18 March 2010

a considerable and formidable environment of underground US profferings

tVC's travelling house night is called the GLEE CLUB and this evening we will be at the 414 Club in Brixton.

For those that were there, a chance to bask in the warm glow of some delicious house sounds and in the not inconsiderable shadow of the tVC "Mime Artists", we had what could only be described as the musical equivalent of a religiously ecstatic experience.

"The deep boys" created a considerable and formidable environment of underground US profferings designed to create that overall laid back, chuggy and smiley environment conducive to a serotonin dominated mindscape. A perfect soundtrack for us to act out that particular chapter of our full and active lives. Mindful music for the full mind.

Clive FX and his propensity to play good, soulful, deep house, well mixed will see him go far, and he was our guest upstairs. We hope you enjoyed yourself, mate, coz it was good to have you (oo er). However, it was Ed, Kier and Tom, Liam and Nick who dominated. Eight solid hours of music no-one else plays. Eight hours of music that most of us have to go oop north, somewhere, to hear. Tonight it was down sarf. Thanks lads and lass. Your talents, skills, attitude, support and all that shite is much appreciated. Building onward and upward.

Thirty peeps coming down from Kent on an hired coach added a 7th Heaven flavour to the Glee as the East Kent Experience mixed with the clued up clubbers imported from the gun-toting, crack dealing, murderous streets of Brixton (the night before someone had been shot in the head 100yrds up the road).

Swanning about in the most graceful manner, of course, were spotted the loved up, beered up, and anything elsed up medieval brigands, the single most looming threat to democracy as we know it. Mr and Mrs, Now Ey still in hiding (although non too effectively) and fresh from the vigour’s of handling the Bovington Bros driver all the way from Canters, Caroline fast becoming regular, PP Pam (never to be CC Pam) and Jon who'd also been helping How ya diddlin' handle the driver, Sue fresh from the release of not having to drive at least 8 people to a party for probably the first time since she's had her car, Jaquie and chums, who'd driven down from Cambridge, Anna and Dawn and Oochie Oochie (sexiest dancer alive, sorry Pen), Chicken 'n' Chips 'how many did you snog? And where?', Alice and the techno twins who managed to confuse a few addled brains who didn't realise they were twins and thought it was one person who kept changing her hair, Aaron, Ramsden's new little helper, how long before he wears him out? Or pays him? Hopefully not as quickly as he wears out his drivers, or his jean pockets! Toby and co. maintaining their 100% attendance record and their simultaneous wide eyed one as well (we hear it was Toby's birthday weekend, hope you had a good one mate!), Sara, sans Nick who was suffering from a lack of money induced depression, and lots of other lovely peeps who'd made the effort to go up to London on a night that was freezing cold and absolutely pissing down with rain, and who had to wait over 45 minutes at the pick up point in Whitstabubble because one of the windscreen wipers came off. Thanks too to all the peeps from London who took the chance, not knowing who the fuck we were. And Tony for the chance. Phil and Eleanor, our THC soaked, and consequently extremely laid back artists had finished two new backdrops receiving a first showing to rapturous approval from those that could focus on them. Particularly fetching was a boggle eyed skull and crossbones encircled by "Danger Criminal Injustice and Public Disorder Bill Freedom Restricted". Thank you.

Downstairs Rob Phelps warmed up with an excellent set. His second at the 414. He had headlined the tVC Special at the Jump the other month. What a pro. Developing his style. Exploring. Throwing in the odd surprise. Building his quarter of the night. Generally consolidating his fast becoming indispensable position as one of tVC's more amiable, skilful DJ's.

Tejen continues to "surprise". Though he doesn't shock as much as he used to. His set was well fine, on one, only the end few jarred enough nerves to clear the floor. Thankfully in was short lived and with Oz building the floor from five to thrive it was Sherlock’s turn to surprise. Mellower. Lots of laarvely space. Superb, and long, breakdowns. OTT drum roll peaks. High strings. And all very fucking bouncy. Nice one. And good luck to with your new job at Lost Records in East Ham. And we'll see you at Perfect World New Years Eve. Oh yeah, look out for Sherls first musical dabblings on a TV screen near you. It's a toy ad but I ain't tellin' which.

Martyn excelled as usual. Well worth the humping and hassle and setting up time just for the, and there's no other word for it, pleasure of hearing what most serious clubbers would die to hear. In crisp, and there's no other word for it, sensual bass-a-round the party peeps splished and splashed around and around and wiggled and swam to the warm, flowing delights emitting from tham thar cones. Drowning in. Actually it was like when a smoky, beery fisherman throws tiger nuts into a school of fish. Or not. A solid start for the first night. tVC are now in their spiritual London home once a month 'till at least April."It won't do us any harm", as Martin said at the post mortem Saturday Soakers sesh as we quietly contemplated the sea gently lapping the shore.

After abdicating responsibility for the coach to Stevie C and "Girls Night Out" Pam, Nick relaxed enough to stop worrying that there'd only be three people on it, and began the arduous trek to the 414, fast becoming the Mecca for all things house and underground. We were meant to be leaving Chavland at 11 but this fast became 1.30 when we saw the state of king chav and his band of merry helpers. With two vans, loading the stuff was made considerably easier and we fucked off, only to discover later that the other van carrying the PA hadn't a clue where Brixton or even London was! So they had to enlist the help of Lily. The next few hours were spent in the normal jumble. The same three people doing all the work and getting on each others nerves. Speaking to each other through clenched teeth and hisses. But nine hours later, the PA was swapped over and the place transformed into a delightful pleasure palace to tickle our senses. It was at this stage the band of trusty workers were allowed a couple of drinks to start the evenings massaging of the pleasure principle.

Well, what can I say about the night? Obviously, it was a bag o' shite, or as Lampy put it 'won't do us any harm', as it was a damn fine evening, it must be admitted. Both rooms rocked till 6am delighting the assembled throng with deep housey delights and a right royal housey rogering. All the DJ's played superb, seamlessly mixed sets of heavenly perfection (honest!), and our guests Clive and Sherlock conveyed themselves admirably in the ways that they know how. The sound quality though was fucking awful, as we have come to expect from our beloved Lampy (Maurice paid me a tenner to write that!) No, the sound was farking soo-perb, and was greeted with stunned reverence and awe on first hearing, and Martin performed admirably for over 9 hours that night. Oo er.