The Awkward Sons of Patrick Stewart
The eschaton. Yawm ad-Din. The end of days.
2012 is supposed to be the start of the good shit, right? We've all seen John Cusack having a ball out-running gaping maws and getting the girl. It looks fucking brilliant! (No mention of how the smarmy cunt survived a post-apocalyptic Africa, though... That's the sequel we're all holding out for.)
The last era of genuine apocalyptic dread was probably the '80s. Fuck the millennium - only computer programmers and total wallys got worked up about that one. The '80s had Reagan, Thatcher and the constant threat of pre-emptive nuclear strikes. And Threads. Obviously. Good times.
It made total sense that dayglow, coke-fuelled singalongs were the soundtrack to just getting on with it. But scratch the surface, and some of the most inventive, forward-thinking music of anyone's lifetime was being made in the miserable safety of bunkers and basements the world over.
Blunt, proto-techno drum programming, post-industrial synth/effects abuse and insanely warped, pitch-black nuclear pop hooks - it was without doubt one of the most amazing periods in electronic music history. Suicide and Throbbing Gristle had a fuck-load to answer for.
So we've gone trawling through the irradiated, paranoid depths of the Awkward vaults (lead-sealed, obviously) to bring you a 60-minute mix of city-flattening, culture-erasing audio fallout. Most of this shit still sounds utterly fucking timeless, and makes a whole load of modern electronic music sound like a whimpering, self-induced almost-gasm.
That said, there's still a few cunts plumbing the fear and keeping it fresh, so we had to throw them in, too. No fucking revivalists, mind.
Time to wind up the old Doomsday Clock...20:00 - 21:00