New Orleans very own Hot 8 Brass Band take to the streets of Brighton in a parade we organised especially for the Porter Report. I’ve always had a soft spot for brass bands, largely because of an aged uncle who used to play for the local colliery band. It was quite a sad story really; the band he played in got picked to represent the UK in an international competition in New York, so they dry cleaned their blazers and packed up their cases then boarded a long-haul flight to JFK. Unfortunately during the flight my aged Uncle was accosted in the toilets by a pair of over friendly sailors and he couldn’t bring himself to pick up his instrument again. After much careful scrutiny the Doctors diagnosed him with an acute case of Deep Throat Trombonist.

Boom Boom.

The second part of our sidewalk assignation with Toby and Tom, courtesy of Boing Boing TV

Toby and Tom, from Trangressive Records and Rockfeedback respectively, were stumbling around Brighton with hangovers. The last thing they needed was an idiot in a grey suit waving a microphone under their noses!

The second segment of our bus bound chat with Cadence Weapon

Rollie Pemberton III… what a very good lad! Here’s the first installment of our Cadence Weapon interview from The Great Escape, courtesy of our Occidental allies at Boing Boing TV

Hot Fire! Porter Reports from The Great Escape and has a chat with George Pringle.

Here’s the second slice of acoustic performance courtesy of Henry, Oliver and Mr House Of Lords… furthermore known to the world as The Young Knives. Who said the first cut was the deepest?

Another dollop of wallop from this years Great Escape, this time with Barry Hyde from The Futureheads. This episode of The Porter Report would not have been possible without the help of our American pen-pals at Boing Boing TV.

Courtesy of our friends across the pond, here’s the first of two Porter Reports featuring the Young Knives. This episode was originally broadcast on Boing Boing TV.

The three day fun-fest finished days ago, but it’s taken me half a week to get over the shakes; at some point on Sunday I apparently underwent a hand transfusion with an old lady in her 70′s. It’s quite nice, because my pockets now smell of Palma Violets, but it’s been very tricky knocking out anything over four words per minute. I’ve regained much of my constitution today, which is a bloody good job because the weekend starts again tomorrow… it’s probably best that I summarise on the previous posts before I sacrifice more braincells to the noble pursuit of leisure.

Saturday was a long old day. During the afternoon I opened up nice and wide to orally accommodate huge corporate ding a ling. I’m not proud of what I did but a mans gotsta get weighed out every once in a while, and the bubbles helped take the taste away. I swiftly rejoined Captain Truth and Star Tufnell at a nearby watering whole and put the whole sordid affair behind me. Though the sky above us portended towards the dismal we partook in much muckery; in a rare twist the Messer became the Messee and lo, the seed of wrongess was safely sown.

Sorry, did someone order a load of waffle? I digress. In keeping with previous days (and to be fair, every festival, gig or village fete I’ve ever been to) I missed most of the bands I’d half thought about seeing. Probably the best one I missed was Esser, who played in the pub next door to the Porter’s Cabin. I heard it rattling through the two ply and it sounded surprisingly alright, so after getting on with whatever it was that took me back to the third floor catacomb I call home, I ventured next door:

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