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About Trexx and Flipside

This is Trexx and Flipside - going worldwide, bangin' our beats on the Web.

We are going to be big. We´re gonna be so big you´re gonna need a 42" plasma screen just to see our loose change. Hear that sound? The one that´s pounding your speakers and shakin´ your brain like a rap stallion charging through the hip hop hills on the way to Beat City? That, my people is the sound of Trexxie boy T and the Flipmeister. Trexx-man and the Flipster. T-Rexxosaurus and Flip-hop-don´t-stop-king-of-the-Flips. Trexx and Flipside.

We´ve been bro´s since we were in nappies - and that ain´t because we were incontinent or nothing, it´s because we were babies. We chilled at the same nursery, relaxed at the same school, and chillaxed during the same exams. Along the way we created the most happeningest sound around. But we are not the same guy. No way. We´re as individual as two completely different people - and to prove it you can click here to get up on Trexx and here to become One with the Flipster.

Flipside's Agony Express

Yo! What's good, fans o' the Flip?

This week we've had our emotions put through the ringer, and I thought what with all the whack things that have happened to us over the last few weeks, I might be able to put our experience to good use, helping you with whack things that are happening to you. So prepare yourselves for the sickest thing in Agony Aunts since Trisha drank Mexican tap water on a rollercoaster during a bout of gastric flu. It's...

Flipside's Agony Express

Dear Flipside,
I'm worried my girlfriend doesn't understand me. I work hard as a violent rapper and it's my birthday coming up, but whenever I lay subtle hints that I REALLY WANT 18” SPINDERELLA RIMS for my big present, she only looks a little bit like she's going to get them. Please help me, or I'll get my bodyguard to kill you.
Concerned, Penthouse

Dear Concerned, this is a common situation, violent rappers are always threatening to kill me and it nearly always ends in failure and humiliation.  Instead of threatening to kill me, why not leave the music industry and move to the other side of the world? Just before you leave, find two upcoming stars who are more deserving of your success, then give them all your money and fame. This is the only way to true happiness. Alternatively, your girlfriend can get Spinderella rims from “Clinton's Unda Da Rims” c/o Dr Chicken.

Dear Flipside,
I am a young fatherless schoolboy who is caught up in a life of petty wheel-accessory crime, but an inspirational hip hop double act has started to play at our school. I've become mates with one of them and he's told me to give up the crimes. The problem is that my crime boss overlord urgently wants me to steal a set of 18” Spinderellas. What should I do? I wish you were my dad.
Confused, St Salive

Okay. Let's get one thing clear – I ain't ready to be no-one's dad just now. I even have issues being an agony aunt, and that's just a figure of speech. However, the important thing to remember is that inspirational hip hop double acts are always right and you should do whatever they say. And buy their records. And tell all your friends. And take over a record label so you can sign them.

Dear Flipside,
I am an attractive blonde school teacher but I just can't seem to find a man to father children in my womb. Sorry. I mean “a boyfriend”. No strings – just a boyfriend. My latest baby-daddy – I mean inseminator – sorry, “boyfriend” - seems like he might be scared by my constant demands for sex. The thing is, I can't really hear what he says because of the loud ticking of my body clock. I think I might be coming between him and his hip hop co-star. Do you think I am? Should that bother me? Can you hear that noise? TICK TOCK TICK TOCK... What is that? I'm not desperate. I just want to gestate something in my belly. I mean, “have fun and friendship with no commitment”. Help me.
Desperate, St Salive

Dear Miss Olsen, you are definitely coming between your boyfriend and his ultra talented hip hop co-star – but don't despair, there are many ways to work through this problem. The first thing you should do is butt-out. If that doesn't work, you could try slinging your hook, or taking a hike. Failing that, there are many self-help books on the market with clear instructions on how to get bent. In extreme circumstances, why not try dating my manager? You probably deserve each other.

Dear Flipside,
I run an unlikely wheel-rim-based crime syndicate from a chicken diner. Unfortunately an internet hip hop agony aunt has advised my best rim thief to give up his life of crime, and now a violent rapper's girlfriend is going to kill me because I can't get the 18” Spinderellas she ordered. Please help me. This is all your fault.
Worried, Dr Chicken

No time to answer that one... What else have we got...?

Dear Flipside,
There's an insane school teacher in my office demanding my genetic material. She says you sent her. No problem. Just wanted to say thanks.
Excited, Wu-Hah

Sweet. It looks like everything's worked out just fine. See ya next time!

Dear Flipside,
Seriously you gotta help me out with these rims. Flip...? Flipside...? They're coming. I can hear them outside the diner... Flipside...? Flipside! Help me... No! Not the face! Aaaargh!
Worried, Dr Chicken

DJ Resplendent in da place!

DJ RESPLENDENT! DJ RESPLENDENT! DJ RESPLENDENT! DJ RESPLENDENT! DJ RESPLENDENT! DJ RESPLENDENT! DJ RESPLENDENT! DJ RESPLENDENT!

This is Trexx here, totally geeked up on my own excitement. Flip's towelling my jowls, my boots in the deep freeze, but I still can't calm down. You want to know why? Cos I've just met DJ RESPLENDENT!

DJ RESPLENDENT! DJ RESPLENDENT! DJ RESPLENDENT! DJ RESPLENDENT! DJ RESPLENDENT! DJ RESPLENDENT! DJ RESPLENDENT! DJ RESPLENDENT!

Seriously though:

D.J. RESPLENDENT!

I met the actual, real, best, sweary-est, 1990s legend-est, most highly be-tracksuited-est, gone-totally-insane-est, King ov Da Rhyme himself; DJ Resplendent.

I'm gonna say it one more time just in case you missed it or I didn't believe myself – I MET DJ RESPLENDENT !

*No. It's no good. I don't believe me. I can't have met THE DJ RESPLENDENT. I gotta be lying.
**But I ain't lying. I met da Man – cos Ollie got him to agree to produce our next single.
*Well if I ain't lying then where's this single?
**Well that's a bit complicated and I don't want to talk about it to myself right now.

Now, I know you all know everything there is to know about DJ Resplendent (I mentioned I met him, right?), but let me just refresh your memories about some of his many achievements:

Released a record so offensive that EVERY SINGLE WORD had to be bleeped out
Bought a major New York hotel just to house his collection of tracksuits
Used the Eiffel Tower as a speaker stack
Used Belgium as a sub woofer
Wore a fur coat that was so huge and fluffy his crew got lost in it for two weeks
Made the best and rarest piece of hip hop vinyl that the world has hardly never seen – the legendary “King of Da Rhyme” - then recalled every single copy on the day of its release and ate them with his bare teeth.

There's no doubt about it – DJ Resplendent is SICK! And when I say sick I mean that he has serious mental health issues, caused by an improbable mental breakdown which led to him living on a roundabout on the A653.

So what's the first thing I do when I go over to my manager's office to impress my ultimate, all time, dangerously unbalanced hero?

Well the first thing I did was shout his name a lot and rush at him unexpectedly, waving my copy of King of Da Rhyme: the record which triggered his total mental collapse. That was bound to go down well.
Then, I lost King of Da Rhyme due to confusion wiv a welly and had to spend most of the rest of the day trying to get it back off a well angry vicar in a charity shop. Again, textbook hero-impressing technique.
Finally, and most importantly, we played him a brand new track featuring his own, ultra-rare, King of Da Rhyme. A record he hadn't heard since it drove him insane and caused him to eat every other copy with his bare teeth. This last part really impressed him. It impressed him so much that he ransacked Mr Brill's office, jacked my record, ate it, and then jumped out of the window shouting that he was Mick Hucknall.

And people say you should never meet your heroes...

On Da Carpet

This here is Flipside takin' you ringside, givin' you the upside and the downside of getting left at the wayside on our way to the B.R.A.s, where we made faux pas with the paps and the cars. So don't have a kip, just listen to Flip and I'll tell you how B*Ice ended up in a skip...

Yeah, you heard right - me and my bro got invited to the British Rap Awards this week. Now, a few immature people out there have been titterin' about the fact that this prestigious night in the music calendar abbreviates to spell out a honey's set of boobie hammocks. That just ain't frosty – the B.R.A.s are just as important as the Awards for Rap Success in Entertainment; and no-one ever laughs at them.

So how do the UK's most upcomingest hip hop megastars prepare to brave the scrum of the world's gutter press, and then fight our way into it? How do we deal with the incessant barrage of intrusive flash photography, and hang around in front of it for as long as we can? Find out in...

Flipside's Guide to the Red Carpet:

1. The most import thing to remember when faced with a red carpet is that although it's a carpet and can stain easily, you don't have to take your shoes off and tip-toe over it in your socks like you might have to at some uptight auntie's house. But also, don't wipe your feet on it neither. It ain't a mat.
2. When preparing for a red carpet event it's important to remember that although the eyes of the world may be on you, it's what's on the inside that counts. And what's on the inside is your brain – a brain which better be tellin' you to dress up and look well pimped, because it's what's on the outside that counts.
3. When selecting a couple of honeys to accompany you to the awards show, don't reject your manager's assistant's cousins out of hand just because they look like a couple of mingers in the photo she shows you. It may be that you are lookin' at an old photo and they have somehow become hot cos of all feminine things happenin' to their bodies an' that. Make sure you demand an up-to-date photo, then reject them out-of-hand if they are still mingers.
4. If you are plannin' on hiring a limo for the event, make absolutely sure that you're not sharin' it wiv a right load of pissed-up slappers on a hen night. These women will most likely steal your threads and your invites and dump you on a street which looks suspiciously like it's in Manchester. On the other hand, don't share a limo wiv B-Ice dressed up in tramp's clothes neither. He will probably recognise you and throw you out as well. In fact the whole limo business is probably best steered well clear of.
5. If you do find yourself stripped off in the street and thrown out of successive limos, the best thing to do is find a well juiced tramp who just happens to be dressed in hip hop finery. This boy will be only too happy to give you all his gear; including VIP tickets, and B-Ice's phone. Then, having got back all the stuff you need for your biggest night of the year, have a moment of soul searchin' where you realise how shallow you've been. The most important thing in life is people, and friendship; not honeys, awards, VIPs, limos, photographers and celebrities.
6. Give your tickets, phones, and honeys away to your friends. Walk away into the night feelin' sweet.
7. Really, seriously regret doing (6.) later that night when you wake up screaming and covered in sweat.
8. If you are B-Ice, make sure you delude yourself that wearing tramp's clothes will make you look street. Then forget to take your tickets and phone out of your clothes when you swap them wiv the tramp. When you arrive at the awards, get thrown into a massive wheelie bin by a burly security man who doesn't recognise you.

And that concludes my guide to the red carpet at the B.R.A.s. Join me next week when I'll be tellin' you how to avoid bein' electrocuted by ninjas on the way to the MOBOs...

Beatin the Reaper

Dearly belovedest – we are gathered here today to pay maximum respect to Trexx and Flipside; two brave bruvs who gave their lives so that we might hear about them on the news and buy their records.

Well, I have good news for you all! Trexx and Flipside have survived their own deaths, just like R. Kelly's career has survived all the videotapes and allegations and that. So clear your mind, open your mouth, finish your cake, and prepare to receive our teachings. For I say unto you; I am Trexx, and I have died – and I return unto you with joyful news accompanied by a heavy beat. Behold! I bring you:

Trexx's Blog of the Dead

Yes, it's true – this week me and Flipside were well dead on account of a massive explosion and a flip-chart presentation about post-death record sales. But what is the experience of death like? Is there an afterlife? And does any form of DJing equipment exist beyond the veils of this mortal coil? Read on and discover the many wisdoms I bring back to you from beyond the grave...

What is it like to die?

When you die, the first thing you will feel is a hot, searing sensation on your back, as if the car you are running away from has been blown up by a rival's inept bodyguard. You will then find yourself carried, up, up, up in a lift to the offices of your management company where you will cower behind the sofa, covered in soot, and smoking eerily. After a time of reflection and confused sobbing, an apparition of your agent will appear unto you, pointing to a graph with pictures of dead famous people on it and suggesting that you lay low for a while while he organises a holy “tribute gig” in your honour.

What happens in the Afterlife?

Many people who have returned from near-death experiences report a “white light” filled with joy and wonder, and I can confirm that I too experienced such a thing. However, the white light is but a part of a larger whole. If you move away from the light it becomes clear that you have your head inside a sort of cosmic fridge, filled with spooky snacks, ghostly beers, and a couple of old cucumbers which are going off somewhere at the back.

Unfortunately, filled as it may be with supernatural stuff to eat, the afterlife is pretty boring and looks just like your own place, except you aren't allowed to go out in case someone sees you. It's a sort of “crib-purgatory” and I recommend that you call a friend over to entertain you with some kind of zany contraption and couple of ping pong balls. This will prepare you for the final and most baffling aspect of the death experience, where you have to dress up as a woman and become mixed up in hilarious hip hop tribute shenanigans at your local chicken diner.

Will I be reborn?

Before any soul can return to life, it must first be “purged” of Earthy karma. For this reason you will find yourself being forced to watch a sickening live performance of B Ice's new single at your own tribute gig, after which you will be publicly humiliated in front of a death-obsessed record label boss. It is only after being pelted by vol-au-vents from the complimentary tribute gig buffet that your soul will be clean enough to return to Earth.

What will I be reborn as?

Theoretically, you could be reborn as anything, such as fish, underpants, or self-assembly furniture. Me and Flip were lucky because we were reincarnated as ourselves – not as babies, but as adults just a few hours older than we were when we were killed. In fact, someone cursed with a sceptical mind might be forgiven for thinking that we hadn't died at all, but in fact faked our deaths and hidden in our crib for a day or so. Such people are ignorant fools and will be punished from on-high; faking your own death is probably a very serious crime, and anyone who launches an official investigation into it might find that they bring the wrath of the Lord down upon their very heads. My advice is to simply stay out of what you don't understand, Officer.

Is there DJing equipment in the afterlife?

Yes. I myself saw turntables, mixing decks, slipmats, jack plugs, phono leads, and a wide selection of carts. However, the quality and availability of equipment may vary depending on the life you have led before death. My advise is to inspect your equipment carefully by lifting the platter of your turntable upon arrival in the underworld. If you are in Hell a shudder will run down your spine as you realise your decks are... BELT-DRIVE!!!

Aaaaaaaaaeeeeeeeeiiiiiiiiii!!!! (That's you doing a chilling scream)

 

Kids and TeeVee Don't Mix

Welcome, disciples, to the church of Trexxster and the Flip-man. Today I'm going to hand down my teachings in relation to media appearances, and how to handle all those girl's eyein' you up on the boo tube. That's right, it's:

Flipside's Guide to Being on the Telly

Ollie sorted us out a slot on the telly! Trexxie-boy and the Flipster - hip hop's happeningest, live at 5 on Big Up TV. The whole world was tuning in!* This sort of situation is filled with pitfalls for the ill-prepared rapper, so what are the three basic rules for handling yourself under the intense glare of a low-budget local digital TV broadcast?

1. Do turn up. It will be harder for the TV people to film you if you aren't actually present in the room with all the cameras in.

2. Don't not be there. Once again, I can't stress enough how important it is to actually be in front of the cameras when you are being filmed.

3. Do remember not to fail to stop yourself doing something other than being in the place you need to be in order to be on the telly. TV people are extremely pernickety about using their cameras to capture images of people who are standing in front of them, and who are not elsewhere in the world.

So, with those basic rules foremost in our minds, it was all startin' to look like we were gonna to be famous fo' shizz – and I was getting ready to organise a flunky to write this blog so I could set time aside to hang with Snoop, Jay-Z, and the Cheeky Girls.

Even the fact that we were on the verge of superstardom was starting to have an effect on the ladies – it was like they could sense the hangers-on and the paparazzi and the shocking tabloid exposés even without there actually being any. I could feel the hand of history on my shoulder – and the hands of hotties on my backpack. Oh yeah.

So, with the very important rules of television still uppermost in our thoughts, Trexx and myself decided that now would be an opportune moment to take two beautiful hotties back to our crib to sample the liquid delights of our hot-tub.

Only problem was, I'd also been bounced into lookin' after Ollie's little sister Alesha for the day. In some ways that was good, cos it meant that Ollie got to see the caring, nurturing side of the Flipster – and also I get to see it too, cos to be honest I've never seen that sucker myself. On the downside, the kid's a little bit spooky; she never speaks for one thing. And she's got a list of things she can't eat that's as long as Trexx's list of things that he can eat (and believe me – that's a long list).

So, what? Me and my bro must be famous now, right? We must have had a sweet sweet time in the hot tub with the hotties; and Ollie must have fallen well in love with my caring side after nothing went wrong with looking after Alesha. Right? That's what must've happened?

Right?

Yeah, here's a list for you, using bullet points and everything like I'm some kind of crazy office worker:

* Flat – destroyed

* Ollie – angry and disappointed

* Hotties – psychologically damaged

* TV appearance – Clinton doing ABBA

* Alesha – rabid

* Rules of Television - flouted

Of course, when you're the premier clients of an agency like Wu-Hah Management, a TV appearance is just one of the many public appearances which can go disastrously wrong in a week. So we also got to dress up as a spanner and a wrench to promote Mr U-Bend in a toilet showroom. I'm hoping that this is the last of this sort of gig – because if there's one place our career ain't heading it's down the toilet. We're going in completely the opposite direction – we're explodin' out of the toilet. A gold-plated, diamond studded, hip hop toilet. In a limo.

*(Big Up TV is a digital TV channel. You may need to retune your set-top box to receive Big Up TV. If that doesn't work, you may need to reboot the box, add an additional aerial, throw away your set top box, and buy a more expensive box. You may also need to spend hours looking at a complex series of transmitter tables on the internet, climb up onto your roof - in the rain if possible - and manually point both aerials at the part of the horizon where you think the transmitter might be, using your soaking wet body to conduct the signal. Big Up TV is not available in all regions).

What happened to us Blog!

What's good, people? You're reading the typing of Flipside, which puts you on the receiving end of the biggest blog on the block.

So, what's it like to be a couple of well juicy megastars, gorilla pimpin' our way to the top of the hip hop tree? Well, some days it's all paparazzi intrusion, high maintenance women, and vendettas. But those things ain't necessarily as good as they're cracked up to be...

Let's chat about this week for example. First mistake we made was going to see our manager, Mr Brilliance...

Things That Happen When You Listen to Mr Brilliance:

* Bad things

* Things which seem to be Good Things but turn out to be Bad Things

* Bad Things which seem to be Really Bad Things but turn out to be Much Worse Things

The important thing to remember is never listen to Brilliance. Except if you don't listen to him, you don't know what he's planning, and if you don't know what he's planning you might not survive his next promotional strategy. So the important thing to remember is DO listen to Brilliance. Being Hip hop's most happenningist unknown superstars is a confusing business.

So we make the mistake of listening to Brilliance, rather than the mistake of not listening to him - and Brilliance decides to hook me up with a celebrity babe so I can get papped and end up dead famous (with the emphasis on FAMOUS). And he gets Trexx into a war with our arch nemesis B-Ice so he can end up dead (with the emphasis on DEAD).

Now, as an international rap sensation-in-waiting I've met some pretty mean people - dubious, unpleasant persons who's sole purpose in life is to cause others pain - but until I met Amber I ain't never been forced to date any of them. What's worse is that this was a pretend date. What's the difference between a real date and a pretend date, I hear you ask? Well, not much:

*Your woman doesn't pretend to be annoyed when you're late. She really is annoyed when you're late.

*You don't pretend to buy her food and drinks and that. You actually buy her real stuff with real lizzies.

*She doesn't pretend to talk about stuff you're not interested in. She really does talk about stuff, and you literally aren't interested in it.

*Her boyfriend doesn't pretend to hit you with his fists when he finds out about your pretend date. He actually hits you with his real fists in your genuine face.

As far as I can tell, the only pretend thing about a pretend date is that you pretend to like each other. And I've been on plenty of real dates where that's been going down too. So - I get threatened by Amber's boyfriend, Trexx has to go toe-to-toe with B-Ice in the arena of the public khazis, and to add insult to injury Amber falls in love with Trexx and moves into the crib. And just when you think things are hella bad, it turns out that when women move in they bring all bras, old pants, tweezers, pads, shoes and weird hair equipment with them. And the bottles... women need to have loads of bottles of stuff that no-one even knows what it is. Things got so bad, me and my bro had to do a comedy rap and video about it all.

On the plus side, Mr Brilliance got caught up in it pretty bad too - so that just goes to show that he shouldn't listen to himself either...

 

 

Playin' Live Amongst the Pies

This is the voice of the Flipmeister, blagging the blurb on the blog - I KNOW that you can hear me Earth people...

What can I tell you about my boy Trexx and me right at this moment? We just played the illest set the world has eeeva seen. And when I say ill, I mean sick. And when I say sick I don't mean good - I mean actual sick, my worldly wise webbers. Our manager, Mr Brilliance got us this gig at a pie factory. Like meat pies and all that. I tell you now - that smell don't come off easy no matter how much you wash. My spandex plus fours are still sticky wiv it.

I don't even know where these promo gigs are supposed to get us anyhow. Brilliance just keeps rappin' that it's all part of the plan:

"You'll see boys; today a pie factory, tomorrow - a bigger pie factory".

I just hope it's fruit pies, is all. Still, Trexx didn't have no problems with the arrangements - there was free pastry offcuts and all the gravy you can drink. That boy can put away a lot of gravy...

B*Ice Ain't Nice

I'd like you to consider the photo of "international rap sensation" B*Ice for a moment: You can catch it at http://www.bbc.co.uk/trexxandflipside/characters/b-ice.shtml - go see it, then come back.

Making you feel queezy and uneasy, right? Yeah cos that's how B*Ice makes everyone feel, specially when he's on the mic. And we know more than most, cos we went to school with the bullyin, dinner money-stealin, no-talent, major-label-record-deal fool.

Am I dissin' B*Ice? No, I ain't. Because a single diss is not enough for this man. I am going to deliver him a multiple dissing which he will not forget. A single diss would just be disrespecting the man. But I'm not just DISrespecting - I'm also DISliking, DISparaging, DISdaining, DISmaying, DISsenting, DISgracing, DIScouraging, DIScarding, DISheartening, DISenchanting, DISrupting, DISillusioning, DISmissing, DISorientating, DISenfranchising, DISinheriting, DISmantling, DISowning, and DIScombobulating him. I'm DISagreeing with everything he says, DISassociating myself from his music, DISclosing that I don't like him, doing him a DISservice, making him DISgruntled and DISaffected, bringing him into DISrepute, putting him at a DISadvantage, being filled with DISgust when I look at him, DISposing of his assets, DISeminating DISinformation about him getting it on Benjamin DISraeli, DIShonorably hitting him over the head with a DISh, causing him DIScomfort, giving him ADFD (Afraid of a DISsing off Flipside DISorder), giving him a DISease, DISco dancing on his DIScography, DISallowing any expense claims he might make if I was to find myself in a position where I was adjudicating his expense forms, DISlodging bits of filth from old underpants and rubbing them into his hair, stealing all the DISodium glutamate from his crisps and swapping it with his DISprin tablets so when he gets a headache they don't DISolve, DIStressing his DIStal phalangeal cartilage, and giving him cognitive DISsonance.

B Ice - consider yourself DISSED!

(Seriously though - big time rappers don't read these blogs, right?)

Our Crib below and head right...

This is our crib - the place where we can chill and get creative. This is where the magic happens. And when the magic ain´t happening, this is where we watch the telly and wait for it to come back.

Enjoying a prime location in the middle of town, handily adjacent to a major arterial railway line - our crib is the perfect place to relax to the incessant 24 hour clatter of high speed intercity trains. Which is why we usually have the music up so loud.

Download Phone Trax

• Track 1 download
• Track 2 download