As long as it's groovy.
Kerfuffle Whitsunday 2010
Blazing sun, billowing banners, tangled wire's, gaffa tape, a handful of the less obvious tunes Liz and I play to each other before anyone arrives. The day showed every sign of shaping up into our usual Sunday excursion into doof- doof-la-la land. But this one was destined to be a bit special. As we started spinning, the main thing on both our minds was how we were ever going to scrape enough wonga together to pay for the star-studded line-up we'd booked to play. On the day it wasn't a question of outlay, it was a lesson that real quality doesn't come cheap.
The long drive from Pompey saw Lawrence Reed drop his bag in with just minutes to spare, but he lost no time in boxing up the beats and getting a proper tech groove going. After blowing everyone away at my birthday bash I knew he was right on my tip and the moment he dropped that Martin Landsky Poker Flat tune early arrivals were made fully aware of what we were here to do - get this party started.
We'd arranged Lief Knowles to play an afternoon set and that's exactly what he delivered. My ears pricked up to the golden glow of the West Coast with that all too often ignored killer ingredient, the vocal sample. Considering he's better known for dubbier and bleepier sounds his set came as a refreshing surprise. Call me old fashioned, but it's great to see that some of us still the courage of conviction to leave climbing over the Berlin wall to well after the sun's gone down.
Pure Science had already called ahead to say he was running late, so I felt it was the least I could do to grab Stuart and ensure we were fully prepared to help him put together the various bit of kit he uses for his live sets – and something to put it on. Apologies to the unsuspecting unfortunates quietly sitting next to the only available table. I handed them their drinks and made off with the central focus of their social circle - only to rather shamefacedly bring it back only moments later. Seldom has the phrase “Sorry we have a table emergency!” been met with such frosty faces. In the end, Phivos' ability to quietly get on with the real business dishing up pure quality minus any fuss made me look, by comparison, like Basil Fawlty on sulphate.
Now I've seen the arrival of some big names over the many years we've been throwing our shindig, but this was the first time ever a crowd has given a unanimous standing ovation even before that someone stepped up to the decks. But there again, Bob De Rosa is rather special – these days he limits his appearances. And with so many of our more seasoned regulars sorely missing Bob's particular blend of classic and obscure delights, excitement was at fever pitch. He spent the next two hours throwing candy to a sugar-starved kindergarten. Thanks Bob, that was truly one of the best received sets I've had the pleasure of being party to.
So how do you follow that? Well, if your name is Charles Webster you go your own way, in your own style – or perhaps I should say you show us what great dance music is all about, if you look beyond narrow definitions of style and media created genre labels. I've lovingly collected every Charles Webster tune I could get my hands on over the past 20 years – but I only recognized a couple in the two hours of heaven he dished up for us. The absolute highlight for me was “I love music”. Now that's a man who plays from the heart.
You'd think that would round off most nights nicely – but we don't do things by halves in spacehopper land. During his days at Tag and Black Market, Corrie has sold me some gems – he's even given me discs from his own collection because he knew I would really appreciate them. Over the years he's got a very accurate sense of exactly the kind of filthy, low slung, soul stirring stuff I go crazy for. That night he didn't play anything else. How many birthdays and Christmases roll can you roll into a couple of hours? How many life-affirming treats can you pack into twelve hours?
How many parties have we done now? In all this time I've only missed one – I thank my luck stars that this wasn't it.
Storm in an eggcup Kerfuffle Easter 2010
Easter has long been one of the key dates of the spacehopper year and all the signs looked good for our first foray onto a sunny terrace and into the warm sounds of the new Funktion 1 rig. Despite making the most of the Bank Holiday weekend (I'd been on the lash since early Thursday) Liz arrived bright eyed and bushy tailed, treating us all to some lush house vocals and golden chords.
By the time Arkala stepped up to the decks we already had a room full of smiley faces and nodding heads to get the party going. With the latest remix of Aaron Carl's My House and a few other well chosen gems she soon had the beats boxed in and the crowd tapping their toes.
I couldn't wait to get my hands on that Funktion 1 mixer. It made Ekkohouse and Julian Chaptal sound even crisper and gave some of the more booming bottom end tunes the kind of punch that rekindled my love for 4/4 kicks. It's always reassuring to see people bobbing around to your tunes so having a NYC Tunnel Club veteran throwing shapes and moving his feet all over the gaff gave me the confidence to really let rip.
Up next was Stitch who's digital selection sounded just as warm as the vinyl we'd been spinning thanks to Stuart our Sound Engineer's complete mastery of the new rig. Along with Sean's inspired fluffy visuals and an egg hunt that put a few more seasonal treats on or rather under the table spring really was busting out all over.
Fear of Flying label stablemates, Jay Massive and BLM then gave us a masterclass in twisted, off-kilter house. Not only was their selection completely lacking in the obvious, even the most learned musicologists among us were hard placed to name any of the tunes they were dishing up.
James Britton followed by Jamie Bawn, then gave us a couple of hours of pure sarf coast sunshine by serving up a double 99 with all the toppings. Once again, the quality and diversity of the sounds they whipped up caused a storm in an egg cup reminiscent of a force seven over the Solent.
Brighton's original bad bwoy Magnus Asberg then took the energy on the floor up a notch with some proper cutting edge house. His take on soul infused groove has won him gigs everywhere from the Concorde to the Ministry and he judged the mood perfectly to turn a room of nodding heads into a sea of hands.
Mud Club head honcho Harvey Bailey then took us on a luxury cruise with a top seat at the Captain's table. His ship-shape selection took us higher than the yard arm and deeper than an ocean trench. That's Bognor booked for my holidays this year.
And with a very respectable array of Easter bonnets bobbing around a floor that was, by this time, more packed than a suitcase on Easy Jet, the scene was set for Kenny Hawkes to take the reins. Once again Kenny launched us in a new direction with a decade's worth of Space classics from all ends of the musical spectrum.
With Liz rounding off the day with some rousing end of the night imprints all agreed that we'd witnessed yet another classic Easter bank holiday. Sometimes it all comes together, and with the perfect mix of bodies in motion, to say we were happy bunnies is putting it mildly.
Bleak House – 10 years of Years Day Kerfuffling
The press promised “company warmer than McCauber's muffler” - once again our party faithful didn't let us down. The discarded debris of the previous evening's Alabama Sheep on Drugs fest has left our hosts a little world-weary. So the opening minutes saw me simultaneously sweeping up, minding the door and attempting to warm up a tepid pool of stale beer to the sound of the Desolat Xmas sampler. At least Guy and Jay's early appearance stopped me noodling away entirely to myself. Liz eventually limped in almost two hours late, but after blending a few lovely opening gambits, all was forgiven.
Welcome West Coast warmth was introduced by Giom, his Gallic appetite for a feast of spine-tingling house gems was greedily devoured by the fast-swelling throng like a moule-soaked baguette. Half of our eagerly anticipated bad bwoy duo, Dutchie, overcame the sad but unavoidable absence of Mark Nevern with some real class of 2009. Anyone who spins both of the recent John Tejada Pallette imprints is AOK in my book.
This time Peter Gregory appeared without his customary Goldie Looking Chain outfit. Thus unable to so much as doff a cap to our Dickensian theme, he found himself disqualified from the Tiny Tim look-alike competition. Thankfully his tune selection was every bit as good as his artfully comic banter. Moreover, the winning duo of Mark Woon's jaunty cravat and Mickey Vespre's tartan trew/Rupert Bear jumper combo was an unforeseen treat.
James Tomson teaming up with his latest oppo Jonno is testament that being an all-round top party geezer attracts top talent. He's a longstanding spacehopper supporter so it's nice to hear how well he's now being supported. Next up, supersonic Ashley Casselle fired off the full Muffin Bazooka with some classic East Village electronica antics. His inimitable ablility to dish up non-stop party nonsense found some fine moments of clarity.
The diminutive Fabulous Frank gave us all a welcome break from the 4-4 thump with an eclectically energetic set. She brought in House Nation to whoops of approval and I suspect that the impromptu conga that started snaking around the lounge may have had something to do with her innate sense of fun.
And as for Natalie Croker, we do like to pride ourselves on the sheer quality of the talent we have in our fold. So how is that every time she plays for us, no matter who else is on the bill so many people come up to me to bend by ear about how just well she plays. Looks like you've got a busy year ahead of you girl.
Having recently been relieved of my door duties by the irrepressible Kaz, I must admit to having missed much of Alex Downey's fine set. I did however catch strains of Acid Eiffel, suggesting that he had taken proceedings deeper than Scrooge's pockets.
And that takes us neatly to the real man of the match – he's not just good he's Ebenezer Good. Even if Eddie “the Evil” Richards had, in a parallel universe, carved an alternative career as a champion ski jumper, he couldn't have rounded off the proceedings with more panache.
Even without fingerless mittens, he filled the room with enough expert knob twiddling to make even my freshly shaven jaw drop. Eddie's trusty Saab 900 had earlier given up the ghost of Xmas past, just as he turned into Brixton Road. It was left to AJ and myself to push his motor into the car park. His set more than made up for all the shivering and if Liz hadn't sorted the breakdown cover, we'd have happily carried him all the way home to Milton Keynes on our shoulders.
As Eddie had to dash off at the sight of the Green Flag, Liz stepped up to the marque
to drop yet more filthy twisted tunage. Her resolute determination to stand firm against the dark forces of impatient door security, while slipping in yet another cheeky encore, made 16B's Water Ride sound even sweeter. Nobody pulls the plug on our Liz!
And to think it was just ten years ago that Spaced 1999 marked our first foray into the New Year's all-dayer. These days every martini swilling mullet from Hoxton to Hemel ‘empstead is on the after-party scene. But we've all been doing it since way before it was trendy.
Steamed, boiled then lightly poached - reminiscences of
August Bank Holiday Karnival 2009 @ Dex
From Buju Banton to Philly via New Yorkian soul, Sean Royal's laptop established the scene for Sarf London's very own carnival. Who needs to be steamed in Notting Hill when you can chill on our terrace to ice cool bank holiday flavours like the Maytal's Rastaman.
With Terry Francis having a few technical laptop issues I seized the chance to step in with a few of my own funky slices. Hearing Loose Ends over a proper rig all these years on made my day, but it took Terry dropping the Floaters to get the sun decks really spinning for me.
Talk of the need for a cordless mike had me wondering what Paul “Homer” Stubbs had up his sleeve. His platinum vintage selection had the crowd whooping to Jamie Principal's Baby wants to ride. Complete with the silky owenesque vocals of Tempo O'Neil riding the rhythms, this was Kerfuffle school disco dressed up in velvet blazers and spandex shorts.
After calling us early to say he's totally overdone it the night before, it was touch and go whether Redz was ever going to show. By the time he eventually appeared his straw trilby was back on at a jaunty angle and his wake up call raised our energy levels better than a brimming bucketful of hangover remedies.
As the first one on in the main room I had a few stalwarts nodding as they propped up the bar, but my primetime boomers sounded a little, well, booming to my own ears. It took the finely tuned ear of Alex Arnout to get the brighter aspects of the sonics shining through. His selection was perfectly paces for the time and place and if you could call it minimal, less is most certainly more.
Rob Pearson's set was, as ever, a showcase of the technical wizardry that's won him his well-earned place as one of the key figures in the London underground. He's kindly sent us a recording he made of it which you can download right now from the Kerfuffle Facebook page.
Always unassuming and ever self-effacing Louise (L.E.) Bass admitted feeling a little nervous prior to her set. From the moment she grabbed the faders there was little doubt who was in control. Loads of compliments were flooding my way about you Lou. I was only too happy to accept them on your behalf.
Another stand out set was Luke VB. This man's parties alongside Mr C are already the stuff of legend and the way he dished twisted tones via slice after slice of pure subterrania was a real off kilter treat.
With one leg up in plaster after a bad break that's seen Darren Roach holed up for months, we needed to fetch a stool to give the man a little extra support. His inimitable fusion of acid and future funk had me on my feet for hours. If he'd had two legs to stand on he'd have been really dangerous.
I've got just about everything that Phivos Pure Science has ever released. This night he was either tweaking it all beyond recognition or he's been really busy cooking up more of his own gourmet blend of aural transmutation. Yet again his sounds had this Philosopher completely stoned.
There was a tune out a couple of years ago with a vocal sample “somehow it's all got twisted”. With Terry spinning my head way beyond the outer limits, another famous house-ism sprang to mind “ this ain't Chicago”. His techno laden excursion was the kirsch infused cherry on the top of a layercake of deliciously fecund stabs and grimy pads. As one of our fold often puts it – utter filth!
Whitsun Bank Holiday 2009
Boom time in the boom room
A fiercely hot Sunday saw me sitting on the terrace soaking up the sun with a cold beer long before the Jamm opened. With Matty and Tim arriving straight off the plane from Denver it was hard to fathom how they had managed to pack so much infectious energy and positivity in their flight cases. Liz started off the proceedings with liquid D&B and fluid house while I did my usual trawl around for staples and gaffer tape.
The late start gave me just half an hour to spin before Simon Page treated the early birds to an engaging and eclectic House FM selection. Occasionally I have been spotted approaching the decks to stroke my beard and quietly ask what's being played. Simon is only the second guest ever to give me the tune as soon as he mixed out of it – so thanks mate. That Moritz Piske MP3 has been on repeat back at mi casa ever since.
Kelly Wainwright's selection also got me asking questions. Tartlet No 3 by MHZ was right up our cul-de-sac and I'll definitely be checking out wherever gets his tunes from – hope it's nears to his native Portsmouth (my new neck of the woods). Kelly's oppo Kiwi proper ripped up the floor too – I'm eagerly anticipating those Isle of Wight beach parties fella.
I've already mentioned just how nice it was to have Matty & Tim as part of crew for the night. When they stepped up to the wheels they took us all higher than a rocky mountain ski lift. It's always great to welcome distant members of an ever-growing family. These boys regaled me with tales of Wyatt Erp and DJ Fox then shot from the hip like Jesse James and Billy the Kid packing a brace of Uzis.
She's got to be one of the best looking spinstesses we've welcome into our fold, but more importantly, Maya Jane Coles' twisted electronica was also a complete aural delight. I'm looking forward to hearing more of her at Liz's new chicks with decks night Siren.
We often refer to him as our left hand man and Kleo never disappoints. Once again he did the honours by continuing to build the vibe on an increasingly sweaty floor holding the party in the sofa room even after we'd fired up another 20k of sound next door. Moving a party in full swing from one room to another is not your usual mid party fare, but taking a giant inflatable spacehopper on an excursion across a packed dance floor ensured I was in the right place at the right time to catch J-Jeff's fine early boom room set. He's an accomplished groove meister, but this time it was a real education to hear all his prime time thumpers.
Eddie Richards has played for us on some woeful rigs in the past so it was great too give him the kind of sound his inimitable talent so richly deserves. Stuart our long suffering sound engineer gave it his all to ensure Eddie's amazing collection of prime digital files came across loud and clear – who says tunes have gotta be flat and round.
Mayday Mayday!
May 3 rd 2009 at Dex
It all started quite placidly with a terrace bathed in golden midday light as I started by helping the sound guys locate the source of an annoying loose plank that threatened to knock needles out of the mellow groove we were so keen to create. That Roy Ayres standard Everybody Loves the Sunshine seemed an appropriate starting point at the time. Summer Breeze would have been more apt as within minutes, a chilly crosswind saw slipmats flying every time there wasn't slab of vinyl in place to pin them down. John Charlie Feathers kept things groovy encouraging the assembling throng to get on with the business of shuffling to his artfully blended array of funk soul and house.
Sparkie M'larkie maintained the pace with a smorgasboard of sounds ranging from warm mellow and to angular and acidic. As Liz took over the reins, west coast vibes took the terrace on a mellow and mellifluous sortee that treated the crowd to a number of heart warming sonic shots even when coats and jumpers were required.
With the decks now moved into the centre of the Funktion One room, Richie Littler's Grease is the word quiff stood out as far in front as his eclectic selection. He got the party moving to some sinuous melodic techno and by the time he dropped Don't Look Back, heads were well and truly down and some serious shape throwing was being silhouetted against Sean's throbbing wall of visuals.
From her earlier appearance at Friday's Evasive bash we knew Kirsten was on fine form. Her set for us re-formed the four-four into new angles that pointed the way ever deeper. Surprisingly sharp and fresh from his Positive/Wiggle weekender, Simon Atkinson treated us all to yet another masterclass in the good and he great from the past few years. Peter O kept the pace steady and the tone twisted to a room that was fast getting as slippery and wet as a tub of jellied eels.
And then there was Grant. He ripped it up for us last year and this time he layered up chords of deepness contrasted against angular asymmetic beats breaking through like greenstick fracture (sic). Colin rounded off the night with a selection that was slung lower than a drag-racer's dungarees. If you imagined Vic and Bob doing a pub-singing rendition of Flat Eric on nitrous you may some close to some of the off-kilter gems he was dishing up.
As we packed away our headphones to seek the sanctuary of a whole series of bedroon farces, even the more reticent among us were force to agree that Brian-rixton's very own boutique had once again held host to some thoroughly agreeable sonic nonsense.
Kerfuffle Easter All –dayer
April 12 th 2009
The Mad Hatters Ball @ the Jamm
Well it was my birthday so forgive me if some of the key facts are omitted but here goes…
I arrived as usual with a spring in my step and a remarkably clear head considering
that, just three days earlier, I had staggered out of Asad's Orbital clash a little the worse for wear. As Sean got the Easter bunnies and spacehoppers jumping with his all-new VJ station Liz did a stirling job of warming up the cold steel wheels with pure gold - Black Action Committee just has to be noted.
Peter Gregory then took us on a lovely lush ride down tech-house memory lane with some warm mellow vocals and lilting, spacey rhythms. (what's that amazing Sade remix again Peter?) I played a little later than my usual early set and so took the opportunity to drop a few slices of acid house. As the place was filling up nicely even Deep Inside didn't seem out of place.
If I took it from laid back to upfront, JJ took it the rest of the way to get a packed house in a proper party mood. By this time there were some rather spectacular Easter bonnets strutting around. The tinsel conical affair with a dangling egg was inspired, as was the mother hen's nest surrounded by chicks. Tamsin and Mandy had both gone to a great effort and Ant was a great late Easter Bunny (he was late for very important date). But in the end it was Maria our official party snapper who stole the show with a massive OTT titfer was quite simply beatable. That's two to Maria and two to Tamsin - come on girls give someone else a chance!
Jen Gannon played some hip swivelling grooves to a very complimentary crowd and Tom Baker's robust and rock solid grooves judged the mood and the vibe with the nose of a seasoned professional. Whatever Nick Dare was playing it sounded even better than his
recent top quality imprints. He certainly won over even more hearts for his ever-growing harem.
To hear our man Pure Science tweaking up a storm with his live antics was more than enough to make everyone overlook the minor power issues that silenced proceedings for a few moments, but I guess that's what happens when you try to plug that much raw power and sheer talent into a pub power circuit.
And then there was the ladies' favourite himself - Richard Grey. So glad we had such a packed house and such an accomplished knob twiddler that and extra hour and then another thirty minute on top was the only possible choice for both the venue and everyone both inside and outside of it. Was it just our most packed and happiest Easter ever, or was it just the best birthday I've had in more years than I would care to mention?
Let us know what you think.
Kerfuffle New Years Day 2009
Arriving brighter and bushier tailed than some years I would like to remember, the 3.00pm start at least delayed topping up the modest excess of my previous evenings revelries. Most sane and sound folk were probably serving up a roast dinner as I tried to fill the early room with lush sounds rather than cavernous thumps, It's hard not to bring up the beats when you're warming up the rig and some of the tunes that sounded easy to the point of pipe and slippers back home were booming away like an orchestra of Rank gongs.
Thankfully Liz tamed the kicks with some well-conceived mellowness that referenced most of the ten years we've now been dishing up new years' after-parties. From classic Hard Hands to some of the more relaxed musical moments of O8 she helped us all throw away our early resolutions as the deepening throng of spotters now holding onto the bar joined in some serious beard nodding and toe tapping.
Warwick Arthur has partied with us for a few years now so he knew the score and delivered a rousing line in sinewy beats and warm chords. Richie Littler brought in the new with some first footing electronica. Brett Johnson's Uncle Big Boy raised the temperature and got even the stragglers going and by the time Kleo took over we were ready to savour the left field flavours of his tasty acid house drops.
Darren Roach took us far beyond his Studio Tec imprint with a nicely crafted mixture
of emotive and elating gems. From the moment Phivos Pure Science started wiring up his Mac on the tall bar table he's so long made his home, we knew we were musically homeward bound. Like some post millennium alchemist, he was completely in his element.
Dave Mothersole is capable of taking any dancefloor in so many different directions he's the spaghetti junction of house/techno gyratory systems. This time the way was pure onwards and upwards as he dug deep beyond classic grooves masterfully keeping it bubbling under like his first mix tape that blew me away some fourteen years ago.
The massive advantage of manning our door is you don't spend so much of your day on an icy smoking terrace. I was right there on the dance floor so I didn't miss any of the fantastic holiday vibe that was flowing so freely. I just hope my blissful expression reflected the warm welcome you all gave us. Its great to know that even though its getting colder out there, we can still look forward to yet another year of great get togethers. Roll on Easter, I can't wait for the Mad Hatter's ball.
The Dawn of the Dead
Kerfuffle 1 st November 2008
Most parties are meant to blow away the cobwebs. This one had Liz and I draping spiders, bats and webs up in the Jamm belfry for hours before any of our ghouls got it together to rise from the grave. We came armed with masks, face paint and vampire fangs but at the end of the day none of us needed too much embellishment. As Ritchie put it: “Hey mate can I borrow your face for Halloween”.
My warm-up was gradually building from Kerrie Chandler to John Tejada when a worried sound engineer approached me to ask whether I would mind turning it down because someone was trying to play and acoustic set next door. I'm normally affable and mild mannered but I've got to admit to a Count Dracula snarl at that point.
With the room filling with assorted witches and blood spattered zombies, we had a few fancy dressers worthy of note. Mark Woon's slipknot mask just kept getting more and more scary especially when he was still wearing it on Monday morning. The guy who had run up his own Dracula cape complete with red silk lining put my Somerfield special to shame and the shadowy East European with the blacked-out face was different kind of horror show. And no, he hadn't come as a chimney sweep from Mary Poppins.
John Patrick did a fine job getting the monitors pumping again with a white hot warm-up set gleaned from too many mis-spent hours of worship at West Croydon 's temple of tech-house. He was the first to drop at least one of the mixes of Nick Dare's huge Dub People EP. Between him, Luke and Asad I think we heard all four versions by the end of the night.
Deby Carter showed us what we've been missing all these years with a rock solid set
of pure 24 carat Kerfuffle classics. She's been busy laying floors when al this time she could have been filling them. Next up, Luke McKeehan gave us a shining showcase of what's happening in his Nordic stable, plus a very entertaining catch up on what's been happening in the Canadian scene over a well-earned pint afterwards.
Asad Rizvi then graced the decks wearing a rather fetching Boris Johnson wig – he later claimed to have lost his blond barnet in a cynical bid to claim the special prize - a life sized vampire bat. (there have since been allegations of horrific bat abuse, but let's leave that one and focus on the quality of his tune selection) He's is so self–effacing, he seldom drops any of his own tunes. Whatever he pulled from his bag that night was the ideal blend of tech and groove to keep the monsters moving. It was a graveyard smash.
And the dawn crept up all to fast. That's the only problem with all-nighters – nobody wants to go home in the daylight. Well, not looking like that anyway.
Life's a beach
Our aftersun burn-out Sat August 23rd
@ the Dex Club
Well we did promise fine weather for our end of August deckathon and for the best part of it, that's exactly what we got. Tamsin had predicted a basinful of plucked chickens sprawled across the hot tub and although some came fully armed with shorts and towels, thankfully no one was brave enough to actually dip a toe.
But with the barbeque blazing and a white linen clad terrace bar looking more like a Monaco hotel than Brixton rooftop, Mickey's inimitable funk, soul and reggae set soon got the early birds strutting. With Liz feeling poorly I hogged a double set tucking into a stash of seven inch-oldies before the need to mix and match beats and bleeps proved just too hard to resist.
Terry Francis had put hours into preparing his much anticipated Ableton live funk and soul sortie, but as he'd somehow managed to leave his hard drive at home it was hard cheddar for us. Even a cab ride to Kingston and back couldn't produce the goods. Thankfully Paul “Homer” Stubb's lovingly crafted classic house set eased our frustration and even with just one and a half speakers pumping out a stomp down memory lane, the contents of Mr Swag's bag really did us all proud.
By the time we'd all knocked back our sundowners and ~Mickey had treated us to a brilliant encore, James Thomson was treating us to an underground tour that filled the entire inside floor. Richie Littler continued upping the ante, smoothly blending one of the best melodic techno and off-kilter house sets I've heard all year.
Alison Marks then tweaked up a minimal tech final scratch frenzy that had us all throwing more shapes than treading grapes. Kleo kept an increasingly sweaty crowd moving with another of his well crafted hi-tech meets dirty low down groove soundscapes.
Demarkus Lewis showed his US deep house roots laying down the chords and raising the temperature to boiling point. And then as if we thought it couldn't get any better a back-to-back double act of epic proportions - Richard Grey and Terry Francis. blissed us all out and provided a finale that, even after a fifteen hour marathon had every last one of us shouting for just “one more.”
So what did happen behind close doors in those hotel rooms? Those of you who were there will know all about who lost their shoes, composure and the last vestiges of their self-respect. For the rest of you - what happens at Kerfuffle stays at Kerfuffle, so Shhhh!
Looking back with a smiley face
Whitsunday All-dayer May 25 th 2008
Calling a party Love Summer at what was not quite the end of May was possibly a little ambitious. Thankfully, that big yellow thing came out for long enough to keep the smokers comfortable and to give an Ibiza ambience to the overspill for what became one of our busiest and best-spirited parties so far.
Liz kicked off the proceedings as Lee, Nathan and the post-Brighton contingent arrived nice an early to get us going. After jumping onto the wheels, I was halfway through a mix when Stuart, our sound engineer, politely enquired whether I could turn it down - some bands were doing an acoustic set next door (acoustic what?). Needless to say the volume kept creeping in the opposite direction.
Good thing too, because next up was top Swag punter Danny Chicago who took us on a seamless journey through so much sunny loveliness that the smiles inside were broader than the smileys on our flyer. Mr Bombis-bastic Paul Donton then showed us what all the fuss was about by putting in a very solid show of Kerfuffletastic tunage. After all, he and Ritchie have been putting all our mixes on myspace, so he certainly knows the score.
Peter O then treated us all to a taste of his Monophunk magic as he moved the crowd between twisted electonica and incessant, driving groove. After that, Pure Science made a bigger than ever sound from the micro-studio he managed to squeeze behind the decks. The compression on those kicks just keeps sounding better and better.
All those years of DIY parties have honed Rick Digs skills to a level that even our seasoned crowd could really appreciate . He's been flying the house flag since from the beginning and that's exactly what he served up - the crown jewels of rare house gems. Great after-show antics too Rick, you're a proper party animal.
True gentleman and mild mannered tech-house janitor Simon Atkinson then took our summer theme to the beach before surfing a few retro soundwaves in day glow shorts.
So who could possibly follow that? Eddie Richards tecked it out, layered it up and took it well beyond the limit with an unrelenting march of filthy beats. We were so rammed by that point that we stayed open another hour after Ed packed away his box of tricks. Going back-to-back after the meister was never going to be easy. He's a very hard act to follow.
By all accounts and some very warm feedback, yet another top party thanks to so many of you who keep on choosing to make each bank holiday even better than the last. Can't wait ‘till August at the Dex - can you?
Something more than expected for the weekend
Kerfuffle May 4th 2008
Checking the venue out before the event it looked absolutely huge. The decking sprawled across the roof terrace leading to a second level that we could neither see nor imagine being ever being filled. On the day, the sun kept disappearing behind clouds, rain threatened to spit on the terrace decks and the first two hours felt like having a Sunday pint in a quiet village pub.
Jane Turner provided some cool alfresco funk and soul as the tables filled and the sun warmed our backs. By the time John Charlie Feathers stepped up to the wheels to take us back to a time when funk met house, the lower sun deck was looking more like high season Brighton Pier. As Joel Brittain and Dave Miller started to make our new home into the house, the outside area was heaving. We'd done what seemed impossible just a couple of hours ago – we'd filled up Brixton's newest, most sprawling venue. Liz continued the outside mayhem with an all too short set of Swag classics before I had to attend to some housekeeping.
After unravelling a huge nest of spaghetti to get another lead to connect an extra Pioneer CD deck upstairs, a quick check on the inside room revealed a total absence of slip mats. That's the problem with being a local - it was up the hill on a bus to grab mine, inwardly cursing that every minute it took was another off my set. By the time I returned Redz had so many people packed between the terrace decks and the chill-out tent that people were dancing right up the stairs. Small wonder he played on for an extra hour.
After trying to get some close friends to the front of the queue, security told me I'd used up all my favours. It was one in - one out from them on – bad luck for the dozen or so mates who texted to see what we could do – but great news for the party. It was my turn to warm up the big room so I fired up the magnificent K1 system with some prime time thumpers. There were enough new arrivals wondering where the cloakroom and the rest of the party was to have a few shape-throwing hip swivellers across the floor and a few regulars keeping me company. That was two rooms up and running - could it get any better?
The answer was a resounding “yes”. Nick Dare held my crowd and turned it into a seething throng of hands-in-the-air party movers with his upwardly spiralling blend of groove tech. Darren and Spencer had brought along enough of their own party faithfuls to fill in any gaps the downstairs room that had allowed some kind of easy bar
access. From then on, the big room was rammed tighter than a Johnnie Vegas tank top.
After numerous meanderings up and down endless stairs and steps I checked the rapidly increasing heat and darkening tone of the main floor. Nat C had cast her spell over a sea of smiling faces – such a tough no-nonsense groove for one who looks so pale and interesting.
And then it was Grant Dell's turn. I've got to say that he just could not put a foot wrong.
As every tune he dropped upped the ante a few more notches, my feet were finding all the right steps on an increasingly sticky floor. He set such a fierce standard that Kenny Hawkes had quite an act to follow. He quickly rose to the occasion with some proper filthy music for freaks, rounding off a perfect all-day-and-half-the-nighter with enough twisted deepness to make us all feel like we'd done ten rounds with an aural Tyson chewing our ears.
What a day – what a night. Thanks to just about everyone in South London being there we've got another fantastic afternoon and evening in store for August Bank Holiday Saturday. Don't forget your baggies – this time jumping in that hot tub will be absolutely mandatory!
An eggstravaganza in retrospect.
Easter 2008
Our later than never 3.00pm opening at least gave me the chance to report the break-in that had happened at home in the early hours of Sunday morning. The police had visited before Liz and I had a chance to get our party heads on. So I lost myself in a warm up that took at least took my mood from sub-zero to Nero in two hours. Wasn't he the one who knob-twiddled while Rome burned?
Olsi Rama ,hot on the heels of Liz took us on a lush techtronica ride that got more hips swivelling than a prosthetic pelvis tester. Richie Littler was on fine form covering a diverse terrain that journeyed from the West coast to the Rhineland (you pronounce in Geeermany) like Alan Whicker on a scouse busman's holiday.
Tom Parris (he of the big white phones) dropped a few personal favourites, throwing Paperclip People in among a clutch of warm chords and chilli-hot hats – he's obviously been cooking up something very tasty in his studio.
Another showcase for his own creations, Rob Pearson was keeping the pioneer CD decks cooler than a vodka looge with a succession of his soon-to be-released shots. They all kicked like a tech-horse-mule.
L.E. Bass – boy that girl can groove! Her set veered in a west-coasterley direction sounding housier than a than a sun downer on the veranda in Vermont.
Tom Gillerion may look like a rock star answering his e-mails, but the sounds he pushed out of his Mac Powerbook were sheer heaven - don't stay in Albania too long we're ready for an encore.
After taking the mickey out of Gideon Jackson's giant diver's watch I had to concede that he needed to be confident of his timing even at three atmospheres he took it so deep and dirty. He even fished in his bag for a spare Outta Da Blue record sleeve at the end when I told him I had one of his tunes without a cover. What a hero.
An as for the twenty boys-in-blue who took it upon themselves to pay us a surprise visit, the fire escapes were clear, the toilets were clean and the whole crowd was on such best behaviour that they had to turn on their heels and go. Imagine that even a year ago. It almost makes you grateful for the smoking ban. You see – break ins maybe, but nothing broken really.
Kerfuffle New Years Day 2008
With Liz in Portugal I was glad that my old mate Mark Woon was there for emotional support and to take his turn on the door while I inflated the hopper and got the decks warmed up for the first two hours. A handful of party stalwarts slipped in and started nodding their heads as I spun a succession of past party favourites. By the time
Cat'n'AJ stepped up to take their turn and up the ante, the bar was bustling and I had already broken New Year's resolution No 1 by ignoring all good intentions to pace myself.
Richie Littler raised the Swag flag as he took us on a tour of the good and the great from Kerfuffle's extended record box. He was also a huge help in organising this particular bash. I'm not sure which particular tune pressed the get up and dance button for the casual observers but it certainly did the trick. After being hugely impressed by Kirsten 's silky smooth spinning skills at our Easter bash I was properly blown away by her New Year set. What a shame Stuart's hard disc recorder didn't quite make it out in time to capture the magic.
After a desperate dash over from Brighton and major traffic pains, Alex Downey arrived to make us all mourn the demise of Covert, his own take on what proper house music really is and how it should be served up. The true hero of the day however, has got to be Kleo . After texting to tell me his good lady was going into labour, he still turned up and kept a clear head while dropping enough filthy twisted acid tunage to totally mess with ours.
While Pure Science was treating the assembled throng to the most amazing sonic rendition ever to come out of an etch-a-sketch, I was busy trying to bribe security to allow us to stay open ‘till 2am . Kaz 's attempts to give Martin Whelan a beer bath didn't help at the time, but as she retained her reputation as the best door keeper in underground London and we went into extra time, all is forgiven.
If only I could have got off so lightly. As Murf whipped up a frenzy of techno knob twiddling, I made a right royal twat of myself. Tripping over a bag strap I fell in slow motion, grabbed the console, knocked the needle off the record and brought the whole party to a two-second standstill. There's always one!
Colin Dale finished off the proceedings by taking us all to the outer limits and back. A true pillar of the party, he arrived early and got on the dancefloor before turning it into a writhing mass of Keith Haring jelly babies. They say start as you mean to go on – if only someone could offer me a little advice on how to stop.
Ten years after. Post-birthday bleariness
Sound checking a total of 14 musicians meant my Friday started around 6 with so much waiting around and so many kit and cable issues I felt like more of a gaffer monkey than Saxondale By the time we were ready to meet the public. Phil our chief flyer designer came over to help me attach one thousand fluttering pieces of cardboard to the ceiling via invisible fishing line. Tottering around on a twelve foot step ladder on five pints of lager was living dangerously and by the time I ran off back up Brixton Hill to get my fancy dress on I'd not only done the equivalent of two days work, I was ready to claim for an industrial injury.
Making a grand entrance in my Scarlet Pimpernel jacket and periwig, I looked around at the early assembly of party people to find a fancy dress ratio of one to five – that's one crazy costume for every five jeans and t-shirt slackers. That was no bad thing because it served to make the whole night even look weirder. In no particular order the costumes that gave us more glam and glitter than all the red carpet in the Allied January sale included: Cleopatra, a regency dandy, a gorilla and accompanying zookeeper, a musketeer, one of the Cuban Brothers or was it Tommy Cannon? Barbarella, a flapper girl, Homer and Marge Simpson, two of the cast of Quadrophenia, a gang of construction workers, Catwoman, Boss Hogg, cigar chomping head honcho from the Dukes of Hazzard and lest I forget the best beehive since Mr Teezy Weezy stopped backcombing - you know who you are so thanks for making our tenth birthday a truly surreal evening.
So what about da music? Fran and Mickey stoked up the disco inferno in the sofa room serving up everything from eighties rootshouse to ragamuffin reggae, by the time the
Small Time Bullies took to the stage the crowd was whiling around doing strange psy- jazz moves like they were in some kind of retro movie (check out the video on youtube-
kerfuffle is ten). After being bullied into submission we were even more receptive to the charms of the Filthy Band From Uncle. Nick (AKA. Shitty Terrapin) and Badger (AKA
The Juicy Fruitella) led their big band boys through a peerless display of horn blowing I think the correct term is brass-sectioned.
But what about the boom boom room? Well, Dean Webb got the shape throwing off to a fine start taking us through an irresistible selection of house and tech, no wonder he's one of the most popular groovespinners in sarf London right now. Me and Liz followed in his footsteps with some of our real faves from the past ten years – phew what a decision that was how many hundreds of tunes have we played in all these parties and which ones were the real crowd pleasers? It took me weeks to do enough pruning. While I was playing I noticed the sound getting louder and distorting a little to some of my better-known slices. One who will remain nameless was tweaking the sound desk well into the red. Shame on you!
And then Fred Everywhere with his afro-wiggin ways and his one-man party vibe. His tunes were pretty buff too. We all partied on until the bouncer pulled the plug – quite literally. Well done Liz for braving the “one more” test in the face of such security hostility. And that was that – as the flyers fluttered to the floor my thoughts were: Another year gone by spent so many fun loving, lovely friends we must be the luckiest caners on earth – oh stop it I'm getting quite emotional.
Just a quick note to thank Clare ( AKA Barbarella) for making her gaff the site of the maddest most munted Kerfuffle afterparty ever! – we trashed it good and proper.
Looking back through bleary eyes - May Bank Holiday 07
Arriving early at these all day long affairs normally means playing to bar staff who are more concerned with their stock than your tunes. This time we had a couple of gurners still wild eyed from the night before. Their combined steps and thumbs up signals gave Liz and I enough incentive to leave the noodling and get on with the core business of building up some proper house grooves.
Ben obliged us with some nice warm sounds hooking more arrivers into the mayhem before Nat C strode to admiring glances. Dressed as Lara Croft, our very own Tune Raider then proceeded to work her infectious magic on an increasingly bizarrely attired crowd – Cristian's birthday explained why he looked like Captain Jack Sparrow, but with this Batwoman and Tank Girl you really are spoiling us.
Phil then started tweaking the pots jacking the assembled throng into a sea of hands. By the time Terry stepped up to the decks the room was rammed (as if bringing this man to Brixton would ever achieve anything less!) He served up so many deeply twisted sounds that his entire set was barely audible over Kaz's alarmingly vocal encouragements.
It takes a brave DJ to follow Mr. Francis, Grant did a fine job of keeping us all bouncing like a bunch of Japanese ping pong players. Then Kleo took us through a convincing lesson why so many years of late night living doesn't add up to a wasted youth. Once again I was left squeezing the life out of a giant spacehopper among a room full of exhausted, sweaty people who looked anything but deflated. Another fine mess!
The Easter Eggstravaganza 2007
