[Axiom] • Fail

Screenshot 2014-10-19 18.49.52

the project i started last year, Axiom23. to make one song per day for 23 days straight, no days off.

the idea was to sharpen my production skills and work out a creativity routine, and experiment within certain rules. also to practise the art of finishing. it all started well, but soon people became miffed at how busy i was. my girlfriend was fuming with me as i had disappeared off the face of the earth, and many other people were getting upset by my disregard for reality.

the project was opening me up to new ways of working, new restraints, new directions, new ideas. it was exciting the hell out of me. to be fair a lot of the tracks were a little ropey, but it was getting me into a hardcore routine. i was loving it.

my favourite’s had to be The Promise and Imagination. i failed to reach the 23 tracks.  i was just uploading track 14 when i had that phone call. Flakey. With the news. Our Dr Conker had died. My heart beat out of my chest in shock. The next 2 months were spent dealing with the loss of Conker, and tying up his affairs. Now almost a year later i have decided to return to the project, starting afresh, Axiom23 part II.  I will start on or around the same date as last year, and will blog how its going daily. just need to wrap up a few other things first. (#666remix project, Clusterfuck debut single, and some other shit).

here is last years failed Axiom23 effort:


more news soon.

thanks for listening and spreading the flaps.

let me know what you think. xx


i sometimes look in the mirror and feel like crying. in fact i have cried in the past. this is due to something i call the FAILED NHS OPERATION. 12 years ago i had corrective jaw surgery. i woke from the op looking like a bruised yellow balloon, with bloody dripping plastic pipes bursting out of my massively swollen head. for a few months after, i ate all my dinners liquidized through a straw, as my teeth were clamped together and i had a brace. when the brace finally come off i looked in the mirror, the swelling was less. but instead of the op making me look better, i was an ugly motherfucker. my teeth were all pulled apart wide and looked big and yellow, and my face was chubbier and lopsided. i went home and cried. i moved away from all my friends and went to a new city, feeling like a freak. i tried to make new friends. i was a new person and i was trying to accept this. but i couldn’t. i fucking hated the way i looked.

now, 12 years later, when i look in the mirror i still dont look like me. and it catches me out every time. its like i’m expecting to look like me, and this weird cunt looks back at me! i think the NHS has made a disaster of my face. It looked so much better before, more defined, pointy, less flabby, lopsided and saggy. cunts. 12 years of head fuck. but many of my loved ones say i look the same. or better. am i insane.

but try explaining this to anyone and you just come over like a tosser. “there are more serious problems in the world! you vain bastard.”

simply being unhappy with the way we look, a deep dissatisfaction with oneself, can ruin your life, moment by moment. they say self esteem is everything. so if you don’t have any you’re fucked. a quick google of BDD (Body Dysmorphic Disorder) will throw up many forums and horror stories. people deforming them selves through surgery. extreme self mutilation. depression. extreme seclusion. and even suicide to escape the misery. i believe the problem is ripe, so much so that it is affecting many people we know and love on a daily basis. millions are feeling terrible because of it. is this a new phenomena brought on by media / celebrity ideals, and the distorted importance of how we look coupled with the modern ability to change ourselves with surgery? or does the pain echo through history? a deep psychological illness? i believe Michael Jackson was a sufferer, and i believe many people we know are too. an inability to accept ourselves for what we are, for some reason.

last night, i felt a warm glimmer of liking myself, i saw myself from the outside, as if i were a stranger. an alien. this never happens! and it felt good. i first thought my thighs were ok. thats where it started. i thought of these, i think i liked this about me. i actually liked something about me! If I thought from this likeable area and tried to see me as a human from outside, i could see a nice, vulnerable man. there was nothing wrong with him, he was, from what i could see, just a man. warm, short, smiley, messy, nice thighed man. there was nothing to dislike, or nothing to say he wasn’t ‘right’. jason. nice little man.

i need to be kind to me. this is the start of my success in life. this is how people will start treating me right, as soon i like me. this is the key to everything going right for me for the rest of my life. my relationship with myself is everything. and for 12 years i’ve been completely unhappy with me. i need to build this love. i am stuck with me right up til the day i die. and i don’t plan on dying yet.

we accidentally grow the very thing we are fighting, with the power of inadvertent focus.

change can only sprout from the fertile ground of acceptance.

we are what we are. and we are amazing. it’s time to learn to accept ourselves.

celebrate your wrong bits.


flap cornwall sns

Excellent night was had with Deekline, Skank n Stomp and all the crew, thanks for all who came, especially the mental dancers who proceeded to rip the decor down and scream til i was deaf when the PA blew up…. Top Night…

Enjoy the set, Free Download.

Happy Birthday Conker xxx



A Fog of shame enveloped me as i realised i sounded like a total TWAT.  I had just clicked play online, of an interview of my band, live from Eden Festival in Scotland. The fan base was big, and we were headlining, and just on the tail end of smashing up a Scottish Tour. I was over excited, and doing my nervous / trying to be cool thing, of swearing every other word. Sat at home listening i was horrified. It was embarrassing. I cringed like i’d never cringed before. I painfully listened til the end. I was choked. Does everyone hate their own voice as much as me?

When Doghouse, our front man, spoke he was calm, collected, and came up with quips which were mysterious and left you gagging for more. He also had a knack for telling a story. When Johnny No-Cash spoke, he sounded just like the Drunken posh bloke from the Fast Show. And then the mic was shuvved back into my chops and i blurted out fucking this fucking that, incomplete stories, random shit, no cohesiveness, and talking total codshite that definitely did not connect. I seriously needed to sort this out. Embarrassing.


A few weeks later i joined a Speaker’s Club in Cardiff – probably one of the scariest journeys i have ever been on, I shit you not! I’ve never shaken so much as when i stood up in front of the 26 mainly retired people on the first night. Far more scary than playing on stage to 4000 ravers, i tell thee! I shuffled around behind the lectern and was handed a slip of paper by a random hand from nowhere. Everyone clapped. I unfolded the piece of paper and in pen it was written, “HANDICAP”.

The timer was hit by an old saggy geezer with thick specs who sat to my left and 52 staring eyes blinked in unison and awaited my performance.

I turned purple. I then began to shrink! The crowd’s bodies began to elongate, concaving up and arching over me. All the background noise was somehow sucked out of the room. Everyone was peering down at me, as i quivered behind the lectern. I sweated in the horrible silence for what seemed to be a few life times, and then just shouted out “HANDICAP!!”

I had 3 minutes to freestyle on this word. I dribbled, coughed, and managed about a minute of jumbled up words about a guy in a wheelchair who was being thrown around and upside down in a mosh pit at our recent Glasgow gig. I also managed to swear at the lovely elderly people, and left them blinking in silence. Than i walked off making a funny wheezing sound and then ran out of the room. For some reason they all started to applaud.

TERRIFYING. I went back to speakers club for a few months and managed to tame this raging fear a little, i’m no expert, but i started to learn to love the fear. This was the key to overcoming it. LOVE IT. It started to become a buzz. i was getting off on the FEAR! I’ll tell you more about it soon.


A god friend of mine is teaching out in Cambodia at the moment and some of his students are putting together a website. They asked me a few questions for their site and this is what i said. You may be amazed by the improvement in my interview technique! But i kind of cheated a bit. This one was by email!

Name: Flapsandwich

Music Genre: Techno

What do you try and say with your music?

i like to rip people out of their reality and make them visit a new universe i made. Leave it all behind and come check this out!

What would you say is your biggest challenge as an artist?

Honing the craft of music writing and production. Being heard in a quagmire of millions of music makers. Oh, and trying to pay all the moaning people who need money from me,

If you could sing one song on American idol (or any music competition equivalent) what would it be?

Fluffy Puppy Rainbow Flower

If you were 80 years old what would you want to tell your grandchildren?

I helped millions of people travel to new dimensions, forgetting their thoughts and worries, like a meditation with bass n bleeps. this helped everyone feel better, so most of them never came back.

If you could live anywhere on the planet where would you want to live?

Anywhere is good for me. I like warm places, with forests and lakes.

If you could choose anyone to be your imaginary friend who would you choose and why?

Probably Joe Meek, the finest music producer that ever lived, the inventor of the home studio. Watch his movie Telstar to learn more.

What would you want to say to any of your fans out there?

Be vulnerable, be creative, be happy, but most of all, be trust worthy.

Who is your favorite musician?

Die Antwoord, love their exciting, boundary pushing productions.




Originally posted on Tantrum:


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Get Yer FLaPS aROUND this FrEE w0nky DJ Set



I played a DJ set on Wednesday in 10 Feet Tall in Cardiff for the NO NATO night organised by my flat mate and local celebrity anarchist, Cosmo.
I was supporting amazing acts Mr Vast and the unbelievably talented Clayton Blizzard, who’s CD i bought and love!

I got on the decks about 11pm and smashed out a massive set and managed to clear the place. I ended up rocking the room of exactly NO BODY until midnight, absolutely loving it! As there was no crowd i felt the freedom to experiment. I sneakily recorded it and i have to admit it’s all over the fucking place. I was on one. Dropping Gary Glitter and Thom Yorke in the mix with lots of deep technoey shit and never really settling on a direction. I was in two minds on whether to make it public but i thought FUCK IT.

3d Penguin tries his new stilts


here is the mix, it’s completely FREE! Once you have the music, if you like it, please share! share! share! and spread it as far as you can…. i’m on a mission to build a tribe of flappy ravers so i can eventually go out and play to massive crowds instead of just to a Welsh bemused barman!

Direct download CLICK ME

loads more FREE music HERE





Thanks for your support… enjoy.

Big Fish, Little Pond


You could spend a lifetime looking for a little baby fish in the pacific ocean and it would be pretty unlikely you would ever find him.

However, if Moby Dick was to drop from the sky and land in a puddle in a city 2,000 miles away there’s a good chance, even if you wasn’t around to witness it, that you would hear about it.

Surfing the Waves of Creativity

To see in the new year we have a guest post from a good friend of mine, a prolific dj, artist manager, writer and man of books, Wez G.

I asked him to lay a few words down about the creative process after some great discussions at our weekly meet up.

True to form, it is a hefty rant without a pause for breath, so without further ado, settle down and let me introduce the mad genius of Wez G


Teahupo'o (Tahiti)… pronounced 'cho-pu', ..

Teahupo’o (Tahiti)… pronounced ‘cho-pu’, ..

Flaps and I met 20 odd years ago and have grown up together as DJs and more recently, producers. We often get together for regular chitchats in Cardiff and have worked professionally together at various times in the music industry.
In a recent drinking session, where I like to philosophize, Flappy heard me tell him a tale of New Zealand All Black rugby captain, Richie McCaw. McCaw is a flanker (wing-forward) and is widely regarded as one of the finest rugby players in the world today. He is an All Black legend and has amassed more international caps than any New Zealand player in history. The icing on the cake of his glistening career was lifting the Webb Ellis Rugby World Cup trophy on home soil in the 2011 World Cup. The All Blacks, if you are unfamiliar with the sport, are at the cutting edge of rugby – They are to the oval-shaped ball what Brasil are to its round cousin.  They determine the whole pace of the international game and are always innovating new styles. In effect they set the pace. McCaw, as an individual is one of the most highly talented sportsmen in the world. Why, you ask, is this relevant to an anarchic Welsh Music producer, most widely known for releasing the terror that is ‘Sicknote’ http://sicknote.tv onto the world?

I wanted to make a point to Flappy – that to reach the dizzying heights of ultimate success, there tends to be a formula. Those people who truly attain greatness in their chosen profession, have hidden secrets, that can be applied across the board. What is relevant to leading sportsmen, international political leaders, top businessmen, bestselling authors etc. can also apply to the world of music. Sure, we could find plenty of examples of success in the world of music itself… What makes Madonna tick? How do the Rolling Stones never cease to stop rolling? How does Brian Wilson imbibe from his muse? I wanted to keep it simple for Flappy and as I’d just read Richie McCaw’s cracking autobiography it was fresh in my mind.

Flaps probably hasn’t exercised since he left his caribou herd behind in the deepest Scandinavian Arctic and headed over to Wales in the first place. Although he lives within literal touching distance of one of the greatest rugby venues on the planet (The Millennium Stadium), I doubt he’s ever even laced up some boots and to him a scrum is a fight to get to the bar. The bulk of the autobiography is unsurprisingly dedicated to the game of rugby. McCaw’s early development as a youth player through to a diary-like blow-by-blow account of the successful 2011 RWC campaign. He talks about the sport with passion, an unrivalled playing knowledge, leadership skills and relationships with top coaching professionals, disputes with referees, the highs and lows of injury and recovery. For a rugby aficionado, this is a deep insight into the mind of a true superstar.

Rugby is played by thousands of people across the world. It is a popular game, in particular, here in Wales, where it is the national sport. Most people never become professionals and it is a hobby to them. They might be forced to play it at school and in later years continue it as a weekend hobby alongside their chosen line of work. A few lucky ones break through into the professional ranks. It’s quite a highly paid game these days so a professional can earn a good living. As in any profession, there are different levels. You get your journeymen in rugby as you do in other jobs, there are top club players who excel and inspire fanatical support from local fans, you get your elite players who represent their countries and have the privilege of playing on the global platform in the top competitions. McCaw is a level above these – part of a super-elite and a legend. He talks of the sacrifices he makes in his day to day living. He stresses the importance of jogging to achieve good stamina, the theory work he puts in his diary to motivate him ahead of fixtures, the abstinence of alcohol and a keen-ness on family values. These are part of what makes him who he is.  There was a large chunk of the book, however, which truly amazed me, and I enjoyed reading about this, equally as much as the rugby details. Whenever, an international competition finishes, wherever in the world that may be, from the plains of Pretoria to the lushness of the hallowed Cardiff turf, within 48 hours, Richie McCaw presents himself at his local gliding club, near to the family farm where he grew up on the South Island of New Zealand. His instructors say he is like clockwork. He just strolls in through the door, plonks himself down and asks what the flight plan for the day will be. Gliding is McCaw’s passion. He was lucky enough to have earned good money from his rugby and with some of that he treated himself to a top of the range German glider. It was a bit of a family tradition, free flying across ‘the Land of The Long White Cloud’ (Aotearoa – Maori for New Zealand). This is a hobby for McCaw. He has learnt the basics and just loves getting entirely away from his professional life and floating high above the Southern Alps, challenging mother nature herself as he tracks down thermals to lift him over the peaks and guide him down into isolated airfields dotted around the one of the most scenic areas on earth. It’s a dangerous endeavour and he has needed to gain a certain amount of proficiency to fly alone and has had to learn a new set of skills. He speaks about the gliding with an equal passion as his rugby, perhaps even more so. This is what he lives for. Others may strive to save and go watch Richie play a game of rugger on the weekend… He is waiting to get away from it all and just be himself, away from the chasing pack of media hounds, or autograph-hunting supporters. He hasn’t got his coaches in his ear or the pressures of the captaincy. He is just a simple amateur enjoying the thrills of the sky.

Flappy said, ‘ Well, what’s your point? The boredom sinking in’ – It’s relevant because although the crossover skills gained in each activity may be very minimal, what Richie gains from the gliding assist his professional life no end and may be the difference that has propelled him to the very top of the game.

It’s a switch off, a complete unwind. A sudden change; a total psychological release. You can get bogged down in anything. It may seem obvious if we talk of a shift worker in a factory, doing long hours of tedious repetitive work. However, this tediousness can apply to even the most exciting of jobs. International Rugby may seem glamorous to the outsider looking in, but it is just the same as a 9-5 job to the rugby players themselves. For every 80 minutes of glory on the field, there are endless hours of long haul flights, tough fitness drills in training, sweaty gyms – it’s hard graft. It’s just the same in music. Adoring fans think you have the greatest job on earth and you may be an inspiration to many. They see you hanging around in swanky nightclubs, on grand festival stages, surrounded by people dressed to the nines and enjoying themselves with Dionysian quantities of alcohol and every other form of hedonistic pleasure. It’s what everyone dreams of, surely?

Speak to Flappy, get to know him – he love his audience and his fans and is totally dedicated to them, going out of his way to answer feedback, supply tickets, create merchandise and deliver music and media content so that their adoration continues to grow. Ask Flappy what he thinks of gigging… You’ll see him at the front of the stage, with hjs silly hat on, cramped over his laptop, his arm gyrating in the air and his belly wobbling to the phat basslines he’s pumping out. For the hour or so he’s up on stage, he’s loving all right, but he’s also sweating away, getting dehydrated and he’s probably busting for a pee too. This is his 90 minutes on the pitch. His training has been sat up for 48 hours reprocessing a kick drum on Ableton until it click to perfection. He’s got the discipline of abstinence and in the crowd you’re probably flying out of your mind, but Flappy is teetotal, doesn’t smoke and apart from the odd pasty, has a pretty much health vegan diet (not forgetting the crumpets). The gig is probably the third in three days and he’s probably been bouncing around in the back of a dodgy transit, wrestling Johnny No Cash and Filthy, as the Sicknote tour bus yo-yos up and down the nation’s motorways. A night in Glasgow followed by a detour to Brixton and then bouncing across to some farmer’s field in deepest mid-Wales. If he pays his rent on time, he’s lucky to have a few coins left to fund his mouldy crumpets for the week when he returns home. It’s not all glamour and Flappy tells me that outside of the stage he struggles dealing with the commotion of festivals. All summer long, Sicknote are a mainstay in festivals across Europe. Just picture it though – For you, as a punter, the festival is the highlight of the summer. You have three days of partying with friends, living out of a tent and seeing music acts from across the world that you’ve been itching to see for years. You haven’t got to psych yourself up to deliver that stage performance; you aren’t restricted by the rigours of abstinence. When you’re ears are blasted into oblivion by the high-powered stage monitors, the last thing you want to hear is a constant pounding from 10 different acts all competing to attract the biggest crowd to their arena. Flappy says, as soon as they leave the stage, he just packs his rucksack and heads off. Straight out of the festival and into the nearest wood. He might not be flower-picking, but he likes to just calm down, by himself, give his ears a rest and maybe see a bit of the country. He’s told me that while Doghouse and Dr Conker (bless his soul) might be on a three day bender, he could quite easily be inspecting a museum, or observing the architecture of the local city’s historical quarter. It’s like gliding, I suppose, but my suggestion to Flappy, is that it’s a bit too random and unplanned. Not every festival is situated close to a wood or cultural centre. You need to find something that will regularly give you the hit you need. The magic dose of rest and recuperation; the flip switch of ‘unwind’. You might not be able to afford a posh German glider, but maybe there’s a hobby or interest out there, that you can strive to do, which is totally divorced from music and can allow you the freedom of escaping total stagnation.

An artist is a creative person. You hear lots of nonsense about how creative thinkers are different. Their brain hemispheres work in different ways, they have a natural gift that is from the divine or encoded in their genes. I’d argue that anyone out their leading their field, shares this artistic mindset. Richie McCaw is a brutal rugby player, known for his hard-hitting tackles and unrelenting spirit on the pitch. Surely, he is an artist though too? Musicians slog it out and even some of the finest bands are only there due to a lucky break somewhere along the line. It’s not all about fame either. You meet people who are complete loners, mainly artist, penniless but totally mind-blowing in terms of their skill levels and creativity. They may be complete unknown quantities, waiting for the world to catch up.  William Blake is one of my favorites. He spent his life holed up in dank quarters in SoHo, completely stony broke and died penniless and virtually unknown.  Yet he created an immense volume of he most unbelievably creative literature and engravings that truly turned the world of literature on its head.
Think of the artist / musician as a surfer…. Everyone wants to surf. It’s cool. Many will get their dream and maybe hire a board on holiday and with a morning’s instruction at a surf school you could be tripping over your board and landing headfirst in the sand having walked the plank for a second or two. You can always say you’ve done it and you’ve achieved a life goal. Maybe you take it a bit more seriously and manage to buy a board and get to the beach a few times each summer. You might like to explore the world a bit. If you become good, it’s always nice to try a new wave system and maybe the breaks are bigger in a different country or on the opposite coastline. It becomes a hobby and then a passion. You find yourself hitting the hotspots in Hawaii, Helicoptering out to the breaks in Indonesia or yachting around the South Pacific in search of the ultimate wave. If you’re lucky and any good, you could always end of up the pro tour. It’s just the same as music or rugby though – a lot of slog – hard travel, uncomfortable digs – a high level of fitness requirement and its’ difficult to make money – The techniques for success also apply though. Think of surfing as an analogy.
You’re out on the waves – how do you choose your spot. Do you stick with the masses of other surfers out there – On a decent popular beach with good waves there will be hundreds clamouring about, maybe crashing into each other as they catch a ride. Fights and arguments can break out among surfers very easily – it ain’t as glamorous as it first appears. Maybe you prefer to keep the crowd in sight and just break away to a quieter spot on the periphery? The lifeguard can still see you and you get a good warning of any dangerous currents that could drag you away. I’d like the think that the true surfer will find his own break. His area of preference: his favoured set. Does he like big waves, long straight clean waves, waves that tube? Does he like a minimal battle against the current when swimming out. Tactically a good surfer has these in differences in mind. He doesn’t have to trek the globe to exotic places either. He could surf a single beach his whole life, know it so intimately and live on its doorstep. He might not be winning the pro championship but he could be the most talented surfer alive. When you’re out there on the wave, it’s not all about expending energy. You paddle out and you wait. Not every wave that passes is a good wave. Some surfers may get bogged down in the crowd going in and out of the beach, fighting the crowd at every rise and exhausting themselves. A good surfer will study the tide timetable, know the lie of the land – he’ll have the right equipment for any weather and he’ll know when the big waves are due and where they’ll be landing. He may have to paddle out and spend hours shivering in his wetsuit, watching set after set go by… It’s relaxing though. He has patience and can bide his time. When that big wave emerges on the horizon, he’s relaxed, he’s calm and he’s prepared. He’ll start paddling for it at just the right moment and with his saved energy he’ll use his fundamental surfing skills to catch that wave. It could be the wave of the day, or the wave of a lifetime. And then for a few minutes as he rides that wave in, he has the world at his feet. He can surf away to his heart’s content and the patience will pay as the quality of that wave will allow every trick in his repertoire to flow to full effect and the master of the art in him will emerge. He’ll be in the pure zone of success and his life will feel fulfilled.  Not every surfer gets this opportunity and of course many end up being eaten by sharks.

I guess my point to Flappy is that to develop that patience needed to achieve his own life goals, his own music goals, he needs to create the mindset necessary to endure. Hone your skills, no end, but don’t exhaust yourself. Look outside of the box and find that switch to turn everything completely off and break clean away. Be dedicated without flattening the battery. Your creativity will be more powerful as you expand your mind by not doing music. And it doesn’t matter how long you have to wait for that wave. If everything is in place and you have worked correctly, covering every aspect of your art, then that wave will come. Knowing when it’s due is fortune and requires diligence, but when it does arrive be sure your skills are there so that you can surf it perfectly.

for more from Wez, check his website www.djwezg.com

Conker Tribute Tee


Amazing New T-Shirt to remember the legend, Dr Conker -
Ltd to 100 T-shirts, selling out very fast.
get yours now herehttp://sickmerch.bigcartel.com

also new Breaking Bad style “Chemistry” Tee just in stock, i fucking loves it…