius Monk, Dizzy Gillespie, The Who, Black Sabbath and countless other stars played here. Check this blog post for an impressive and comprehensive list.

Then the usual happened: crowds moved elsewhere, the building fell into disuse, and it became in 1980 – wait for it – a bingo hall. By 2007 even the bingo crowds weren’t interested in the State, and rapacious property developers threatened to devour it before the Ruach City Church took over the theatre, which has hosted zero live music outside religious events for almost twenty years. 

Until this month, when the glorious space reopened for the secular public as a live music venue, starting with a special performance from the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra. I didn’t look up any of the details about the venue or the lineup before going, I just said “OF COURSE” when my friends said the RPO were going to play at a venue down the road and the tickets were cheap (£15 – totally fair).

I normally do my homework… but this time I’m glad I didn’t. It was a joy to be surprised by the spectacular architecture (love me some art deco), and an absolute delight to learn about the venue’s history. I also had no idea that the RPO would be treating us to an evening of music from the legends who played here. When the strings fired up Bowie’s “Life on Mars” my heart sang. And I bawled like a child all throughout “Let It Be” (absolutely my favourite track from the fab four).

What a delight, and what a surprise. Never thought I’d say this but: Kilburn you get 10/10 for this one. 

I was invited to deliver a talk on one of the most hilarious and disturbing chapters in the history of narcotics and mind-altering substances: the use of drugs by the military, both on enemy combatants and their own troops. 

Most of the other speakers were experts in decentralised banking systems or new forms of cyber security – blockchain, crypto and all that. Which I know absolutely nothing about. Plus, I’m a luddite and I break all forms of tech – even watch batteries – and I fully believe biology is superior to technology in almost every way. I felt a bit out of place amongst all the techies and hackers. So I asked the wonderful Michael Parenti why he programmed me: “The Institute of Cryptoanarchy strives to offer its tech attendees a broad, interdisciplinary program of content which challenges them to adjust their cognitive models and world views; Zoe’s expertise at the intersection of science and sociology was the main driver of adding her to this year’s conference. Her engaging and passioned speaking style is based in a desire to challenge people’s assumptions with fact-based research and a portion of dark humour – perfect for our audience.”

Well I hope I delivered – especially on the humour part. I mean, if you don’t find the fact that the CIA authorised a programme for officers to spike each other with LSD at any time whatsoever utterly hilarious, you have no soul. “Surprise acid trips became an occupational hazard,” as Martin A. Lee put it in his fabulous book Acid Dreams. 

Come on: That is comedy gold. 

As is this: 

“As it turns out, nearly every drug that appeared on the black market during the 1960s – marijuana, cocaine, heroin, PCP, amyl nitrate, mushrooms, DMT, barbiturates, laughing gas, speed and others – had been tested in and some cases refined by the CIA.” My quip in response: “Sounds like a good weekend.”

There are many hilarious tales, but this one in particular makes me laugh: how the use of methamphetamine served the Nazis well against the French and British – but poorly against the Russians. And I remember exactly why I was laughing so hard at this moment in my talk. 

It has only recently come to light that the Third Reich heavily relied on methamphetamine, in a pharma grade drug called Pervitin, which they distributed to their troops en masse to enable them to stay awake for days – even weeks. Apparently many could go without sleep for *seventeen days*. Handy in warfare.  Norman Ohler has documented that roughly 40 million doses of meth were distributed to Nazi troops for the Blitzkrieg – while the French gave their own soldiers 3/4 of a bottle of red wine a day. “That is not a fair fight,” I observed. 

What’s quite interesting though is that while meth gave the Germans an advantage on the Western Front, on the Eastern Front against the Soviets it was actually a hindrance. The Russians – true to form – gave their troops a healthy volume of vodka daily. 

“Now, if you’ve ever been on a speed bender, you know that when you do eventually crash… you crash hard. The payback is horrific. But if you’re a Russian just necking vodka every single day, you can keep going for DECADES,” I remarked. 

“So true!” a woman shouted from the back. And we all howled with laughter – nobody more than me. 

Thank you Dark Prague, it was nothing but a joy for this luddite, technophobe and biophile to join you. 

Plus she has provided art for other super forward-thinking musicians including Jamie Perera for his single “Lighthouse“,

and Robot Koch for the album Allow.

I assure you: I’m not the only one who holds her work in high regard.

As Koch put it: “Her unique style shines through on the album art and the singles. The way she uses watercolor to evoke emotion and depth adds a visual layer to the music. The artwork goes beyond being just a cover; it acts as a visual embodiment of the album’s essence.” 

I first met Eileen in 2022 when writing this piece for Neo Life about the musicians who make music for psychedelic therapy. My friend Carl Smith said I absolutely had to meet Eileen, which puzzled me: She made the art for Hopkins’ album, not the music, why do I want to interview her for a piece about music? “Just trust me,” he said. 

And how right he was. She might not have scored the music for that album, but without question she was instrumental to its genesis, having taken Jon on a trip to the deep dark Tayos Caves in Ecuador for an intense bout of sensory deprivation in complete darkness. (You know what? I’m not jealous I wasn’t there!) She might not be a scientist, but she’s a smart cookie (obviously – she has an architecture degree). There’s a reason people in the psychedelic research community respect her so much. Check this podcast to hear her speak for herself.

Her insights are wise – she’s given me hours of free friend-therapy about grief and trauma regarding the untimely death of my irreplaceable mother, who died two days before her 70th birthday, just seven months after her own mother died at 93. Having lost her beloved dad at a terribly young age, just 22, Eileen’s insights were more helpful than anything any professional therapist had said.

The depth of her personality is clear to see in her art. As some people know, I’m not that into visual art – it’s just not my thing. I can stare at a painting for hours and not know if I feel anything. Music is my real passion: I always know within five seconds if I like a track. It’s just the way I’m built.

But once in a while I find an artist who does actually make my heart sing, such as Van Gogh or Matisse. Eileen’s work truly rocks my soul, and it was a privilege to purchase these two paintings, part of her Water Sentience series.

It’s an honour to be her patron as well as her friend. Check her website for more tasty watercolours such as these…

Why is she my hero? Not only did she suffer through a year of treatment for anal cancer – ANAL cancer! – with stoicism and grace, she then threw the most badass bum-themed party when given the all clear, totally OWNING what she’d gone through without a hint of shame or embarrassment.

I give you: Flavia’s Anal Bum Party, a play on the unfortunate #Susanalbumparty Twitter mishap in 2012.

There was an alBUM, in which we were all to donate polaroids of our derriers. “All bums will be welcome here, all saved for posteriority.” (Posteriority – excellent wordplay.)

Friends sported silk sashes that stated FLAVIA’S BUM or WE LIKE FLAVIA’S BUTT.

She herself proudly wore a sash proclaiming QUEEN OF BUMS.

She handed out stickers from the Crab Museum in Margate that declared “I BUMS”.

(Why a crab museum stocks bum-related stickers, I have no idea, but I think it’s wonderful they sent her a load of them for free.)

And best of all, there was a huge bum-shaped chocolate cake (gotta be chocolate), which she lit up with sparkly firework candles as we sang “Happy Bum Day”.

How rock and roll can you get? What a way to own the experience.

If it had been me, with my predilection for perfectionism, I probably would have hid under the covers and never wanted anyone to know. But Flay put up a cool social media post when she was diagnosed, urging everyone to get the HPV vaccine.

Going through cancer treatment at any time is terrifying. In her case, I’m sure it was 1000 times more terrifying, as she’s the mother of a beautiful 11 year old boy. I didn’t realise until last week that she had to do radiation on her arse *five days a week* for a *year*. Christ alive.

Now she’s out the other side, what a genius way to celebrate the success of her treatment.

But of course, I expect nothing less than a hilarious and life-affirming party from this woman: Flavia is one of the biggest personalities I know, a fiery and spectacularly hilarious redhead with an intrepid career in independent theatre, a booming laugh, and boundless charisma. Plus, I’m not afraid to say this, unbridled sex appeal (one of the sexiest mums I know in fact).

Today I went through 18 years of photos to find the best ones of us slutting it up for the camera – we’ve never been able to resist gettin’ all sultry for the lens. Honestly, I had to give up after a few hours. It was almost impossible to find pics of us together where we *weren’t* hamming it up.

She’s always worked in the theatrical arts, with a true love and respect for the “bare boards”. Being a multi-talented minx, you can’t really pin down what she does: she can produce, she can direct, she can act, she can coordinate lights, she can stitch up costumes.

She can do it all. Please enjoy these adorable images of her with the “Young Sweeney” puppet from her wonderful 2012 Sweeney Todd production (a thousand times cooler than the mediocre film), taking it home for some A&E repairs.

Crucially: She’s one of the best photographers I know (which is f’ing saying something), and I’d never hire anyone else to do my head shots.

Only Flay can create the wind tunnel effect with no wind tunnel.

I really ought to pay her three times what I did, because dozens of publications have used her photos, including the Swedish newspaper Dagens Nyheter in full colour with the image printed larger than my actual face.

Recently she shot and edited her first music video. Leave it to Flavia to fucking nail the genre on her first try. Talented bitch.

But one thing I respected the most about her approach to her work, when I first met her in 2007, was that she was bored of dealing with the “creative” side of things, jostling with needy thespy egos, and instead she was was more passionate about the practicalities: Is there disabled access… Do you have enough toilets… Have you really planned for all health and safety needs…

“You can have the creative side of things – I just want the productions to work.”

My heart sang when I heard her say this: So few people in the theatrical arts keep those things in mind, and it’s so easy for sloppy production to ruin great ideas.

I thought so much of her and her portfolio, I hired her to work with me on some of the mental science productions I was creating at music festivals back in 2011.

It is… an absolute miracle she stayed friends with me afterwards, because some of these almost killed us both. And as the only person on the team with a proper theatre background, the burden for competent production fell heavily on her shoulders. Honestly, I sometimes still can’t believe she talks to me even now, 14 years later, after what I put her through.

I don’t have any pics of her suffering acutely in our huge installation at Glastonbury 2011, but here’s a pic of me having a nervous breakdown.

Pointing to her tiny crown, I said “Dang you’re rocking the Paper Bag Princess look!”

But of course she had no idea what I was talking about, as the works of Canadian children’s author (and world class coke head) Robert Munsch never made it over to the UK.

So I’ve sent her a copy of the book as a Bum Day gift.

Going over an online pdf, I realised that I had totally forgotten that one of the last sentences in the book is:

“You are a bum.”

Apt.

Flay, I hope you enjoy. And I encourage you to listen to Munsch reading the book himself. He was a rockstar in Canada, performing his books aloud to thousands of kids in huge venues – a rare feat for a children’s author (I doubt Beatrix Potter would have ever conceived of being so badass).

Indulge me – this interview with my grandfather on Canadian radio from 1980 is adorable. I think I only realised that my father was a big deal in the music industry when he got me front row seats to see Robert Munsch. I also find it hilarious that I didn’t realise until my mid 30s that he was loaded on Columbian marching powder the entire time.

A tale about a kickass girl who tries to save a floppy, useless, spoiled prince from the clutches of a dragon and succeeds by outsmarting the lizard, The Paper Bag Princess is a feminist classic for little Canadian girls. I think Flavia will jive with every word.

In the meantime, I hope she’s still basking in the joy of being emancipated from cancer… and knowing how much all of us adore her.

Carpe diem and carpe nocte Flavia. You’ve got another half century in front of you to kick the world’s ass.

Imagine what he would have thought about 110,000 racist idiots descending on the multicultural capital to complain about immigrants – and not the banks, hedge funds, non doms, tories or tax evading corporations for society’s woes. 

One of the most nauseating points of the day: the speeches. Especially this one.

From the moment he opened his mouth that racist, overrated, overpaid, pasty, bloated, ketamine-addicted piece of crap (Elon Musk, in case you haven’t clicked the link) said nothing but offensive and inaccurate nonsense.

From claiming that “children are being gang raped” by migrants, to suggesting that the left “wants to import people to vote for them”, to the charming threat that “whether you choose violence or not, violence is coming to you”, his little rant was just a check list of  right wing hyperbole. I am sure ChatGPT wrote it for him (probably because he was too ketamised to write anything himself). I particularly love that he can’t see how funny it is for a white South African to bitch about “massive uncontrolled migration”. 

I expected him to say all that crap. But I didn’t expect him to start off by pointing out the text on his statement t-shirt: “What Would Orwell Think?” 

How DARE he invoke the name of Orwell, a brilliant writer who despised fascists, dictators, unprincipled capitalists, heartless colonialists, and garden variety idiots. Elon obviously being all five.

What would Orwell think? 

I don’t want to put words in the man’s mouth, but I think he’d say:

“Shut up Musk. And get my name off your chest. In the 1930s it felt like the end of the world with the Great Depression, the rise of the Third Reich and more. I couldn’t imagine any time in history being more terrifying. But a century later, watching Trump, Farage, Meloni, Putin and other fascists rise unchecked… While late stage capitalism entices people to just obsess over new iPhones while ignoring how climate change and resource consumption daily brings the planet closer to famine and untold misery… And techtwats like you are given astronomic wealth while destroying people’s livelihoods… You know what? I’m happy spinning in my grave – this is preferable to being alive and having to deal with your ridiculous ass. Who knew the 1930s would turn out to be a piece of cake compared to the 2030s.”

Again, I don’t want to put words in his mouth. But I would like to think he’d say something like this.

“Hey Zoe, we’d like to invite you to come and speak at the Boom festival in Portugal in July!”

“Sounds fun… isn’t that an enormous and insane eight day psy trance festival? I’ve heard people rave about it, but I gotta be honest – I don’t dig psy trance…”

Psy trance, for those who are unfamiliar, is a fairly monotonous form of dance music that was just impossible to avoid 20 years ago. For many years, it dominated every cool or illegal party… The fans are lovely, but it’s so not my thing…

The promoters persevered, promising I’d get professional and top treatment – transport from Lisbon and back, boutique camping, food and drink vouchers galore, and they stressed it’s not ONLY psy trance, they have other kinds of music too.  

I accepted, figuring I could handle two nights at an intense, hot, sleepless festival – then head off to Lisbon for a few days alone in the peaceful city.

And… I’m so, so glad I did.

I cannot sing the praises of Boom enough: the production team was impeccably professional. I had zero headaches, they run a tight ship. And I know what I’m talking about, having worked at music festivals in some way shape or form since 2008 (and having been brought to them since I was in diapers at my dad’s events). I have seen more crummy production teams than you’ve had hot dinners – and Boom was exquisitely professional. When I turned up for my own gig, I couldn’t have felt in better hands. 20/10.

Plus I was impressed that the producers wanted me to give the darkest of the talks that I proposed – a survey of sinister military experiments with psychedelics… not easy listening for a high or chilled out crowd. Brave of them to program this. 25/10.

But best of all: the quality of production at the big stages was just off the charts. The levels were just perfect – you could feel the bass and the music at the right volume at any location in the crowd (as opposed to just the few “sweet spots”). Anywhere you stood, you could enjoy the music perfectly – but still talk to your friends without shouting. 30/10.

And I don’t know if I’ve ever seen such well done 3d projections. 40/10.

Great food, cheap beer, sweet location, and – most importantly… SUCH a lovely crowd. So kind, so gentle, so chill. I felt I could have left my laptop or my phone anywhere and they wouldn’t have been stolen or stepped on. Everyone was generous and humane and kind. 50/10.

It wasn’t *PERFECT* – no festival can be, it’s too hectic and too demanding an environment to ever be flawless.

I would have been grateful if the main stages were quiet for more than two hours a day, for a start. They only shut off the music from 6pm to 8pm for a siesta… that’s it. Not easy to cope with when you crawl into your tent at 6am to get some kip, but still have to endure rattling from all the bass for another twelve hours…

Also… the lake. I was thrilled to learn the festival has a lake you can swim in. I do *not* like deserts, I think they are horrid lifeless barren environments, which is one of the main reasons I’m not a huge fan of Burning Man. “This is a place where things go to die – why are we here”, I thought the first time I saw the playa. But a lake next to a dance festival? Sign me up! Alas, I was warned not to swim in the lake after the second day of the festival, as people frequently get violently ill from the water after it’s been polluted with hippy filth and glitter. I should have heeded the warnings… But surely you can see the temptation, it looked so lovely and it was *so* hot…

(It was worth it.)

However, those two things aside… This is an incredible festival, and I’ll definitely return. I’ll just bring a paddling pool to fill up with tap water instead next time…

Overall grade: 60/10, 100% serious.

Check the links below for more, including an incredible installation at Kew Gardens – where you know they don’t mess around with amateurs – and proper video links on my Instagram account.

https://www.instagram.com/p/DNB-4_tI4QQ/

I’ve never been moved in the slightest by the abstract paintings of Rothko, Pollock, or Mondrian. Sorry, all-my-friends-who-went-to-art-school… I just feel nothing. But I’ve always gotten a kick out of experimental music.

Especially when it is made by Augustine Leudar a friend I love dearly and – maybe more importantly – respect very much. Because I know he is a bona fide intellectual with a PhD in a hardass science subject – spatial sound – coupled with epic experiments measuring the electrical signals in plants. He was doing this kind of work many years before the current breed of kids started attaching electrodes to leaves and stems to read the inner lives of plants.

Most of those performances, I’m told, just pick up static electricity and broadcast white noise as a result… but his work is the real deal.

His main website:
https://www.augustineleudar.com/

Kew – Mexico Magico
https://www.kew.org/read-and-watch/mexico-magico

Voces Invisibles por Augustine Leudar (U.K): una instalación sonora
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OV0-Hs4-OLI

And most importantly…

“Action Potential”: Transforming Plant Signals into 3D Soundscapes
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wXXcqq94tRM

Perhaps I’m most impressed that he could manage an intricate performance of his own while promoting and hosting an entire evening of experimental music with 28 artists! Jeez, most promoters just do the prep and sit back to enjoy the show… respect.

All part of the magnificent Undergrowth Sound System mini squat rave at The Post Bar.

For more effusive rants about other artists at the event:

The Engineer
https://www.instagram.com/p/DMMIJ3pI9M-/

Vahakn vs Kafn
https://www.instagram.com/p/DM1s8qAIE3m/

DJ Interbeing
https://www.instagram.com/p/DMvg77nIo8w

Ambient Gaza
https://www.instagram.com/p/DM1mxAyI6ID/

Kafn
https://www.instagram.com/p/DM1o-SoosSS

Vahakn
https://www.instagram.com/p/DM1s8qAIE3m/

I’ve created a radio documentary for the BBC World Service about his creation of the planet’s first blind orchestra…

https://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/w3csww8h

I’ve written about his work fashioning bespoke instruments for disabled people for The Guardian’s G2 art section…

https://www.theguardian.com/music/2016/may/27/and-on-the-mimu-gloves-the-ingenious-devices-helping-disabled-musicians-to-play-again

And together we wrote a feature for the bilingual French-English academic journal Circuit: Musiques Contemporaines about his work…

https://www.erudit.org/en/journals/circuit/2022-v32-n3-circuit07579/1095189ar/

There is not enough space in one social media post to sum up my respect.

… so instead, I’ll just post about how hilarious it was to see all my friends marvel at Harky’s ability to “destroy the dance floor” with filthy, dirty, deliciously reprehensible beats at the The Undergrowth Soundsystem mini squat rave at The Post Bar…

“Wait what? I thought he did amazing ambient soundscapes like How To Be A Whale?”

(If you haven’t listened to How To Be A Whale, please do…)

My friends, adorably and naively, continued:

“Harky guy also does filthy dark dance music?”

Of *course* he does. No true artist is a one hit wonder: they’re always reinventing. Any other way would be boring.

For his full set – if you dare – here it is:

https://hearthis.at/undergrowthsoundsystem/vahakn-at-undergrowth/