- FABRIC 18th March - EARGASM
Be Prepared vs LastMinuteDiscoNapThenOutTheDoor
Usually I prepare myself for Fabric by getting good sleep, eating a big bowl of pasta, looking over my will to ensure I have included loved ones and then knock back a few cheeky wodka pineapples.
Tonight it is hit the ground running - on empty but full of beans. Both kinds, in case you were wondering. Baked and Mexican Jumping Beans .
After a quick peak n pint at Gumbo at The Castle I leap out into the street, where two girls, Kelly and Jules are necking a jacknjill and shouting "We're in the big smoke!" Noticing their infectious enthusiasm, they are deemed worthy of my Plus One, after my first option got so drunk at a birthday party in Hoxton Square that he was adamant he couldn't find his way to Old St station. Kelly Watch The Stars picked up the spare, and after getting into the mighty labyrinth we head off to inflict Dancefloor Mayhem Version 1 of 48. Collect the set!
BREAKFASTAZ
The Breakfastaz jack-knife the bassbins, throwing ridiculous hairpin after ridiculous hairpin. Stomping, stop-start slambreaks worthy of Charles Barkley circa 1993. And, holy shit, it's only 11.45pm. Kelly learns I am doing a review and her dancing and flirting increases three-fold. Hot tamale women are dancing like it's 3am, shimmying around in slinky, low-slung skirts and vibrant t-shirt concoctions. Already the club is sweating, perspiration providing salty sustenance (?) as my hips n shoulders laugh off any suggestion to slow down.
STANTON WARRIORS
The dual workhorses of Stanton One and Stanton Two spliced and splattered "I love it when you shake that ass" into the beginnings of Mylo's "Drop The Pressure". Arms akimbo!
Dirgy electrostabs batter and bruise into each other, creeping towards garbage bin clankbuilds, while the trademark "Yeah Yeah" jumps in and out of the mix. Ragga via whooooooomp. Blue lasers dip and dive around the crowd as we "learn, listen". Life is sweet.
RESIN DOGS
Considering there were twang-voxed Antipodeans lining up outside Fabric at 8.30, the Resins really could do no wrong. Sean, the promoter, tells me 1800 have already walked through the door by 11.30pm. "Most impressive" I Darth back to him. They ask the crowd where they're from and true to form about 82% of the revellers bark out Aussie responses in the affirmative. This takes the form of a simultaneous Mexican Wave. Nick, the bearded barman (very Ned Kelly) shouts "Lun-dunnnn!!" Rather apt, considering the current residence of most Resins fans shuffling to their beat. "Lunn-dunnn!!" Ain't that true. "We're all from London now," someone quips, knowingly, perhaps your nerdy scribe.
The Resins recreate the opening of "A RollerSkating Jam Named Saturday", giving us an extra spring in our pogo potential. Boom crash opera. Rumble after rumble of bassndrums ring out at 120 bpms, then 170, and somehow we keep up, testament to the live urgency of Queensland's boisterous beatheads. They flesh out the sound system's strength, dropping 'Alien Girl' by Ed Rush, Optical & Fierce, more maul of sound than wall of sound. Then Chris Bosley slaps the living fuck out of his bass guitar, adding Flea flamboyance to the recipe. Probably the closest to seeing 'Superstitious' via 'Blood Sugar Sex Majik' I'll ever get. The Dawgs (DJ Katch, Geoff Boardman, Dave Atkins and Chris Bosley) have a knack for handpicking exceptional Em-Cee talent, and tonight's no exception with a lanky, lyrical lacerator taking to the mic. He informs us we "Gotta set it off". Prowling the stage with fake Akubra and flowing thin dreads, he had a hint of Snoop melded by multicultural braggadoccio. They slice in Smack My Bitch Up amidst their own productions. Playing mainly from Hi-Fidelity Dirt, the Resins brought the party to a live peak, punching above their weight beautifully. I gotta feeling they may be cordially invited back to Fabric, just a feeling.
JAMES ZABIELA
Sci-fi breaks aren't everyone's cup of tea. However, those people are idiots. Zabiela had the good sense to drive Aphex Twin's Window Licker through the mix, then chilled the beat and let it ride, careering into that hot Ils track 'Music' from a few years ago. He played a similar tempo set to Infusion's live escapades, but with slightly more mystery. I'm under the stairs, snug as bug while I get my breath back, trainspotting my ears off when I hear the drum-fill from Funky Cold Medina. After a brief chat with some jovial Essex lads whose fave expression was "cheeky little bassline", I head off to treat my ears/rears to the Soul of Man.
SOUL OF MAN
Room Three is perhaps the best of the lot, giving an unwavering party within a party vibe. We perch above the dancefloor and watch the lads go at it - consummating professionals. The mixing is so good I don't have time to stop dancing and write everything down. You can come with me next time and lend a hand. I'm fairly sure they mixed a bootleg of Alter Ego, with Jazzy Jeff keys and foghorn funk. That's what my notes say anyway, but you can't believe everything you read.
JAMES LAVELLE
They love the Lavelle. He opens with an acoustic guitar driven track that winds up like an alarm clock … then almost completely cuts out, before he gives a mad professor "HELLLO!" to us, then the sky falls down and babies are conceived and last rites are read, as the cluttercrunch soundscape lands, a melodic squeal of brilliant noise, like the hidden verse of A Day In The Life by The Beatles, reconstructed by DJ Hell and Gary Numan. As exhausting and exhilarating as that last sentence. "Under the sun", emotes a voice within the track, one to look out for after my vague description. Lavelle's opening sets off everything in my system again, vibrating my pancreas. Top shelf, Jimmy. Deeeeeep.
PLUMPS
Oh, and the Plumps are quality as always, but need slightly more variation with their sets. Y'know, a few more hairpin turns. Still had several Eargasms though.
Strange Fruit
A Bez-like character holds onto the side of the stage, utterly lost with the fabric fairies, disjointing his neck and swivelling his jaw. He shakes his noggin with dangerous consistency. Strangely, it is like watching him answer a question in the affirmative, by giving a serious of NO responses.
One long YESSSS by giving constant NOs. Yeah, sure.
The Bendigo, Danny
An OSSSTRAYLIAN bloke is bellowing on about Bendigo in the toilets, and when I return an hour later he is still there, missing out on Fabricity (pronounced fabrisssity) cos he just larved BENDIGO so much. For the unOSSSTRAYLIAN listeners, Bendigo is Melbourne's dorky cousin an hour west; just enough.
Lost in Translation
I chat to a geezer at the back of the crowd while watching Resin Dogs. He tells me he has come down from Liverpool. "The Yardbirds sound different tonight!" I offer. Tumbleweeds drift by.
¬^¬ Verdict ¬^¬
Stantons took the honours tonight, with the Resins taking a wizz on their legs and coming a close second.