Knowing, as a librarian, the folly of not giving customers what they want, I thought I’d give a Drum & Bass event a try.

My sons try to warn me off. "There’s always trouble nowadays ... you might not be allowed in" (I don’t think they meant to connect the two); you don’t like the music" etc. I say I don’t like it coming through the bedroom floor at 1000 decibels, any more than I like their brother’s banjo playing when I’ve just staggered in from a sweaty commuter train but, in their own environment, things might be different. I go at about 9.45.

The bouncers take one look at me and try to send me to the cheesy downstairs disco. I manage to demur and am pointed round the side of the club. I recognise the young blokes on the door; they work in HMV. They tell me that the music coming through the swing doors is Nu Skool Breaks (have I spelled this ok?). For the aerobics connossers among you, it’s about 140 bpm (beats per minute if you’re not). I gather that this is the D & B equivalent of a band playing a succession of slow blues to warm up before the main event. It doesn’t sound very slow to me and I wonder how I’d manage moving to anything faster for an extended period.

I stay talking to the blokes about Glastonbury and stuff. They say they’re playing Led Zeppelin with 15-minute drum solos at work in the shop. Stone me, I hope I don’t have to go there to buy anything. There are very few people inside the club. People are getting tanked up in nearby pubs, because it’s cheaper. A few blokes pay to go in. Women are few (in single numbers) and accompanied. That takes care of my unspoken query about how you’d ask a girl to dance if there wasn’t a slow number – there are none to ask.

It’s pretty loud through the door. I could hear it from a distance when I was coming, but that would be true of most popular music. While we’re speaking, the DJ cranks up the volume to eleven. No one blinks. The music is seamless. No talking. As I expected, it sounds much the same to my untutored ears, but I can recognise that it’s not the same as when I arrived and that it takes skill to mix in this continuous way. I ought to be able to tell you the DJ’s name. I know him as Marc, but that won’t help. They tell me the sound system is rubbish and has been wired by monkeys. One turntable comes from one set of speakers and the other from the others – not good if you want to play two tunes at the same time apparently (I should think not). The monitors are broken and Marc is mixing in headphones which makes it doubly clever, not to say tedious and painful I should think.

Drum & Bass mixing son arrives. He’s ignores me. He’s got a gig to do. I learn later that he’s brought a lead to fix the monitor. He’ll be playing the faster, louder stuff, later. MC-ing son may be MC-ing later if the mood takes him. It’s 10.30. I haven’t even had a drink (I still prefer it from a glass rather than a bottle) but decide it’s time for cocoa.

This may not be helpful as a review. I don't really review, only share enthusiasms (on the whole). An editor had knocked blokes for their interest in music. It could have been football or beer or DIY. Some women have equally odd enthusiasms which are not shared by males - shopping, cake, chocolate and food as a whole.

This event was much as I expected - loud, continuous, not many there so early in the evening. I was interested in the social aspect. This is not an event for courting but if you like this sort of thing, this is the sort of thing you’ll like. I heard one son come home at 4.20, the other one didn’t. It must have been good. There was no trouble either.

Copyright © John Scott Cree 2003

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