So it’s Thursday, the weekend is about to rear her enlarged derrière and I’ve scrambled a few words and images to honour the faustian pact made with the editor of this esteemed digital magazine/ blog (whats the difference between a blog and magazine- will we ever know)

After hours of debate and emojicons, the agreed format for this “column” is to document one/ two new artists, to introduce an older band that you health conscious, clean eating/breathing millennia’s should know about and a gig that you can wear your expensive wellies too and take your favourite drugs too. I in fact only need oxygen to get loaded, which means I am high on life 24/7 thanks to the milk of human kindness (that’s a reference to the sublime debut album by Caribou) and not my sumptuous turn of phrase.

Right new artist section. PumaRosa. If they are good enough for the esteemed booker on Jools, they are good enough for you guys right?

Pumarosa seem to be on the right side of pastiche. Pastiche seems like an exotic pastry available in Gails, but is actually the rational of most new guitar bands who arrive one day so drenched in grunge and what the 90’s symbolised and sounded like that you’d happily flush there head down one of the broken toilet in the Hacienda or blind them with a drum stick as you chant, why didn’t you listen to Ocean Colour Scene on repeat and not the Stone Fucking Roses.

Yet PumaRosa do not deserve this level of GBH. Whilst we are all a sum of our influences when it comes to our creative regurgitation, I like the spew coming out of Pumarosa. Driven by the stark vocals of Isabel and enhanced by the carefully crafted bass and atmospheric guitar sounds by the rest of the gang. Pumarosa make me smile as they seem to mark a legitimate return to quality, considered guitar music which is looking further forward then ambling backwards to guitar music’s checkered past.

Older band section: Suicide should be avoided at all costs, but the band Suicide should be sought out at all costs. Suicide and Alan Vega might never have heard seeped there way into your eardrums  but it’s likely that those bands you hold in the highest esteem, LCD Soundsystem. The Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Soulwax, Peaches, and anyone slightly vocally and electronic orientated consumed the records of Suicide with a voracious appetite akin to a hungry wolf in winter.

Arguable the godfathers of Post-punk, a genre that needed to be significant different sonically from the squat-rot of The Sex Pistols instigated into the fabric of culture under the calculating glare of Malcolm McLaren, who purloined the ethos of Crass and made it purchasable for the highest fee. This Post-punk offering was unique  thanks to the marked lyricism of Alan Vega married with the electronic wizardry of Martin Rev, who saw the american dream for what is was before Noam Chomsky told us what we already knew repeatedly. I’ve always enjoyed the emotional and tonal duality of Suicide, (the band not self-euthanasia), If we take “dream baby dream” it can easily be referring to Heaven or Hell, joy or despair. Just take Adam Smith’s use of it recently in Hypernormalization when he looks into the difference in the representation of disaster in films pre/ post 9/11 and then look at there music video of the track from the 70’s  Other of Suicide’s finest moments can be seen below

Another year, another Field day. Consistent as ever with a stellar line-up few festival destinations can match, highlights this year are Run The Jewels, Apex Twin & Death Grips. Expect lots of people who look quite similar worrying about the amount of sniffer dogs in Victoria Park, the possibility of rain and if anything will actually be audible more then 5ft away (thanks Hackney Council) Tickets are still available here . This article has been updated to bring you the conscious blowing set from Aphex Twin from Field Day. So until the next music column surfaces like a nazi war criminal in South America check out this writers youtube channel where interesting people are interrogated