Sock Free Hideaway

BEATS OF LOVE 

11. Together (Illegal Version) by Barry Mason

OF THE handful of DJ's I know commanding large audiences and travelling around the world, I'd say they possibly encounter a dozen really special moments a year. Most DJ's I know who may travel twice a year, probably one or two. Then there are others who could say five in their lifetime. I'm safely going to say that they all live for a large part of their lives in their own imaginations.

It's what separates music obsessives from record obsessives like me. Music obsessives always have about ten gigs on the go and buy into the bands they love and are seeped in the reality of it all, whereas record obsessives can't generally afford gigs, and don't stay loyal to anyone in particular. 

Both egocentric and idealist, we pursue different utopian musical landscapes, simultaneously where everyone is deliriously wasted, fucking cool, and totally subsumed by our records, in our imagination. Special moments occur when this actually happens and not when singing back songs with beer foaming around your mouth. So hardly ever.  

2 great style books that saw light of day, DJH's Raving'89 that collected the photos and words of Neville and Gavin Watson, and Dave Swindell's Ibiza'89, feed the imagery. As do the faces that leave an indelible impression on my own memory bank. It's little coincidence that the folk who make it in my book are the folk who could easily grace such pages and impressions. Not me then.

Imaginary parties don't pay and you never get any praise, but the punters never age either, which means not everything you play has to have a sunset in mind. Admittedly, it's childish and futile trying to control the soundtrack and these imaginary parties, but this track really wouldn't exist in any other time and space for me. 1984 could easily be 2034. 

Italo-disco is often at the more rough-and-ready end of the cosmic spectrum and tends to drive along rather than chug. They tend to take you into deep space on a few synth lines and overwork the drum machines. This track is seemingly simple, yet manages to do both. It's only when it finishes that you realize how bloody good it is and how far you've travelled. 

The sleeve is intriguing, if a little garish, as is Venice's Superadio records. Great name for a label and yummy dark blue vinyl too. The vocals sit on the wrong side of cheese and sound similar to his other disappointing twelves, but this mix is a revelation. Not too kitsch and not too high-minded, it traverses a fine line between delirium, cool, and crisp, brilliantly.

Nobody I know in real life would lose themselves in its elasticity, and nobody I know in real life would see the worth of pounding it out for the full seven minutes. But at least my imaginary happening is going fucking nuts.   

 http://www.gavinwatsonarchive.com/raving89 

  https://www.creativereview.co.uk/dave-swindell-ibiza-89-photography-book/