10 Amazing Records You Absolutely Never Need to Hear Again

If my research is correct, there about 287 records released in a week which means over the course of a month there are 1,148 new records out, which means that over the course of a year 13,776 records come out. Which is a lot of records. Basically, it's enough new records coming out to mean that a DJ shouldn't ever have to play a record more than once ever. And out of those 13.776 new records a year, at least a few of them have to be good, right?

Right. So please, please, please never play any of the following ever again. Thanks.

In a way, "Deep Inside" is sort of the thinking man's "Show Me Love" except every DJ set in the world ever would be improved ten fold by the DJ playing "Show Me Love" and the only DJs who still play "Deep Inside" heard it for the first time three months ago. I wish it'd….delete itself! Do you get it!? Hardrive! Deleting! Like a computer! An IT joke!

I remember my first dubstep night too, mate. It was Chase & Status at a student's union. Real OG over here.

Your mate got really, really, really into this tune last year and now he plays it all the time and every time he plays it he smiles at you and you've come to fucking hate that smile more than anything in the world. It makes you sick to your stomach.

No. I can't. Not any more. I'm now totally numb.

I love piano house as much as anyone on planet earth. I love piano house more than my own family, pretty much, but there's piano house and then there are records like this: piano house anthems which are so rooted in the idea of piano house that they stop being piano house records and become something else. They become ghosts of piano house records, piano house records with all the joy of piano house sucked out of them, leaving you with a hollow, marrowless bone on the dancefloor. Who wants that? Who wants a bone when you can have piano house?

It isn't Sylvester's fault, god bless him, but "You Make Me Feel Mighty Real" is the sort of disco record that makes people hate disco. Anyone with half a brain is obviously aware of how ludicrously, maddeningly exciting this song is; how sexually charged and lusty it is, how, just like "Don't Stop Till You Get Enough," it actually sounds exactly like the mood it's trying to convey. But it's been ruined, sullied and tarnished by 70s nights in pubs and We Love Disco shows where John Leslie and one of the Krankies wax lyrical about platform shoes and miniskirts. Hearing it out, now, is like catching a glimpse of yourself wanking in the mirror — you're still enjoying the feeling but now it's all a bit sad.

Have you ever been to a vogue/club night? If you haven't, you need only imagine a sea of people in very expensive tracksuits stood about while a DJ in a very expensive tracksuit plays 500000000 variations of "The Ha Dance" while the lads in expensive track suits stand around checking their phones. I mean, a good tune's a good tune, and this is a very good tune, and there's probably a reason why it's the basis for entire subcultures, but fuck me, (HA) sometimes it's all (HA) a bit much (HA) you (HA HA) know?

First things first, like every other record in this list, "Inspector Norse" is undeniably amazing. It's an utterly gorgeous, transcendent, spectral thing of immense beauty which sounds like every good moment you've ever had on MDMA condensed into a few minutes of star-spangled-space-disco. The thing about "Inspector Norse" though is that "Inspector Norse" is an instrumental record that you can sing along to and because of that, whenever a DJ plays "Inspector Norse" gangs of men in shirts huddle round each other, stinking of Mayfairs and cider, and they clasp each other by the shoulder and they sing along and they ruin it. They fucking ruin it. They ruin one of the most joyous things man has ever put into this world. The fucking bastards.

It's a few hours later into the night now and somehow those lads we met above have ended up in a dank little techno basement, pilled off their nuts, and now they're hoarsely trying to sing along to "The Bells" and you begin to wish that Jeff Mills had stayed on whatever odd little planet he beamed himself down from.

I do know you, mate, and you're really, really, really fucking boring now.

Follow Josh on Twitter