Reviews

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

With Easter 2006 going on record as one of our best ever, we had set ourselves a hard

act to follow. Laying the egg trail before jumping on the decks meant I couldn't monitor who found what, suffice to say that they'd all been snaffled within the first hour.

After Liz had set the pace, with some real treasures from the Swag goldmine Simon Atkinson warmed our ears with a deep and dirty showcase of classic grooves.

Next up, the Technology twins Lee and Nathan gave us one of the best back-to-back double acts we've heard for years. Richie Littler was loving it so much he made it a threesome. By this time the room had filled up fully and the floor was getting stickier than Moroccan tarmac.

A rare performance from the Richard Phoneman took us back to the day when mobile phones always looked pleased to see you. After this the lush soundscapes of JJ and the hip-swaying rhythms of Jane Fitz both warmed our hearts and burned our feet.

As ever Phil Pure Science layered up such an acoustic storm with his laptop antics all that that was left for Corrie to do was to beef it up like an Argentinean Gaucho. If only he was still serving up such sounds in a shop!

Tamsin was the clear winner of the Easter Bonnet stand-off. To be honest, the only other real contender was Martin Whelan and the panel's final decision was that his florid complexion clashed with the warm pink of his jaunty Stetson.

By the end of the night I'd lost my festive Fez , my dignity and most of the contents of my pockets, but with a day like that behind us who cares?

After the previous night's Polish vodkathon the idea of an Easter bonnet parade looked like a cakewalk in the park but oh no!

Arriving with Sandra and Kathy my fluffy chick embellished fez looked as impressive as baseball cap at Ascot A floral dance meets free range hen with raffia connections - it wasn't so much a case of My Fair Lady - more Pimp my fare Ladies

Duncan took the top off our hard boiled heads with a nice steady climb up and into the groove Liz and I took a stroll around the latest techhousing development before Ritchie Littler treated us all to some proper scousehouse Ian Cruikshank kept the soft shoes shufflin' before Tom Baker tecked it up with some rumbilin' basslines and jaunty hi-hats

It was at about this time of day (a couple of hours after is was brimming over and hot enough to make hatwearing a hazard) that
I noticed just what an effort had been made by our party faithfuls cat was a proper bunny girl withmatching collar & cuffs Jayne & Sharon were sporting real flower garlands round thier rock'a'hula heads, Lana was giving it the bunny bountiful, but madhatter Maria who took the biscuit then slamdunked it with more bonnety embellishment than Thorntons - She was immediately crowned Top Egg

Back on the dancefloor, Alison Marks gave us the bubblin' under at full simmer treatment, before sound engineer turned poached gamekeeper Stuart Crossland took us back to some golden Presence and Johnny Fiasco moments Then Colin Dale gave us all a lesson in how to party all day (he was one of the first to arrive) and still show us how it's done By the time Liz wrapped it all up with some Swag treasures I was more battered than a broiler in a bargain bucket - after all I'm no spring chicken!

Liz and I arrived after a night of car crashes and being punched in the mouth by Lithuanian asylum seekers. Not a great start to 2006! it could only get better. Thankfully it did. Fuelled by a half dozen white russians, we started the first two hours with a couple of stragglers but once Kat, AJ and Mickey and his cohorts had staggered in we had ourselves a proper party.

Richie and Kleo dropped the acid and skewed everyone’s consciousness to the point where we didn’t need UV lights any more. As our whole family, their in-laws and a few distant cousins once removed turned up, things started to get hot if not a little wobbly (Is there a singe review that does feature this word!) I distinctly remember looking at the clock at around 2pm and declaring “ It’s completely packed!” somehow we managed to accommodate and extra couple of hundred people from then on.

Neil Holmes and LE Bass introduced us all to an expert selection of hooks and bass lines
that thundered through our solar plexuses like Concorde’s last flight.

Then Asad Rizvi gave us his definition of house. Boy can that man rock – disco diva choruses and deep moodscapes chopped up and re-assembled into applehead-pie order with no quarter given too breakdowns or even a pause for breath. By this point even my drum n’ bass head son Zach had to admit that we appeared to be onto something really special here.

By the time that Pure Science plugged in his Mac Powerbook, we couldn’t even see what was going on. The air was thick with green smoke and sweet sweat and so many people had come up to me with incoherent babblings about it being “even better than the old days”, I had to admit that I’d never known an old day like it!

In fact, the party had gained so much momentum that come twelve, not many of us knew what to do with our feet apart from some sort of incessant shuffle. We all took the day way into Jan 2nd before we ever considered the prospect of home.

And to cap it all, I got to spin a few tunes to round off what turned out to be one of the best parties we’ve ever put on – what an honour! If only Paris Red had been there to see just how much “Git with me” could tear up the floor all these years on, she’d have been just as proud as me and Liz have been ever since.

Thanks to everyone who dropped by, tuned in and dropped out that day – it very rarely ever gets better than this!

The first Friday in December did seem a little early to put on the red hats and reindeer horns. It certainly seemed very early for Liz Edwards who kicked off the main room to a handful of serious drinkers propping up the bar. By eleven when I came over to give her a break, the Boom Room population was probably less than rural Antarctica. Mild toe tapping continued until around twenty to twelve. I later found out the awful truth. Mickey and the backroom posse has been chaining early arrivers to the sofas with their infectious eclectica.

An then within minutes the Boom room exploded into life. Kaz started shouting and waving her arms in the air wildly and it all went off. All our Christmases had arrived at once. By the time Mark Alastair had stepped up to do his wheelie steely magic we had a proper party on our hands and he just took it upwards and onwards to new levels.

Meanwhile the sofas were still being serenaded by melifluous soundscapes and Mark Foster, Jane Turner & Kiri kept the gentle funk pressure on in a way that made the green seem grasser from the bottom of a comfy cushion.

And then Terry Francis took up the slack. He's played so many random grottos for us over the years that it was truly gratifying to see him working the growd in more suitable festive surroundings. His blend of US groove and absolute Croydon dubplates wove intricate patterns our feet were compelled to follow. By the time he played his third encore the full on festive spirit was alive and kicking.

As I let the air out of Digby, the biggest spacehopper in the world, I was feeling far from deflated. The whole crowd drifted out on a cushion of warm air and nobody felt the frost for days. God bless us one and all!

here it is folks hope it's not too Bulldog breed in tone!

Looking back through bleary eyes…

The match was an international friendly – Cologne versus Croydon.

I kicked off the Sofa Room with some p-funk and Studio One. The late appearance of a second CD deck skanked me an extra half hour before Mickey took command with a carefully crafted backroom set that was the aural equivalent of Nobby Styles waltzing with Carmen Miranda.

The pitch had already been raised over in the Big Boom Room – Kati, or Flyin Kat as she is known too her friends in Sharjah UAE, upped both the tempo and the temperature. Next Jaegar (Shakin Vibes Massive) took the stage show us all some cool teutonic knob twiddin’ that carried us along an Autobahn of techfunk.

Dan Berkson (Gourmet & Exun) took us though a showcase of his own releases complements by a fine array of juicy groove driven offerings before he gave it up to
the man who effortlessly took the crown for the night – Richard Grey. Our original guest saved the best till last and still managed to party on into the morning back at DunRavin Manor in Norbury. Not bad for a man who’d recently recovered from a serious car crash.

Liz wrapped up the backroom in a fluffy blanket of soul-jazz and retro with a surprise helping hand from Grant Dell. The score at full time? Well I made it four-all. Either way
ten out of ten for a cultural exchange to really write home about.

After putting up all the Kerfuffle drapes in the big room Jayne turned up with a streaming cold and a woodbine cough so it was back up the tottering wooden ladder to get the Peg name up loud and proud. Once my legs had stopped wobbling and I had done my turn on the door, I just had time to see Liz’s last two tunes go lift the growing crowd into a sea of nodding heads.

My first proper set on the now enhanced sound system made my selection sound more punchy and bottom end than I’d expected, but apart from dropping all my tunes across the floor and getting everything out of order it all went according to plan. When it all goes your way there’s no feeling like it - being able to drop some proper acid house in the form of Alex Smoke’s latest Soma outing to an appreciative audience was sheer heaven.

Anyway, enough about me. Danny M picked up the pace and took everyone up a few notches with a classic underground house set. His musical selection was as sharp as his barnet - minus the hair mayonnaise!

And then the techhouse twins arrived - Nathan and Nils - AKA Get Fucked stepped up to the rostrum plugged in their kit and gave us a soundscape worthy of their name. There have been so many classics produced by this duo over the past few years it was great to hear a few live and kicking.

And then Liz stepped up for the grand finale. It was great to hear her spinning a couple of real end of the night climaxers – she’s got so many gems in her bag that seldom get an airing when we’re playing together – so it was well worth the wait.

And the Peg room? Well this is a personal account and I was working so I can’t pretend to have spent enough time in there to really talk with any level of detail about all that went on with Jane, Funky Transport and Stitch. All I can say is that whenever I passed on through it was rammed and bouncing – what better way to complement one of our best nights at the Jamm so far. Now for the next dancehall clash – Kerfuffle meets Positive on August 5th – on the outernational side of dub! Don’t miss!

Thirsty work this party mallarky. You’ll have to forgive me if a few too many refreshments went down while basking on the sun terrace, I never missed a moment honest!. It was May Day and the surprise guest was very definitely the sun. Summer’s at Jamm’s looking good!

Liz and I soundchecked and limbered up for a fine and funky set from the Czech Republic’s sweetest Lillou, James Thomson’s grooved on, followed by Kiwi’s uptempo scratchathon, Darren & Spencer’s crisp and light lushness, Kleo got us jumping around before Nat C twisted us round ready for Jayne Fitz’s hip swivilin, Nathan Coles was very welcome and well-received addition to our growing roster. Then Grant Dell tweaked our buttons with more infectiousness. Asad Rizvi had even Stewart our intrepid Sound Engineer swooning before he had to rush around connecting Phil Pure Science’s powerbook so that the show could really go live. Then we all disappeared into a warm fuzzy cloud. Or at least I did, anyway.

And then Dave Mothersole. A journey through layers of elecronica
dusted with Detroit techno and topped off by bit of Brian Ferry - sheer originaliteeee. Liz slapped on one last tune before the lights went back on - some 14 hours after we started. Apparently someone somewhere had a home to go to.
It took a while longer to get back to mine.

Arriving to find half the sound system proudly suspended from the ceiling, the biggest sub-bass I’ve ever seen and a brand new Allen & Heath mixer we knew we were in for some quality sounds whoever graced the decks.

The sofa room got off to a great start with Mickey Vespre dropping anything from rare groove to funkadelica – eclectic yet accessible, he got us on our feet and made it almost impossible to sit down. Roi took over to serve up a smorgasboard of classic disco and retro treats before Rochester explored some long-lost jazz funk and roots reggae groovers.

Back in the main room everybody more than did justice to the increased volume. Liz Edwards limbered up the system and Ariana’s deft touch got everyone’s heads nodding as she shifted effortlessly from dubby tech to twisted funk as an ideal early evening opus.

Simon Atkinson took the crowd more underground with deeper grooves and some classic four to the floor pounders. It’s a real shame that a minor flood downstairs caused the sound to cut out for a couple of minutes. He took it all in his stride like a true pro and nobody seemed phased at all.

Then Evil Eddie ripped it up with his trademark thump. The system could have been designed for him and it was great to note that even he, the most perfectionist of aural technicians, agreed that we’ve eventually found a home that’s truly worthy of his work.

So, all in all about the busiest, loudest and generally the smoothest night we’ve had here. The problem is we just can’t wait another two months for the next one. That’s why we’re doing the all-day business on May 2nd.

February’s electro tech clash took us all to new highs of aural delights courtesy of The Imbeciles inimitable performance with what certainly constituted the liveliest live set we’ve ever hosted. There were ripped t-shirts and even safety pins, but a noticeable absence of stick-on mohicans.

After Edwards and Rochester had whipped the crowd into a frenzy we were all ushered into the main room to be confronted by a man with more hats than all the remaining Bee Gees, flanked by low slung guitars and a full-on drum kit. From the first note it was our sound with a new edge and we loved it. Come back again for another encore boys.

Following his own top act could have been tough work for Grant Dell, but he treated us to very smooth spin through some the highlights of a personal discography that’s proving as popular in the States as it is here in his native Sarf London.

And then there was Colin. From the Outer Limits to the main event. It’s great to have him back. Gospel tinged four-four tripping into cool teutonics then acid hooks – he took us all there and back again. After the lights came on, a slow, quiet realisation came over the few of us still able to form a rational thought. Didn’t Colin Dale get us all into this mess in the first place?