28 November 2009

village life

I was all over the place on Saturday. Didn’t go anywhere. Didn’t leave the house till 9pm. I mean all over in my mind.

I don’t agree that Woody Allen is neurotic. I just think he’s sussed out. Ah, well, maybe he is neurotic but the funny neurotic. Proper neurosis is debilitating not a great joke or witty chat up line.

So, I was sat there worrying about the sound that night as for the first time ever in the 23 year history of doing free parties to the masses tVC had handed over the reins and responsibility of sorting out the  reverberation to another sound crew. Not just another sound crew but a sound crew that had never actually done a gig ever before. Well, apart from Genie Burners birthday bash round at Nick Dents the other week.

I was worrying about the DJ’s and whether they would turn up, fuck up and fuck off as some of the more salubrious members of the DJ fraternity tend to do a little these days. Nah, not ours. Would they bring any people along? Would anyone turn up at all? Would the night be a big steaming pile of embarrassing poop? Will we remember to bring drinks? Will people be able to find it easily? Will I even get to play any records? Will the £88 I have spent this week on new tunes ever get a decent airing to a properly appreciative crowd? Will it sound shit? Will everyone leave early? Or arrive late? Will there be trouble or arguments? Will the really bad, windy, very wet weather put people off? Will the other house night in town on tonight at the Brewery Bar take people away from us? Will we take people away from them? Is splitting the house crowd, albeit from different ends of the scale, a good idea? Will we cover all the expenses? This and the question of how the hell do I cross this bridge I was stuck on in Half Life2 perplexed me somewhat most of the day.

Half Life was easy. I just had to go online and find a walkthrough that helped me out greatly. Now I could carry on and finish my 6 hour Xbox 360 session in peace before I had a lovely little bath then a nap then a bite to eat before facing the ravages of yet another night of party based performance and social delinquency .
“What time you getting the keys for the hall mate?” says el maestro of “Leave Me Out Of It”.

“Four PM”, I reply.

“We’ll be there at 4.30. We need to set up and check everything and do all our adjustments and all that. Ey.”

I arrive at the venue at 9pm; knackered yet refreshed. I don’t know if that state of mind is possible but it existed for me that evening. The room is decorated with Wendy and Stuart’s backdrops and BJ’s white netting and looks very good. They have transformed a drab, and I must say, very clean, village hall into an exotic world where dreams and imaginings are made real. Well, I say dreams. What I mean is it doesn’t look like a box with windows anymore, which is, in a way, a different, if not exotic place and I’m hoping my dreams can be made there tonight. Although my main dream is actually a hope and it is that everything goes smoothly and the place is not left in a dreadful state that will cause us to lose our deposit. By saying ‘everything’ of course I put into my neurotic loop a build in destabiliser and upsetter thus giving myself permission to be upset and thus punish myself in any way I can imagine.
It all seems great! Hang on; something missing. Oh yeah, the rig. Five hours after they said they would be there the sound boys arrive. If I used the words ‘in a fluster’ I think I would be exaggerating just a tad. We all employed the tactic of remaining calm and centred as people started to arrive and the rig was unloaded and set up. Everyone took it in good spirits so I relaxed a bit. By the time Simon and BJ had, ahem, ahem, ahem, cough, turned the ‘screw’ on the back of the mixer which actually allowed the sound to come out, and we’d heard all the “tVC, ey, trying to sabotage our sound” comments we were, huzzah, off and up and running.

The old bill, her maj’s boys in blue, the old billage, the bacon battalion, the po-po, flatfoot, the fuzz, the pork patrol, the rozzers, the bizzies, 5-Oh, the blue meanies, the big blue machine or plain old office Dibble decided to arrive just as things started. It was raining hard and very windy. They motioned me outside. No coat!

“It has come to our attention that a ‘rave’ will be taking place at this venue tonight”, they begin.

“This is a double birthday party, officer; two friends sharing a space to celebrate their middle age”.

“It’s all over the internet son”

“Where? What sites? What did it say?”

“Couldn’t tell you that; Police intell’”. He taps his nose.

“You can have a look inside if you want”.

“No. Don’t want to see anything we don’t want to see. We’ll be back later”. They didn’t come back.

As Brummie Jon said on his FacaesBook page the police "were happy that it was a private party, they gave us their mobile number in case we had trouble with gatecrashers. Classic police quote "but don't phone us at 3am to tell us that you love us, we know what you lot are like"

As with Ribbed at the Lido the other week the decks were set up on a wooden stage with all the inherent feedback issues associated with such a decision. Do humans ever learn from the past experiences they have?

DJ wise Shaun Muddy Shovel warmed up followed by our Rosie. Lovely deep house just how we love it. Warren and Croucher bumped the arse off the new speakers, which performed admirablely. People seemed to like it. Dan and Louise from Unite in Margate played a great set of deep tech and techno. I thoroughly enjoyed their take on things and would heartily recommend you catch them sometime soon. Oz and Si played for 10 seconds then Steve Zest got on after his delicious gig in town that night and the night was finished off by Warren.

more pics from wendy and mikal's birthday party