The long awaited daft Punk gig was nothing short of EPIC. I’ll try to break it down for ya’:
1. We drove out to Homebush (great idea!). Traffic wasnt too foul so we got there about 1315. Parked car, short stroll to the ONLY entrance where we proceeded to do fuck all for the next 2.5 hours apart from stand still in a huge crowd under awful conditions. Some nitwit had sent a bulk email to everyone who bought their tix online. Email went along the lines of “if you dont get there early you will be watching the Punk from the stadium, so get there early punk”. I guess myself and every other sod who rocked up before 1700 were pretty keen on that dancefloor action (mind you, Daft Punk were on at 2145). There was at least 10,000 of us (prob more like 14K but some reports say as many as 24K) stuck in this ugly crowd scence: no water, no shade, no public announcements, no queue barriers, no St John’s, no end in sight. We did have in abundance: humidity approaching 90%, girls fainting, people pushing, people booing, people farting, bottle throwing and dangerous levels of frustration. It took every gram of self control for me not to ark up and barge thru the crowd to hurl abuse at whoever was responsible for the gross misconduct and most outrageous breach of OH+S in party history that we were subjected to. The organisers should def post a public apology and explainantion for what happened. Only ONE fucking entry point??? Big Day Out is a juggernaut in comparison with this Never Ever Again one-off and I’ve never had to endure such disgusting conditions. People could have died! There could have been a stampede. Fuck knows I wanted to! (Might have something to do with the 3 Red Bulls I sculled in the hour prior to the line-up but my yogic breathing technique placated the guarana rage to a manageable degree, but only just). I got separated from Fee in the various crowd surges that occurred. This was also annoying. But as we no doubt would have made the joint decision to fuck the gig, sell our tix for $500 each and drive home to smoke on my balcony had we stayed together in that mob, it probably worked out for the best that we got separated. Small joy!
2. Once inside, it took a while to chill the fuck out after that degrading ordeal. A ciggie and some water with a sit down sorted that out after a bit. Then we decide to get some food. Another fortifying gesture…in theory. Every other punk in Sydney had the same idea. Same FUCKN QUEUES! AGH!!! Ok, no biggie. We already survived the mutha of all crowds so this should be a piece of cake. But then the rain came down. Just like that line from that Infusion/Outfission (sorry lads!) track, it dropped out of the heavy sky and added another dampener (cough cough) to the gig. In retrospect it was actually quite refreshing and our auric bodies no doubt needed the cleanse after that psychic rape earlier. But at the time it just seemed like the day couldnt get any worse, especially since the rain did not look like clearing. Added to this was another example of the slowest moving queue in human history; we were lined up for 45 mins for a burger and chips. Funnily enough, as luck would have it, just as I get to the counter and order my food, I open my wallet to retrieve some cash and the fuckin WIND picks up, swirls around us with mischievious gusto, rifles thru my wallet and snatches $50 from me! It is promptly swept UNDER the fuckn food wagon where I have been standing for almost an hour and despite my efforts to kneel down in the mud and wriggle under the cart, it just always seems to be that little bit too far away from my reach. GRRRR! I spin to to Fee and loudly exclaim “Fuck this, after we eat we GO!” LOL, I do tend to get emotional about these things! We take a seat under cover, devour probably the best fuckn chicken burger I’ve ever had, and reassess. Apart from $50 and a few kilos lost from dehydration, we are in good shape. Fee needs bandaids, and we both need water, so the plan is hatched and we decide to stay…at least for a lil while longer…
3. Soon enough the phone starts making noise and its the cavalry, here much later then expected and in much happier spirits then us early birds. Looking and feeling very chipper they sweep us along in a tide of good vibes to go sit up the very top of the stadium to avoid the rain. Blazed up and for the first time today I was actually laxin. Feelin good after a temporary bout of vertigo, we head en masse to to the dancefloor. Ha! Should mention here that the “limited” dancefloor tickets were referring to the grope pit up the front of the main stage. So, it really would not have been a big deal had we turned up later as I had NO intention of getting in that pit anyhow! That email def presented a different story to what unfolded. I will post it here if I can be bothered at a later date. We grab a few beers on the way down and I’m in front of Fee. Next thing I hear is bang and bounce and I turn around and there she is, mid-text, on her ass on the metal steps with a beer in the other hand! OUCH! Fee insisted that her injuries were purely ego based, so we kept on. That would have been another Get The Fuck Outta Here moment, but we forged on, tuff ladies of the floor that we are 😉
After that , the party got considerably better. The sun came out toward the end of Muscles set, the defining moment of his career so far, the crowd went wild. The sun stayed out till almost 2100 (being the longest day of the year, a solstice in fact) when the moon dropped in, almost full, and hovered above us till the end.
I could have a whinge about the DJs, the sound and the vision. But I won’t. Presets and Cut Copy were lots of fun and very familiar. The toilet situation got better as the nite wore on, as did the bar wait. So no complaints there.
Daft Punk were mad. Their lites and production were something else. It felt like they really were robots talking to us! Some said that they played a close version of the Alive CD, and maybe that is true. They still captured my imagination, hips and head as I bopped about like a lil kidder.
And yes, they did end with One More Time. It was perfect!
see below for excerpt from the group email:
1. GET THERE EARLY
The gates fling open for NEVEREVERLAND in Sydney at 2pm.
The first 24,000 people through the door will be given a wristband that allows access onto the field in front of the stage and the stands. After that, punters will be directed into the stands. If you do not have a wristband you will not be admitted to the field at any time.
BULL SHIT
Hot dog. The summer season is upon us here in down town Sydney. I am happy, hungover n broke and it aint even NYE yet. Excellent form. Did the twist with my body n mind with Rocket Science tonite in preparation for Daft Punk tomorrow. I like to be limber for these events. In true w.rek style, I meant to blog about the last time I saw the The Science back in June. But, as fate may have it, I’ve only just checked my drafts now. And as much as I want to describe the sensory overload that accompanies each of their sets, words again escape me. For another day.
Posted by walking rek on Apr 2, 2006 in
dancing rek,
my ears are expensive Having only just discovered the celubriuos surrounds of Scary Canary, there was no way I was going to miss another excuse to shake my tail feather downtown at Yellow.
Situated just behind Town Hall on Kent St the birds nest in question is a spacious affair with acres of open space and cosy corners for weary soles. A simple yet impressive flock of intelligent lights perch around the corners of the dancefloor creating areas of bold colour and contrasting shadows. A lucid projector aims its eagle eye at a screen behind the DJ booth casting more movement and colour whilst the sound system delivers clean audio from tidy speakers rigged from the roof.
It seems that the total smoke ban has been lifted which came as a welome relief as I do like a bit of a drag when I bump n grind. And a spankin new dancefloor with no chewing gum to hinder a shimmy or slide is a pleasure to behold indeed.
Whilst I was’nt knocking back any hard liquor on this particular occasion, I can vouch that the generous glasses of non-sugary fizz were $3, and based on my vague recollection from last time, I am pretty sure that the drink prices were reasonable all round. Another feather in the Canary cap.
I have yet to figure out who is who down at Yellow. The DJs seem to multiply and mutate into each other after a few tracks making it tough to get a handle on their individual sound or style. Whilst I am more accustomed to settling in for a few hours of a set, this eclectic roster works well with the Yellow/Glitch sound – bumpy, chunky, riddled with pops and clicks and pant-splitting bass lines.
One DJ whose name, face and sound I am more familiar with was featured guest Phil Smart. I could go on about his sophisticated yet soulful ear and how he is the thinking punter’s DJ, but I figure that if you are reading this review then you’d already know. Phil Smart is my definitive favourite and tonite he delivered another textured and playful reminder of why. I’ve never been much of a tune spotter but I wish I could insert a few track titles here – . I imagine Phil dropped a fair slab of Junk Beat material but I was too busy riding a wave of bass to ask him.
Posted by walking rek on Oct 10, 2005 in
dancing rek,
my ears are expensive
Sydney loves the Presets. With all the madness surrounding their recent album release it came as no surprise that this gig had well and truly sold out prior to doors on Saturday nite. Having caught these guys earlier in the year I too was looking forward to sweating it out again under the capricious spell of the Presets.We started proceedings for the evening down the road at the Century Tavern where they sell the largest $3.50 middies of beer in Sydney. You can also smoke unimpeded in relative indie comfort high above the chaos of George Street.
Back at the Metro The Valentino�s were prowling around stage in their tight jeans and flat hair. They produce a sound very much like the Cure meets Richie Valens, 60�s surf rock with steel guitar and moody unintelligible vocals. The lead singer must have had his jeans a little too tight as he seemed to have enormous trouble staying upright � he spent a good portion of their set writhing about on the stage behind the drums. The drummer himself was also a good laugh: when he wasn�t thrashing about like the guy from Def Leppard he was blabbering on about some bouncer in Brisbane who did him wrong. Regardless of these hilarious antics, The Valentino�s did play with panache, especially the guy on steel guitar.
Whilst we were blinded by the first big laser I�ve seen in years, The Presets creeped out in clear plastic masks that warped their features in a greasy fashion. This 2 piece powerhouse of dark electro pop are certainly entertaining to watch and tremendous fun to dance to: their disjointed rhythms and jagged melodies swing between the hypnotic and stabbing, the raunchy and the angular. The guy on drums didn�t stay there for long, he was up and about, punching and kicking the air, dancing like an old school raver in his smiley tshirt. The lead singer was flicking his power fringe all over the place and seducing the crowd with his alluring lyrics and sardonic delivery.
I couldn�t say which was my favourite moment, but when they threw the big balloons out into the crowd it brought on a major flashback! The steamy conditions on the dancefloor were exacerbated by the saucy sounds and those in the front row started crawling onto the stage and soon there was another inferno up there. Aye carumba, this was something else.
The Presets demolished their 60 minute set all too quickly for my liking. Left high and dry after a wild and sweaty session on the tiles, I could�ve danced all nite. Lucky for me I have the album so I can re-live the gig again and again til I see them next time. Won�t you join me?
Posted by walking rek on Jul 12, 2005 in
dancing rek,
my ears are expensive I like the Gaelic Club. There is something authentic about the place; be that the smiling Irish voice who answered the phone when I rang to check the gig time, or the tasty array of world beer on tap, I reckon this place is just what Sydney needed to reboot our sluggish live scene. Thus it was with much anticipation that we donned our drinking hats and stepped out to brave the torrential drizzle, en route a la Gaelic.
Firstly I must say that the door list was seriously lengthy. There must have been at least two hundred names on those tattered shreds of paper. I guess Koolism and Katalyst have a lot of friends. Hoping that they had saved us a seat, we side stepped to the bar and made the first very important decision of the evening. Beverage in hand, the search was on�get thee to a table with a view. No chance. We might have had better luck trying to park a mini-bus on the Opera House forecourt, but on this occasion the Gig Gods were against us and we found ourselves wedged up against the wall over to the left near the toilets. There was an army of very surly and very tall gents camped defiantly on the dance floor so we voted to stay put temporarily.
The first DJ was slamming down old school Biggie-esque beats which got things happening in our corner, but it is always hard to get the momentum moving when you are getting battered around by folks on a mad dash to the amenities. Steeling ourselves with more amber liquid, we stood staunch and checked out the locale. The crowd was a mixed bunch of old uni students, B Grade Celebs and off duty bouncers all trying to find a spot to put their drink and roll a cigarette. The rather hefty hip hop heaving out of those tall stacks of speakers definitely set the mood: there was a certain tension in the air and even that army of giants shifted their weight in anticipation of the set to come.
Katalyst came on just after 11 with DJ Leeroy Brown and some super sounds of the seventies. The unique style of Katalyst who blends beats with grooves of gold is perfectly set off by Leeroy�s sleek scratching skills, but the first MC fell flat on his yank accent and lost the vibe almost instantly. Katalyst reclaimed some of it when he whipped out an old CB radio rigged up as a mic and ushered in his second MC who got a warmer response from the crowd. Pulling out the big guns, Katalyst and Leeroy amped up a Seven Nation Army mega mix that got the crowd interested and then followed through with some Kelis and current Beastie Boys. Most of the crowd dug it, but the solid gents in the front row didn�t appear too impressed, a feeling that was echoed in our corner. We endured the moment by admiring the cool visuals of old record covers from the seventies being projected behind the performers. Katalyst wrapped up his set on a big note with an original party pleaser off his album and managed to reinstate the lost vibe. Overall, I thought he played to the Triple J crowd too much and didn�t promote his more eclectic collection.
Koolism were obviously the act everyone was eager to see and hear. With DJ Danielsan proving why he is most revered with the choicest beats and technical proficiency, the 2 MC�s bounced around the stage with unabashed abandon. The crowd lapped it up and gave it up for the big beats and choruses. There was little banter between tracks and one number flowed into the next leaving little room for timely breaks to the bar. The critical mass of MCs in the crowd was showing signs of enjoyment whilst average Joe struggled for a piece of dance floor action. Plenty of beer was getting spilled, sweet smoke filled the air around us and the vibe was holding strong. Koolism�s new material got a swell reception and the crowd was happy to jostle amongst themselves, eager to ride the wave of funky beats and straight up lyrics. Koolism are about busting your guts on the dance floor and as an album launch, this gig split its pants.
Posted by walking rek on Apr 24, 2005 in
dancing rek,
my ears are expensive The inaugural Come Together festival boasted an all Australian lineup of alternative and indie-dance cross over bands in a spectacular harbour side setting. An all-ages gig, this festival drew a friendly diverse crowd to Sydney�s beloved Luna Park.
Come Together was a triumph. At less then $60 a ticket, the event featured 30 edgy home grown acts as well as unlimited rides making Come Together excellent value for money. The defiantly non-mainstream program successfully combined quantity and quality across a wide range of musical entertainment.
Come Together was staged in the Big Top arena along with smaller space Spectrum, all smack bang in the middle of Luna Park�s side show alley. We were torn between watching the gigs and running amok amongst the families who were there for the day too. Lining up for the Wild Mouse ride offered a telling cross section of mums and dads, toddlers and punks. The seven nation army of Spazzy�s fans started a food fight with a gang of kids: uber cool noveau wavers traded sulky glances with boozy home boys: skater chicks pashed on with guys in tight black denim. It was on for young and old! This playground of ride-induced nausea, fashion and mischief was a circus; against the backdrop of loud music and rides, gleeful laughter filtered through the day and into the night.
Each band had 30 mins of show time to blow us away so the pressure was on to impress. There was little on stage banter as the performers powered through their best material, so we were treated to highly refined performances that were designed for maximum impact. The result was concentrated quality; rather then wandering off half way through a set due to lack of interest, I found myself compelled to stick around till the end of most acts even though there was so much to see and do.
The Spectrum Stage housed by the Popcorn Hall played host to bands such as Peabody, the Presets, Starky and the Panda Band. This room was on ground level with no audience elevation making it difficult to see the performers unless you were right up the front by the stage. Those over 18 who wished to buy alcohol had to stand behind barricades at the rear bar which was annoying. The room had a low ceiling and some odd fluoro lighting fixtures that cast an unhealthy glow without flux, whilst the lack of ventilation caused a thick humid cloud despite the venue being non smoking. The Presets were rad and got the crowd moving to their moody melodies and dark wave loops; a 2 piece outfit with synths, vox and live drums, these guys are the ultimate in tortured bliss.
The Big Top is a big joint with massive sound, great lighting rig and monster floor. We spent most of our time hanging out upstairs in the over 18�s balcony which offered supreme vantage points of the main stage. The sizable back room featured indie DJs spinning a respectable selection of cult classics to a transient audience under the golden glare of the Taj Mahal installation whilst the bar queue moved quickly and a beer cost $6. One problem with the Big Top was the lack of designated smoking + drinking areas: the only place in the whole festival where we could enjoy both together was an outdoor concrete slab fenced in underneath a screaming ride. It felt like an after thought and offered little shade in the heat of the day.
From a musical perspective, the Big Top gets props. The stage was split into halves allowing one act to set-up shop whilst another rocked out on the other side. This ensured a smooth transition between performances and delivered almost non-stop entertainment; for most of the evening it was difficult to leave the room for fear of missing something and I found myself catching acts I would not have ordinarily seen.
Gerling were always going to be larger then life: bouncing around the stage, this 3 piece have an infectious demeanor and hilarious lyrics. Infusion were a little more solemn in comparison: one of the acts I was desperate to catch, I found their set a far cry from earlier days. The 3 lads were joined by a dude on bass and another on guitar fusing dance and rock in what was a very serious and perhaps lack lustre rendition of recent material. Rocket Science were out of control � I love their dramatic sound, that Theremin, the way the front man throws himself about the stage and crawls back to hunch over his keys. Awesome. The biggest surprise of the night was the Spazzy�s; these girls were tight as F, and whilst I don�t really rate them lyrically, their set was kick-ass.
By this stage the Big Top was packed to capacity, the floor was a sea of punters slipping over in vomit, all hyped up on hurdy gurdy madness, beer and hot dogs; it was a far larger crowd then I had seen all day and the vibe in the room swelled along with it.
The highlight of the night was without a doubt those saucy blokes from Brisbane � Butter Fingers. They stumbled out on stage all messy, they weren�t really ready to start and bumbled around for a bit all apologetic. Then they nailed it with their opening number and took it from there; their set was super slick and covered all their hits as well as some of their punk interludes. Butter Fingers are hot stuff and fully deserved the rowdy response they received.
Come Together offered something for everyone. I thoroughly enjoyed the variety of acts and found the all ages aspect pretty refreshing despite some underage drunkeness . The event was well organized and top value for money. But most of all, I had the best time running around Luna Park; it made this jaded punter feel like a kid again. Can I have another turn on the Ranger? Please!
Posted by walking rek on Nov 27, 2004 in
dancing rek,
my ears are expensive Myles �Mylo� Macinnes and his album Destroy Rock & Roll are pretty damn famous right now in Australia. So if you are into a bit of ye olde Retro Clash, then chances are you were at one of his gigs last week. Being a little partial to the odd bootleg myself, I was interested to hear what the fuss about Mylo was really about.
For starters the venue struck me as an unusual choice. Tickets sold out well before the nite suggesting that either Mylo really was some intergalactic pop star or that the venue was less then enormous. In this case, the club was definitely swingin the sweaty side of cozy and Mylo was the definitive flavour of the month. The place was packed with pushy glamour types checking each other out and hogging the bathroom whilst the show girls taking drink orders were rushed off their bustled butts. It was apparent early on that this gig was gonna be at full capacity with an uncomfortable number of punters struggling for space around the edges.
Mylo was greeted with an uproarious cheer as the already maxxed out dance floor swelled with 80�s babies posing against his backdrop of pastel pop. Mylo is not famed for his skills as deck technician, but his track selection was a retrospective mix of memorable golden oldies and questionable gambles; highlights for me included Technosonic, Womack & Womack and AC/DC. The music waxed and waned, unlike the crowd who relished every savage cross fade; some punters bordered on insane, particularly whenever Mylo dropped one of the tracks off his album. Despite enjoying himself immensely (he was having it large, dolled up in a t-shirt that will spawn a thousand versions �Mother F@#$ker�s Gonna Droppa The Pinger�) Mylo managed to squeeze an amazing amount of material into his performance; his 2 hour set seemed to go forever. Whilst Mylo certainly proved a hit with the crowd, I found the music a little two dimensional, with no real direction in mood.
The latter part of evening was a messy mash-up of Bang Gang DJ Ajax and friends. Their densely compact sets teased and taunted the audience with indie bootlegs and crafty workings of Franz Ferdinand, Guns�n�Roses, Blur and Scissor Sisters. The nite lacked a lot of groove or soul but the DJ�s kept surprising me with their eclectic selections: I hung about purely to hear what was up next despite the plastic element of the crowd getting increasingly nasty.
In many ways, Mylo rocked the �Rouge. His legions of fans will no doubt be champin at the bit for his sets at Good Vibrations in 2005. I am curious to see how he will perform with his band in a live context and look forward to Dropping the Pressure with a friendlier crowd.
Posted by walking rek on Nov 12, 2004 in
dancing rek,
my ears are expensive Australian Hip Hop. It seems to be all about the lyrics. The message is clearly one of a disillusioned youth grumpy with our nations political agenda. These word beat artists are clever enough to weave a coherent and logical argument, but is the social consciousness of Australian MC’s forgetting the other vital elements of hip-hop music…bounce and groove?
Tonight we gathered round at the Hopetoun to support some familiar faces and give props to the new. I was disappointed that Hermitude did not appear on the set-list and then suffered another devastating blow with the announcement that the beer taps were offline all night. This wasn’t on the flyer! The acoustics at the Hoey are notorious for being tricky but on this occasion the room sounded just right despite some boorish mic technique early on in the evening.
We caught the tail end of the Living Dead Dudes who didn’t really do much besides bellow along to some gloomy loops. I sincerely hope their earlier numbers were more polished because there is not much worse then an MC who bumbles loudly and incoherently through lyrics. The assembly of punters seemed stunned into silence and paralysis throughout this display and a few snuck out to escape the din.
The Awakenings Crew out of Melbourne delivered some enthusiastic stage antics and a handful of witticisms in what turned out to be a two part set spread out over the night. MC’s Hykoo and Mantra managed their mics with practiced ease and played around with some call and response vocal arrangements that worked well. DJ El Gasto accompanied the duo with some crafty scratching but it took the audience a while to warm up, and even then we had to be bribed with the promise of free merchandise. The high light of this set was the Ode to the Middy, an (almost) improvised ditty backed up by the bounciest ragga groove all night.
The host of the night Scott Burns dropped in to say hi and had a burst on the mic with “Hip Hop Slash R and B†a light hearted exploration of a serious issue. He introduced Chasm, DJ and producer, who provided the back beats for the rest of the night. The musical colours varied between dark and brooding, heavy orchestral tones that seemed a little too melodramatic to me: there were a few moments of rubber groove that demanded attention, but for the most part the lyricists had the lime light.
Urthboy was the act most people were waiting for. This MC earned his stripes with The Herd and delivered more of his signature catalystic verse tonite. Urthboy’s mission seems to be to educate his audience through themes of politics: his eloquent attacks on the status quo touched on many burning issues of Australian society today. His audience lapped it up, nodding in agreement: there could be no doubt that these kids are the well informed minority of hip-hop culture in this country – I bet every one of them voiced their vote on Election Day. This was a heartening sight, and gives me hope for our future. The set was intellectual and opinionated with plenty of food for thought, but lacked any real interesting musical elements. I wonder if the music had been as well thought through as the message then perhaps the important voice of Urthboy and his contemporaries would reach a wider audience.
Posted by walking rek on Sep 20, 2004 in
dancing rek,
my ears are expensive I jumped at the chance to cover this gig. My gut intuition was whispering sweet promises of a close encounter with some serious groove. My prior experiences at the Metro, albeit mostly in the main room, had forged strong impressions of events soaked in super sound and awesome vibe. Expectations riding aloft after a gruesome week, this Friday night I was gonna cut loose and get high.
One thing is for certain: some things change, and others remain as stoically unblemished by the winds of time as a good pair of flares. I tell you what, this freekin no-smoking policy at the Metro may have some mild mannered supporters but let me ask you this: who goes to gigs to stand around picking ones nose and deliberating on the texture and flavor? I can only speak for myself but I go to gigs to savour the rewarding fusion of music, liquid and smoke: this was the first time that the harsh sting of anti-smoking legislation had backed me into a corner and I decidedly did not like it.
The first band we caught was Panda. Cute name, cute sound. They had this rootsy funk thing happening with a gospel thread that was almost infecticious had there been the sweet smell of cheeba in the air. Which there wasn�t. There was a lot of people lying around on the scattered poufs looking like they had partaken their fair share before they arrived, a thought that struck me as perhaps a little pre-meditated. I wish I had been fore- warned. Panda boasted some throaty vocals and sumptuous saxophone accompanied by a sassy steel guitar and ripe old funky beats. I thought they had a lot to offer and wish that I could have enjoyed their set without thinking up elaborate ways to sneak a drag on my dhurri. The venue too had plenty to smirk about: with the clever stage, pre-loved couches and tables upstairs, this space combined boho cabaret with serious sound reinforcement. Too bad about the long walk downstairs to indulge in a little inhalation�(this unfortunate detour did, on the other hand, present us with happy hour at Bar Ace next door with $2.50 spirits from 5-11pm.)
All funked up, we venture back to catch the Modernists. Holy smoke, these cats were on FIRE before they even started. The band began their set with an illegally fat instrumental � then, enter stage left� their lead singer, we�ll call him Kamahl, made his grand entrance by executing the maddest strut ever down the tiered stage to take his position with the other magnificent seven. Introducing themselves as purveyors of Funk Disco Soul, the Modernists made my heart leap: they were the real deal, the funk fantastique. Jamiroquai � watch ya back, these kids are the freekin bomb. With a solid repertoire of super dope originals, the Modernists played for over an hour to a stunned audience: the extended instrumentals allowed the immense talent of the band to shine through whilst the genuine ladies man lyrics were delivered in deep honey tones. The Modernists offered a generous mix of faster funk along with seductive slow numbers, never losing momentum or the audience adoration. Their stage presence was flawless, their musical talent unquestionable. I can�t wait to see them again in a smoke friendly venue. The Modernists have a new CD out soon.
Posted by walking rek on Jul 31, 2004 in
dancing rek,
my ears are expensive <!– @page { size: 21cm 29.7cm; margin: 2cm } P { margin-bottom: 0.21cm } –>
Mad Racket is a consistent party provider. Still kickin well into its 6th year, this party collective has out lasted many of its contemporaries and maintains its underground ethic with emphasis on quality production and intelligent music. The result is a party that respects its punters offering a haven for self-expression, be that on the dance floor or in what you choose to wear (or not to wear) Mad Racket is a party for the open minded.
The venue still holds up as one of the best around: Marrickville Bowling Club can be found in the back streets of the inner west industrial zone. On a quiet night you can hear the bass from almost a kilometre away, but yet I have never known this party to get shut down due to noise complaints. The club maintains its charm as a recreational centre for the bowling set, but it comes alive as a party space with super sound reinforcement and cool visuals courtesy of the Mad Racket crew. The dance floor is legendary, plenty of souls have left their bodies temporarily out on those tiles, whilst the choice of couches beckons seductively to those who prefer to watch.
For the Locals party, there is a healthy turnout of punters despite the Splendour exodus and bitterly cold and damp conditions. The crowd is a well-seasoned lot who feel the urge to shake off their ugg boots and get down to some seriously tasty house music. Typically, there is not one glow stick in sight, but the groove is definitely hitting its mark and more people are on the move then not. This is deep and dirty low slung house music in its element: a musically sensitive crowd who know what they like and a venue with the right mix of space and creature comforts.
For some on the night, that level of comfort extended to wearing very little at all as they shook their bits to Jimmi James’ quality deep tech house. But, being a Mad Racket affair, no one really took much notice of anything other then the music. With the crowd suitably oiled up, Jimmi James slid off and Alpha Town Collective sidled up to soak us in yet more saucy sensations.
Alpha Town took us on a tour of their new live material during an extended and well-received set. These two guys dished out some highly infecticious grooves with deep bass lines that swung hips and heads alike, whilst the lengthy layers of housey goodness mutated delightfully. Their set was well structured and ended in slightly more up-tempo terrain that reflected the heightened vibe of the room.
Ken Cloud took proceedings to the next level with his chunky slabs of meaty beats. The crowd was sitting deep in their grooves, only taking five to partake of the very modestly priced drinks. I believe that this particular Mad Racket featured some of the most consistent and enjoyable music I’ve heard out on the tiles for a while. A party that reminded one of certain halcyon days of past. Long live House. As the Racketeers would say: Well Bowled, Well Rolled.