Sock Free Hideaway

SONGS THEY NEVER PLAY ON THE RADIO

11. WE WANNA GET LOADED AND WE WANNA HAVE A GOOD TIME

             PART 1   'Just what is it that you want to do?'                         

LOADED WAS a game-changer, altering everything since the day I first heard it from a fuzzy monochrome into crystal-clear technicolour. Everything except my clobber. Other than Blundstone boots, everything I owned was from my mother's or sister's wardrobes or Wednesday's Oldham flea market. I went to a Loop concert on half a trip the day I bought it, but couldn't wait to get back home to spin it on repeat throughout a sunny Thursday morning in the back garden where it sounded truly wonderful.   

I loved the hazy intensity, the day after a decent trip, when I would convince myself I was becoming a little more enlightened. However, by 1997 I was so pleased to hear the Beta Band's Champion Versions EP rewinding everything back to that same point, as I had become truly jaded with going out clubbing, but, in between time, there were Justin Robertson, Greg Fenton, Tom Rowlands, and Ed Simons, whose music had a cumulative effect of further enlightening me, I think. 

The minute I walked into HP's night, I knew I had found something ever shifting and much more stimulating than any other nights I'd attended. Records I owned through Spice and Boy's Own charts, but I never heard anywhere else, were rocking a really cool mixed gay and straight crowd. 

Greg's tunes really held that vibe together, but Justin had a massive pull and created buckets of energy and enthusiasm. Introducing my good mate Stu's cousin (an Arches regular) to their full on Thursday was memorable. The sweat was just dripping off his carrot top and flying everywhere. I'd never seen anything like it before or since. And I've been in some mad-houses. 

My kid sister fitted in well with her Geese clobber, but I only went in there for fanzines and flyers. All my spare cash went on an ever-growing records wants list and going out. Tom sometimes wore a really cool leather jacket with Renegade Soundwave emblazoned on the back and his cohort Phil South an even greater Exile tee. The Stones were my main obsession, and I hadn't at that point considered my socio-economic dis-advantages, let alone my own image. I just felt some spiritual kin-ship and having my sisters in tow helped create that sense of affiliation. 

                                      

 

PART 2   'Ground Controllll!'                                     

LUCKILY, MONDAYS at the Brickhouse were a more dressed down affair and mainly given over to Ariel T-Shirted straight lads and impromptu PA's from the likes of Andy E and Rowetta, who always sounded champion. They wouldn't stand on a stage but would instead belt out numbers on the stairwell. People forget that there was one tune that charged up Justin's dancefloor that summer. The girls were admiring one another's I-D recommended clobber and swish haircuts, then Rhythm is a Mystery dropped and the place erupted into smiling and dancing. Not many Monday night DJs could then keep their floor full by playing Sheer Taft and the Fun Boy Three. Hats well and truly off.  

Monday clubbing really made a statement, but with working Tuesday's I was supping Sol and other than a bit of puff on the journey down was pretty much straight headed. Most folk for most of the time were in a similar laid back head-space.   

Kid Sister

Tim used to drive down from Lancaster and was much more energetic and enthusiastic than me. Even after a week in Berlin, he was full of vim. He was great coz his congenial nature meant he shared the track titles Justin was playing without making a meal of it, saving me the embarrassment of approaching the DJ booth. 

The seminal closers Don't Fight It (Scat mix), Temple Head, and Fallen were quasi-religious in their effect, and sent us all off to the high place.

However, I'd soon be fast asleep on the car journey back home before jotting down the titles on my way to bed. I was the worst of things; a train-spotter in denial. In all the other clubs, I was too wasted. 

 

Glitter Baby at the State was a case in point. I was still prone to losing the plot, whereas Greg would waft himself in the heat with records I could only dream of buying and never have a hair out of place. Tom would sit down in sober conversation often with carrier bags of records whilst I'd be sliding down a wall in a poppers and sweat haze. 

I only ever recall him dancing once and that was to Weatherall's Come Home remix at a Primal's gig. He'd already enjoyed his dancefloor conversion long before me and had obviously considered his socio-economic advantages and own image.   

One Saturday I was too inebriated to even leave Mum's house, so gave her cat Garfield, who I called Brian, some poppers instead and laughed as he walked into the radiator. I laughed too on another sorry occasion when my mother called into my room to tell me my uncle had just died as I had just been sampling some pills. Mother, luckily, had the wisdom to recognize my folly and knew I would feel dreadful eventually. Or did my sister tell her? Anyway, I eventually I did.  Brian exacted his own revenge too when he began talking to me in a cold manner when we were alone together and this completely freaked me out for well over a year. 

I recall Nicola Stephenson, whose character Margaret Clemence shared that infamous kiss in Brookside, showing concern for my mental-state one night, and me predictably making a poorly judged pass at her. These nights morphed into days and other nights, Circus took the reins from Glitter Baby and Most Excellent moved to Thursdays at the Wiggly Worm before it got ram-raided by gangs. Ed became increasingly chatty, discussing MBV, Graham Massey, and the Roses, whilst Tom, whose band Ariel was on the wane, was every bit as transparent as myself. His look of complete disdain when I enthused about Nia Peeples was only matched by my own when he was buzzing about the Prodigy. Looking back, it was a primitive form of market research.

I was surprised and supportive when Tom and Ed eagerly started Naked Under Leather. It attracted a load of students and was a cool place to try out Dennis the Menaces with my good pal Bobby, or introduce Stu's maddest cousin in day-glow pants to magic mushrooms and crazy dancing. Or did he introduce us? Either way, it was mental.

I like the fact that it was Justin who had told Tom to concentrate on the weird interludes in his music. Moonboots deserves credit too for arming them with dubbed-out, hip-hop records, which really stood them out. Often sounding not unlike their own output.  

PART 3 'Gu-Gan-Gu Gagga-Gan, Gu-Gan-Gu Gagga-Gan- Girl i'm high!' 

THE DUST Brothers produced really ground-breaking music. A case in point is their Swordfish remix. It retained a Balearic air, but, with the help of an East Side Hoods sample and some lysergic acid dimethylamide in the groove, they took them off to another stratosphere. 

It was definitely another Loaded moment for me as it sounded not too dissimilar from the noise reverberating around my own head as I lay on my bed awaiting another unfathomable night of strange dreams. In no time at all, their DJing was uniting journalists and you could anticipate their success. Lots more women and freaks began attending NUL, and they really relegated Phil to a workaday role, despite him being a great DJ in his own right. I actually thought they might be as big as Greg one day.  

In fact, Greg played some blinding sets in the Pavillion with Jon Dasilva at Space Funk before it too got ram-raided by gangs. He championed Chicago house and Disco and then, with the release of his own disco-infused house bomb, Love Infinity, it all quickly fizzled out for me. Invariably, post-club, whilst folk were wandering around looking for after-parties, I'd be stretched out, star-shaped, on the local bowling green, tripping, and still seeking enlightenment.  

I took a lot of magic mushrooms and wandered around his new night, Vive Le Rock at the Wiggly Worm, realizing I was definitely in the wrong meeting. Stu took a lot more than me and was in a far worse state, actually crawling around, and I was in a bad way.     

Shortly after, we both suffered very definitive, but wholly separate, breakdowns. He fell back in love with footy, but because I still harboured hopes of being an uncompromising DJ, I wasn't finished with music. Unsurprisingly, there were more breakdowns to come my way. Everything became very disjointed and very foggy until Discopogo at the Paradise Factory where Tom and Ed sounded next level. Long before their fancy Dan light shows and their need to fill bigger spaces with their sound, they were mixing records I owned or selecting cuts off them I myself had overlooked.

Follow 4 Now sounded absolutely astounding and truly futuristic in their set. I was a little in awe and actually thought for the first time that they might be a little bigger than Greg one day.