Last weekend as I sweated on a dancefloor, worries gone, loved ones close and bass heavy, I wished for more moments like this. Jamie Jones (and Maxxi Soundsystem before him) hand me in the palm of their hands. Tunes I didn’t know securing anthem status just because of the beat, the groove, the passion of the electronic means of which they’d been made. And how I wished for tunes like this each and every week. For house music to be just that. House music. No cheap thrill remix of some hideous pop crime or done by the numbers Guetta atrocity that feeds the masses but leaves souls malnourished.
I wondered what had happened to the queer wonders who practically invented house music and would be turning in their graves if their heard one more moment of these unforgiving commercial variable but lifeless dance tracks infesting our so called house nights. I wondered what had happened to the imaginations that launched the legendary club nights we still all speak of, the colour, the sparkle, the love shining through as they dismissed nights of regulation clubbing and drink promos in favour of personality, detail and devotion. The DJs who grin rather than pose, rejecting the papping in the DJ booth in return for a night of sweat and jack. I wondered what happened to the flyer fuelled only by genre as promoters lowered the font size on music policy only to up it on drink prices and free giveaways. Are we really that easy? Friday night proved to me – as did some of Pride weekend’s finer parties – that people will go where the quality is, where the tunes have no rep, no required dance routine, just a groove no sound dancefloor can resist.
And why the rant you ask? A certain so called ‘superstar’ DJ is releasing a movie – about him, for him, full of him. Well he’s full of …. Apparently his music is “bridging the gap between white people and black people”. Do me a favour mate – go speak to Jack – he’s been bridging that gap for twenty something years. It’s called house music. You wouldn’t know it if it hit you in the bassbins. Thank gawd there are some out there who still do.
See you on the (house) dancefloor.
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