5 June 2010

Freqs & Mods

sat 13th novemberb 1999@ Trenz, amhurst road, hackney
disconnect room: simon DK (DiY)/ kier & tom (TAK records)/ oz (tVC)/ big hair (live) /ed milster (TAK)basement room: verne (gaia radio)/ jp (horaizon)/ warren eraser (fav legend)/ jimi rockaroll / acid ben & steve scientiststreader celebrity chill room : danny nusbaum (24/7)/ jimi mistry (east is east)/ vibey (mine host)/ mike & mark vortex / paul danan (bongo frenzy)
pics by eldad druks

Well, if I’ve learnt one thing this long and wet summer, it’s not to go in a van with Cagey, anywhere. We had van escapades galore at the Lizard, enough to fill our ‘‘broken down van’’ story coffers until retirement, but this night was to provide a new and glorious one, courtesy of Da Cage.

main room upstairs

The night started off in its usual hectic way that morning when we belatedly realized that one of our speakers wasn’t working, despite being mended. Yes, Ramsden had blown the crossover before fucking off to New Zealand, as well as destroying Sobbin’s light and blowing More Rice’s bass bins that had only just been re-coned and used once. Then fucked off without telling anyone what he’d done. What a twat. But why are we surprised?mirrors on two walls highten the feel of embarassment, sorry, space.

The van was to be picked up at 4, and we had to be at the venue for 6, for a sound check. Now, however, we had to be in the opposite end of London to where the gig was by 6 to have the crossover mended on the speaker and to pick up the amp that Ramsden blew last time he borrowed it. We arrived at the shop with a minute to spare, with all the speaker mechanics putting on their coats, ready to go home for their “tea.” By the skin of our teeth we got the speaker done and dusted, now we had to get from Hounslow to Dalston.widescreen panorama pictures a rocking cagey

Five hours later, after leaving Whitstable we arrived at the venue, tired, stressed, starving, unloaded the equipment, set it up, couldn’t get the speaker which had just been mended to work. Phoned up Charles the man ‘Who knows’ and talked through various coloured wires and their relation to the scheme of things with him, until he said the speaker might be ‘‘knackered’’. Shit. Fucking Ramsden. Half-heartedly fiddled with a lead going into the subs, and hey presto we had life. As Charles says, ‘it’s always a dodgy lead’. Well not always, but thank fuck this time it was. Made another mental note to go to college and learn how sound systems actually work in the vague hope we would then know what we were doing. Doh.wes makes rare appearance & discounts rumours of abandonment

Went off down the road to a kebab shop with ‘‘da boys’’, stuffed our faces far too late for it to do any good, well for me anyway. Had the grim pleasure of sitting opposite Huge who whilst feeling the effects of what he’d just munched still managed to eat a double cheeseburger in four seconds flat.

tom flexes those DJ muscles and lines up another top TAK tune
Went back to the venue, drank two bottles of Bacardi breezer (pink) then puked up in two corners of the room, down the stairs and on the toilet floor. That’s better. Prepared for the delights yet to come.

oz & jes (lets put a couple on mate)

Since we’d last been to Trenz they’ve had a fan fitted because apparently it used to get really ‘hot’. I’d never noticed this phenomenon here before, I mean I’ve been in places that get much hotter, the 414 for example, which holds the record in my book, for the place most likely to get a sweaty crutch. The trouble was, everyone stayed nice and cool, but as soon as the rig was turned up to anything approaching a half decent volume we had the dreaded spectre of ‘club owner man’ coming over and telling us to turn it down, as all the sound was escaping through, you’ve guessed it, the new fan in the roof. Okay, fair enough, but the techno room because they were downstairs, away from the dreaded fan, banged away all night. So no change there then.ooh, that's a nice oneoz & jes again

Shaun kicked off proceedings with a nicely mellow canter through the land of deep house, followed by the Big Hair boys who did their thing. Things were warming up on the dance floor nicely, although the lack of permitted volume was affecting the atmos. We admired DK’s new facial hair, acquired from the jazz club, laughed when some one remembered they’d forgotten to wake Scouse and passed the sick bag when Huge and Josie behaved too in love. In fact we did all the usual things that one has been doing at parties ever since one can remember. Bladder on a stick award goes to Swellsy who sat in a sweating heap in the bar area.

Unfortunately as is so often the case with the London lot they all start to lose energy at about 4am, for some unknown reason, and this coupled with the lack of permitted volume meant the floor quickly cleared. However it limped on till 8am with one chap who looked like he’d been going for it in the techno room all night, the only person dancing.

Then the usual happened, when it’s time to clear away, no fucker helps. And then it was decided we’d go back to Stoke Newy ‘‘for a bit’’, which is always a fatal idea when you still have to get back to Kent, unload the van and take it back to the van hire place, all before 4, all with “no fucker to help.” Anyway paying no heed to the sensible part of our make-up, we decamped to Stokie Cokey, where we left all of our very expensive equipment in the van, whilst we decamped into an unusual bar that made one think they were on holiday somewhere more exotic than Dalston, and drank lots of alcohol, whilst sniffing profusely. By about 1 it was decided that we should perhaps start to make a move, but I could no longer drive and decided it was safe to relinquish the reins to Oz and Cagey who would steer the good ship home. Cagey was to drive, Oz was accompanying him on a trip. The last thing I said before being locked into the back of the van, and realizing as soon as I was that it was a big mistake and I’d never be able to sleep in this vast cold coffin, was “Before you do anything else, get some diesel”. I knew I hadn’t been listened to when the van carried on driving, and driving and driving. I started banging on the back of the cab, shouting, “Get some fucking diesel” all to no avail. Then the van ground to a shuddering halt. Hurrah, they’ve stopped at a garage I thought. Then I heard the squealing of brakes and the frantic and loud bibbing of horns. It seemed strangely dark in the back of the van and I started to hope that what I was beginning to think had happened hadn’t. Yes the daft fuckers had run out of diesel in the Blackwall Tunnel. They opened the back to let me know, but then wound it back down and locked me in when I started to shout at the useless twats. I could see hours of being stuck by the side of the road, with Cagey, looming ahead when all you’ve wanted to do for at least twelve hours is go to bed and never get up again.

However, luckily for us God was on our side, quite literally as it turned out. Just as the police cruised by, saying “You better not have run out of fuel”, their hands itching on their truncheon meat, a chap drew up offering assistance. He’d been told by God that morning to go to the aid of a broken down motorist, and going to the aid he was. Despite only having a car, and us being in a great big Luton, and him having no tow bar, he towed us out of the tunnel and then took Cagey off to “get some fucking diesel.” We were dumped right in front of the Millennium D(r)ome and what a strange looking Yurt it is. Half an hour later Cagey was back, filled the van up and then couldn’t start it because we didn’t know how to bleed diesel engines. Bleeding diesels. So we phone up the AA. Wait another hour for a “very nice man” to come and get the van started in two seconds flat. Drive off thankfully, we might make it back by 4. Wake up to hear Cagey say casually, too casually, we’ll have to get some more diesel, before the van slowly juddered to a halt. Luckily within throwing up distance of a petrol station and only a mile away from Whitstable. So off Cagey trots to get some more diesel, while we sat in the cab, planning our revenge. “That’s it, I’m getting too old for all this,” I thought as I finally managed to slip into my oft lamented bed. Forgetting that the next weekend, it would all happen again…