Sock Free Hideaway

BEATS OF LOVE

92. Slam Dunk Funk by Future Perfect

 LAST NIGHT in the late summer evening sun, the magic happened. 

Without headphones and in the main just picking up records in serendipitous fashion, I got in the zone and built things up brilliantly. I should be coz I've been doing it for nearly 40 years. There were many satisfying moments, but picking this up and playing it after roughly two-thirds of Herbert's People That Make the Music was blissful and kept me dancing.  

Yes, dancing. I'm all for a mix that locks two tracks together and takes the dancefloor somewhere surprising, but I'm not that keen on the seamless join, at least not if the DJ is locked in their headphones for about two whole minutes to perform it. They could be dancing and enjoying themselves while still keeping their dancefloor happy. Or in my case, my conservatory plants.

This record, dating back to 1995, had been totally forgotten, and I fully anticipated it spoiling the magical mood I had created. But for reasons outside my understanding, I played it anyway and was supisingly enriched. I love its extrasensory layers. It's subtler and sparser than I imagined it would be, and, in that moment, without the aid of mixing or filtering it, it totally slayed me and my houseplants.

I once bought into the DJ as shaman and the ritualistic reverie of their followers. Now, aging alongside my houseplants, I see the limits of that myth. I finally understand why my neighbour mowed his lawn instead of appreciating my hand-claps and musical alchemy. The bastard!