For some though, the New Year period represented something so indulgent, so forbidden, that it would seem to the mortal simply too good to be true. Three days of flawless electronic music, at what would be the last in the series of shows that has represented the danciest funeral march in club history.  Some, it seems, were lucky enough to see in the New Year at the Warehouse Project.

Three shows over the 30^th/31^st/1^st saw a plethora of musicians descend into the murky car park juxtaposed beneath a shiny, healthy Piccadilly. Foals played a sold out show on the 30^th with ample support from Jackmaster, working their spaced out, euphoric sound into every inch of the arena. Atmospheric rumbles from Spanish Sahara resonated from the VIP booth that’s a bit shit to the inside of each portaloo, which again, are a bit shit.

The 31^st handed the baton to Annie Mac, who provided a set of some electronica she thought would sound cool. Supported admirably by WHP favourites Fake Blood and Jaguar Skills, this New Year’s Eve party boasted proper DJs, whom admittedly did play ‘future bass’ – but there is something beautiful to be said about it when it’s not being played off a CD player or a mobile phone in a garage.

The 1^st was a groundbreaking moment for club music in Manchester, a party lasting from 5pm on the 1^st, ending at 5am on the 2^nd. Warehouse Project stalwart Julio Bashmore and up and coming producer Maya Jane Coles were both on the stellar bill, which included a headline slot from legend Laurent Garnier.

As the clock ticked down to ‘the end’, it was hard not to feel sad. Store Street has strained under the weight of so many great acts that at times it looked liked it could get no better. The place is associated with nothing but fantastic nights and even better music. It is common knowledge that you meet the most interesting people that have ever existed in the smoking area of a Warehouse Project – friends for life. Store Street however, will be resigned to the past this April when WHP will be revealing a new venue to contain its late night Easter-special debauchery, which will no doubt see a slight queue on opening night. Although the project has moved on, the venue will remain. Store Street is dead, long live Store Street.

Jazz has got an image problem. Just reading the word sends people scurrying away in fear. It shouldn’t be this way. I was bitten by the Jazz bug early and I’ve loved it ever since. Hopefully by giving some reasons why I can encourage those more open-minded readers to take the plunge and learn to love Jazz too.

What people always seem unaware of is the sheer variety of musical styles that come under the umbrella of Jazz. It’s a musical style straddling more than 100 years so it’s quite a large umbrella with something for everyone. Robert Glasper is a pianist and producer whose hip-hop infused Jazz has seen him collaborate with everyone from J Dilla to Jay-Z. Glasper gigs often turn into impromptu jam sessions with the likes of Mos Def and Kanye-West. He even plays Radiohead and Nirvana. Not the realm of the cocktail pianist I’m sure you’ll agree.

For the fans of the more aggressive genre, I offer up Pharoah Sanders. As well as having one of the coolest names you’re ever likely to hear, this saxophonist coaxes screams from his instrument that wouldn’t sound out of place in the most depraved of horror films. In ‘Olé’ from the album Heart Is A Melody, ‘The Pharoah’ builds his improvisation to an emotional intensity and then, with nowhere else to go, takes the saxophone out of his mouth and bellows into the audience. Why? That’s for the listener to decide.

Jazz is an anything goes genre. Quite literally anything can happen and that’s the excitement. This isn’t a music where the band turn up and crank out their hits. This is a music that dares to be different, every single night. Give it a try.

Robert Glasper – Downtime

Pharoah Sanders – You Got To Have Freedom

Fast-forward twenty years and it’s a very different world. Last Friday saw the release of The Chemical Brothers’ debut film Don’t Think. Taken from a concert with what’s considered to be one of the band’s most receptive audiences, the Fuji Rock Festival in Japan, the 85-minute theatrical roller coaster documents the true experience of the band’s live performance. Brought to us in high definition and Dolby 7.1 Surround Sound (I realise that doesn’t really mean very much to almost all of us, apart from the fact that it’s fucking loud), the truly terrifying nature of the band’s notorious clown insignia is brought to a harrowing reality, that even the most sinister of horror films would find it hard to convey.

Yes, this production may just be seen as a self-indulgent, glorified gig. Nevertheless, whilst other Mancunian acts from their time are dredging through the past to gain one final payout off the back of a comeback tour, The Chemical Brothers are still pioneers within their field. Long gone are the days of one slick-hipped young gentleman being the accompaniment to dance music; the industry is moving at a rapid rate and on this evidence, it’s only going to get better.

Full trailer for Don’t Think

The encounter between Yeater and Bieber is said to have happened eleven months ago backstage at one of Biebers gigs, or mass stupidity rallies as I like to think of them. The alleged ‘thirty second liason’ is said to have taken place in a toilet, which if true makes four month old Tristyn the worst thing ever produced in a toilet. Not only that, but by US law it would make Mariah Yeater a statutory rapist. Obviously Bieber denies that this ever happened, but then again he claims to have talent and a soul. It’s hard to know who is telling the truth here as both fall into a category of relentlessly untrustworthy people. Mariah Yeater is a fan of Justin Bieber (or a Belieber) and Justin Bieber is Justin Bieber. That may very well be settled by the time you read this, with paternity tests being rolled out as we speak, but what won’t be over is the sheer tenacity of the venomous hatred being levelled at Yeater by other Beliebers.

In a severely worrying and malicious turn of events, Beliebers have taken to the web and focussed every ounce of their being into hounding Yeater. Anti-Yeater Facebook groups are popping up at a steady rate, Twitter has gone berserk and they’re even directly threatening her on her own Facebook. Now, she may very well be making the whole thing up to get attention and even if she isn’t, she’s using her own child as a gateway into the public eye so either way, she does seem pretty vacuous, but there’s something more than a little depressing to me about the masses reaction. Now, I know the majority of the hate is coming from girls who’ve barely hit puberty and as such still have a lot to learn about the world, but where the hell did they learn that it was OK to relentlessly bully and threaten death on somebody just because of their own unreciprocated love for an empty shell of a man.

Remember back to earlier in the year when Rebecca Black released ‘Friday’. She faced an onslaught from half the world for what amounts to taking advantage of a chance to be a star. Now as ill-judged as that was, she didn’t deserve the torrent of abuse she received. There was one group of people however who stood by her and they were the Beliebers. At the time they seemed to be the only ones acting with any degree of perspective and rationality, openly telling the world to grow up, which coming from a twelve year old is a cracking insult. But given hindsight, it all seems a little hollow. The truth is, nobody comes out of this situation looking anything but terrible, especially you and me. I mean look at us; we’re giving this shit the time of day.