I get the feeling that I will look back on March 2011 in years to come as possibly the most eventful Month in my music-orientated life. Rising above the ever-present but particularly mean constraints of money, study commitments and declining health, I have seen, and obviously heard some wonderful things over the last four weeks. Traditionally, March has always delivered, but never before has there been so much going on. The question is, did such an action-packed, star-studded period live up to the extremely high expectations it made for itself? Well, I'll start from the beginning...

Saturday, March 5th: Superfreq' 9th Anniversary with Steve Bug - Paramount, London
My absence these last couple of weeks has been for several reasons, most notably because while the weekends have been so packed full of fun and games, my week has been regrettably preoccupied with work and dare I say it, sleep. But I'll start from the beginning, which if I remember correctly would be on Saturday, March 5th, 31 floors above London's West End at Paramount, located on the top floor of the landmark Center Point building. As you've probably guessed, the photograph above is one I took as the night almost concluded at sometime after 8am (apologies for the poor quality, it was taken on my old iPhone). The view speaks for itself, but the reality of it is quite unbelievable, especially when it is still dark and everything from Big Ben to St. Paul's Cathedral is magically illuminated. Paramount was originally only a private members bar, strictly invite-only and notoriously exclusive. Although these days the club is occasionally handed over to outside promotions, which recently has been Superfreq', I still had my reservations about how much the venue would really be my thing.

At the risk of presenting myself as not only pretentious, but certainly narrow-minded, typically I despise West London's nightlife. Maybe it's the nauseating Freshers memories at Leicester Square, or reading in the Evening Standard about the Mayfair club whose door policy prohibited 'unattractive people', a standard I've now stereotyped to all of W1's spots, but whatever the more trivial reasons may be, there is scant little going on there for electronic music. Superfreq' begs to differ however, recently bringing established house and techno acts such as Tiefschwarz, Wiggle and Martin Buttrich to Paramount and for their 9th Anniversary bash, Pokerflat chief and Berlin's chief trend-setter, Steve Bug was chosen to headline. I hadn't seen Steve Bug before but he was high on both mine and Chris's 'to-do' list. It was his presence that compelled me to choose this night over one of the many other stand-out parties taking place in London, which included Carl Craig, Ewan Pearson and Seth Troxler in town at various locations. Without someone as reputable as Bug, I probably would have steered clear of Paramount regardless of how incredible the views from the top promised to be. I envisaged swanky interiors, criminally expensive drinks, a shitty soundsystem and bland young media types cluttering the place but to my delight, only one of those turned out to be the case. £8 for a vodka orange juice is criminal, but not only am I used to London's often extraordinary prices, the bar is always the most trivial component of a good night.

The venue definitely exceeded my expectations. Ok, it goes without saying that the interior was a little more luxurious than your average Shoreditch basement, with floor-to-ceiling windows replacing crumbling Victorian brickwork, but furnished with leather and leopardskin? Certainly not, to my relief. There was a couple of bars and the DJ booth, but other than that the entire space was the dancefloor. The crowd certainly weren't boring, pint-gripping media pro's, but aside from the typical bunch of scary middle-aged ravers that is unavoidable anywhere, the crowd was a good, fun-loving mix. The only big difference in the clientele from my usual spots was the obvious absence of a mass-French presence, which is something I've even begun to grow fond of recently. We wasted no time in fully embracing the dynamics of the bustling dancefloor when we arrived around 2am, where Superfreq's resident Mr.C had got things underway with a steady warm-up set of upbeat house. Bug took over soon after, beginning his three-hour set in a similar fashion with deep, warm house edging gradually into slightly more techno territory. The most notable reaction on the floor came following Art Department's staple Without You which predictably had us enthusiastically howling the chorus. What was so impressive about Bug was his seamless coherence shifting from style-to-style during his set. From house, to techno and then diverging into more minimal flavours it was completely solid, his mixing flawless and the feeling on the dancefloor remained consistently frolic all the way through. He closed his set at around 6am with his own unreleased and totally wonderful Jack Is Back, which required craning my neck to see his traktor screen in order to know what the hell it was.

As the dancefloor slowly began to thin and London's epic skyline slowly became fully visible as the sun rose, albeit behind a thick layer of cloud, another Superfreq' resident closed with a far more acquired two hours of minimal techno. By around half seven, the dancefloor was noticeably sparce, those left looking a little bedraggled to say the least. The problem is when the venue is 31 floors above the ground and is vastly made from glass, the standard physical and mental dilapidation that is mercifully hidden when in dingy Shoreditch basements, is now for all to see. Life is all about discovering new things, apparently, and this for sure was a totally new experience in very unfamiliar territory, and I would happily do it again, if not for the simply stunning views, then for Superfreq's excellent taste in music.

Sunday, March 6th: Kubicle 'with Lee Foss', London/WYS! with Monika Kruse - fabric, London
Sunday afternoon/night began back in more familiar surroundings beneath Old Street, for one of Kubicle's tireless Sunday gatherings. The night promised Lee Foss among others, but for reasons I'm still unsure of he didn't turn up, although I'm skeptical he ever was in the first place. Despite this disappointment it turned out to be a genuinely great night. Sundays in London, as much as I love them, do often become more of an endurance test than anything- a desperate and draining resistance to let go of the weekend, but this was an example of when it became a night in its own right. The music was perfectly designed with lots of percussive tech house and ebbing minimal, but the greatest surprise was an appearance from Seth Troxler, who I spotted purposelessly wandering around . Naturally I had to approach him and as I've read so many times before, he is a truly nice guy. He stopped by with the Visionquest crew (Reeves, Curtiss and Crosson) following their visit to fabric the night before and you would be forgiven not even noticing him really. There was no fanfare around him, no groupies clutching to his side and no posing for photos. He was literally just there for a bit of a party, happily chatting to those who spoke to him. The decision to finish off at fabric was one almost already made for us it seemed, and as usual the WYS! faithful, this time joined by German house princess Monika Kruse, delivered the final dose of 4/4's before we put the weekend, and ourselves, to bed.

Friday, March 11th: Just Jack presents Claude VonStroke & Seth Troxler - Blue Mountain, Bristol
The following Friday I kissed goodbye to London and made my way west to Bristol in the first part of what promised to be a weekend of epic proportions. Just Jack has history of providing Bristol with the very best in House and Techno, with some of the scene's very best artists landing in the West Country at clubs such as Dojo and the great Motion. Just Jack is largely responsible for putting Bristol firmly on the map for underground music in the UK and once again they flexed their muscles with a line-up to rival any, this time at the recently refurbished, but still wonderfully frayed Blue Mountain. To look at it, you wouldn't think it is a venue for the grandest occasions, but with Claude Vonstroke and Seth Troxler billed you could hardly describe it as anything else. The large main room on bottom floor was where it was all happening and to our surprise Claude's set started at 11pm, which is perhaps a tad earlier than we wanted to get there.

Considering Vonstroke has thus far eluded me, he was possibly a greater attraction than Seth. An infectious personality on the decks with an effortless ability to please a crowd, his entire two hours bubbled with excitement and pizazz, without ever becoming too demanding, his set after all was essentially just a warm-up. Close to the end of his slot he dropped what is rumoured to be his own remix of Girl Unit's Wut and a sizzling remix of his iconic Who's Afraid Of Detroit? and , which I hear he included in his London set the previous night. I'm yet to discover exactly who it's remixed by, but it certainly caused a minor riot on the dancefloor, but then so would anything that resembles the original. Claude made way for JJ residents Tom Rio and Dan Wild who played the perfect interim set of deep, rolling tech house that seamlessly introduced Seth Troxler who took over at around 3pm. As the dancefloor began to overcrowd and the occasional petty scrap developed, even between myself and a flat-capped Bristolian at one point, Seth started of gently with his typical style of Visionquest/Crosstown deep house, before he gradually upped the tempo with some more intense techno, a momentous remix of Beanfield's Tides was particularly engaging. Far less animated than when we saw him on NYE in London, where he danced confidently while swigging from a bottle of Jack Daniels for the length of his set, Seth nevertheless was on top form in terms of track selection, with a perfectly designed three hours that kept Blue Mountain packed right to the end. Now for a few hours sleep back at Chris's before I headed back to London for Part 2...

Saturday, March 12th: Ricardo Villalobos - fabric, London



The extent to which Ricardo Villalobos performs at his peerless best these days seems to depend on how many nights previously the Chilean has partied, rather than slept. Tales of him being pretty woeful at events such as Cocoon Amnesia's closing night in Ibiza last year among others have made nights at his mercy these days rather unpredictable. It's no secret that his DJing schedule is quite unlike anyone else on this planet, hopping from one country to the next almost daily to deliver sets that rarely last less than 4 hours, so maybe we can forgive him when he's not at his sharpest. But as I've so often said before, there is a romance about Ricardo Villalobos and fabric, a romance that would suggest not only might he take it a little easy before he's due one of his twice-yearly visits to London, but also make a conscious effort to raise his game for the club that shaped his transition into the one of the greatest DJ's of all time.

Apparently not. Although he actually made it to the club this time, unlike last October when 'severe illness' prevented him from ruling fabric's 11th birthday extravaganza, dear Ricardo looked almost like he didn't know where he was at times. Prior to his introduction at 6:30, fabric was mysteriously calm for such a monumental occasion. We arrived at about 4am and not to our surprise the non-members queue was farcically long, stretching back round the corner of Charterhouse Street and possibly as far back as Farringdon Station. What did come as a surprise was the queue for members, which although was the tiniest fraction of the main queue was still an unwelcome surprise, especially when you're a little pissed and over-excited. My petulant yelps of complaint as we waited were met with an understandably prickly reply of reassurance from one of the staff near the front, who made me feel even more of a brat when we literally queued for no longer than five minutes ultimately before we waltzed in easier than ever. Other than my little tantrum, there was no pushing, shoving or any kind of disorder you would expect from such an event. As we descended down those endless stairs, I anticipated nothing but a sea of heads, with the club even more densely packed than when Marco Carola visited a couple of weeks previously and getting to Room One to be as difficult as running in deep water. I could therefore hardly believe the amount of space, actual space, I had to dance. When Villalobos visited last March, Room One was dangerously overcrowded during peak hours. This was made bearable only by having such an incredible DJ supplying the music, and in any other circumstance I would not have endured all the very undesirable consequences of a capacity dancefloor. This time, whether it was thanks to a more selective door policy in the interests of the enjoyment of those in the club or some other merciful reason, it just felt like a normal Saturday night at fabric. I could breathe, my face wasn't constantly pressed against someone's shoulder or sweaty back, and I wasn't met with acid glares every time my elbow so much as brushed against someone's ear when my arms were raised. Accompanied by Chris, who admirably had paid £60 for the train down, and several of my usual disciples, I was treated to a remarkably comfortable 8 hours or so in Room One. The air was clean and stayed fresh, the lighting was superbly managed and bar a few sorry cases, the crowd was as cool as you'll find at fabric on a Saturday these days. Everything was perfectly conditioned for a wonderful morning.

I should probably mention Shackleton, who along with Craig Richards was the only other act I witnessed all night. He preceded Ricardo in Room One at 5:30 with a full hour of his bassy, claustrophobic tech-step. It was certainly atmospheric, and with the soundsystem perfectly EQ'd in preparation for the king of audiophiles, his dark rhythms resonated even deeper than when I caught him in Room Two last year. I cannot fault Shackleton's talent and innovation as a producer, but my issue with with him is I question to what extent is his music actually dance music? Either way, his intense hour live was over before we knew it, and as he entered into the last quarter, to an abundance of hugs and kisses in the booth, Ricardo Villalobos had already arrived, on time and looking a little worse for wear. When he put needle to record for the first time of the night, I remained stunned by how much space I still had on the dancefloor. I was right by the booth, under Ricardo's nose- prized territory when the big guys are in, yet I still had personal space, a luxury not often afforded in Room One fabric.

Several weeks after the event, I get the feeling this particular visit from Villalobos will go down in fabric folklore. If you were there then you couldn't have failed to notice Ricardo's rather strange behaviour throughout the night. Ok, swigging from a bottle of Grey Goose and dripping with sweat is standard practice for our favourite Chilean, but even for him this seemed a little bizarre. From reading an old interview with him, I knew Villalobos isn't too keen on having his picture taken while he's playing. He sees this as merely an opportunity for exploitation, where people love to share images of him with his eyes closed, a little damp on the brow, usually accompanied by either the implicit or explicit message of how 'fucked' he looks, which Ricardo sees as insulting, especially when exposed on the evil rumor-mill which is the internet. Now I can sympathize with this to an extent, but there was no need to have some frightening, red-faced latino henchman, whoever he was, behind him grabbing people's cameras from their hands. I think Ricardo forgets that people aren't necessarily taking photos of him to exploit him, but because they adore him. Aside from these rather strange methods of paparazzi protection, there was his constant mixing errors. Ricardo has never been a flawless mixer of records, which is inevitable considering he mixes almost exclusively on vinyl, but his usual minor mistakes are easily disguised by his presence and the gravity of the actual record he's playing. This time there were genuine blunders. Several of them. I recall at one point, a few minutes in to Soul Capsule's beautiful Law of Grace, something going awfully wrong, which some have speculated was the needle 'jumping', and on another occasion the music just cutting out altogether, plunging Room One into momentary silence. The image of Ricardo as he peered at his equipment in almost accusatory fashion is one that will make me smile for a long time to come. When your chemical consumption is as excessive as Ricardo's was, don't expect perfect reaction time when cueing, and expect to occasionally nudge the odd button you never should have...

But then there was that lost hour. I'm not entirely sure exactly when it happened, but after about three or four hours in, which is about half of his usual time in the booth if you include his traditional B2B session with Craig Richards, Ricardo went quite simply AWOL. He had just disappeared. Craig Richards had taken over, but even if this was to mark the beginning of the B2B session, it was undoubtedly premature as we expected at least another hour of Ricardo on his own. But despite our own fairly dilapidated conditions, few of us failed to notice Ricardo's declining fitness on the decks and we had all begun coming the tragic conclusion that he had either passed out, or just couldn't do any more and had gone. For about an hour Richards was the solitary figure behind the decks, keeping things moving as perfectly as he always does, but by this time I'm sure many disappointed people had already vacated the premises, assuming that was the last they had seen of Ricardo Villalobos in London for another 6 months. They were wrong, as the green-shirted Ricardo suddenly reappeared around 11am to the delight of the still bustling Room One. He joined forces with Richards for the B2B session, but in reality, Craig did the vast majority of the work in what was at best a disjointed few hours of zany minimal techno. Ricardo chipped in occasionally, but his time was mostly spent waltzing around the booth to the beats.

All the talk after was about what happened to him in that hour, and where on earth did he go. Among several theories from people, I read one slightly absurd suggestion on the RA thread that he was led down in the booth for the whole time, but this wasn't the case as Craig Richards confirmed to me when I was fortunate to have a brief chat with him at a pub in King's Cross the following week. Ricardo did need a rest, but he retired to the fabric offices upstairs rather than the floor of the DJ booth. So, after describing all of this rather extraordinary behaviour of his, was he actually any good this time? Or was this one of those days when it was just one party too many for Ricardo to really be at his best? Remarkably, he was still sort of incredible. Only Villalobos could be as impaired as he was and yet still deliver a truly memorable set, despite it's notable incoherence. His style of DJing is like no other, and at fabric he is free to etch his sonic fantasies onto a dancefloor that is eating out of his hand. I'm a seasoned fabric-goer now, and just when I thought I knew that soundsystem, and had witnessed its true power, clarity and sophistication, Ricardo Villalobos unlocks yet even more of its secrets that nobody else can. I recall sometime in the middle of his set when he was touring classic Villalobosian minimal grooves, just being in awe of the sound. There's hearing music, and there's feeling it. This is something very few soundsystems can technically achieve, and even fewer DJ's can orchestrate.

Sunday, March 13th: Half Baked with Dyed Soundorom @ Fairchild, London
After leaving fabric nearing 1pm, we decided to ignore the reality that it was in fact midday Sunday, and instead stay under the illusion (or delusion) that it was still Saturday 'night', which meant onto another party. To call Half Baked's bi-monthly Sunday fun on Fairchild Street an 'afterparty' does infer an entirely new approach to art of afterpartying. Starting at 2pm and continuing on to midnight, for the vast majority who gather inside the dodgy looking bricked tunnel just off Great Eastern Street, that's exactly what it is. From whatever Saturday had brought them, this is what directly follows, and it was no different for us after we took brief refuge in someone's flat for a little R&R (but no sleep), before we ventured back into a climate of rumbling 4/4 beats and drained souls. Dyed Soundorom headlined, taking over from HB resident Claus Voigtmann at around 8:30pm, by which time I had been awake almost two whole days and was beginning to feel a little jaded. Despite my physical limitations, the time I spent at HB was thoroughly enjoyable. As always the music was a perfect blend of throbbing deep house and tech house, this time with the welcome surprise of Daft Punk's classic Da Funk, which got the place rocking in delight at around half nine, which was when I called it a day and headed back home. What a weekend.


Friday, March 18th: Shoplifter with Craig Richards & Jozif @ Star of Kings, London and Sunday, March 20th: WYS! with Gaiser @ fabric, London The following weekend began far more gently than the last when I made my way to Bristol hungover and knowing Seth Troxler and Claude Vonstroke awaited me at The Blue Mountain. In fact, it began so slowly that I'm willing to overlook the totally unmemorable Saturday at The Red Gallery, where Krush welcomed Moon Harbour's Martinez and Crosstown's James What, among others for what turned out to be a distinctly average night in Shoreditch. Friday, meanwhile was far more interesting. The Star of Kings, a pub in Kings Cross has recently become quite an exciting little venue for new underground electronic music. Having launched their free Thursday night showcase 'Slippery', which has so far welcomed guests such as Jozif and Geddes, Friday night introduced 'Shoplifer'. Again, it was free and featured Jozif but what really was impressive was having Craig Richards spinning throughout the night, first upstairs in the more traditional pub area, and later downstairs in more nightclubby surroundings. It was fairly surreal seeing Richards DJ in a pub, after years of only experiencing him in the crowded, subterranean environment of fabric, and once in the even more rugged surroundings of Motion. Naturally, his record selection was adapted for the vastly different context he found himself in, opting for mostly old disco and Chicago-House style numbers, and he successfully kept things nice and groovy. The mood of the evening was very laid-back, and it remained appropriately empty for the duration I was there. While we naturally got up and moved a little after a few pints, the real highlight for us was having the opportunity to chat a little with Craig earlier on in the night. The conversation didn't evoke many spectacular revelations, but as I previously mentioned, he did clear up the Villalobos mystery from the previous weekend. Nonetheless, it was a genuine pleasure to have the opportunity to meet one of my music heroes and let him know how much I appreciate his work, and not in the form of aimless screaming from the floor of fabric Room One during his sets.

While Friday was fairly relaxed and Saturday was disappointing, Sundays in London are never relaxed and rarely disappoint, and this particular Sunday was no different. This time I had slept, but very little and any possibility of a lie-in was rule out when a phone call woke me up around midday summoning me to Old Street immediately. It's never exactly pleasant drinking straight Gin first thing when you get out of bed, but its necessity was undoubted as I certainly needed something to wake me up. As I reached Old Street and re-collaborated with the troops, the consensus was that we would start on Commercial Street at the legendary Public Life: a converted Victorian public toilet. Despite being originally refused entry by the same mean looking female bouncer who seems to be the first face we see whatever venue we go in the East End, we eventually found a way past her and made our way down unto the tiny space that was once where people used to go to shit. It definitely still had that old water closet feeling about it, but perhaps what was most disturbing was how bright it was inside. Once again we had to put on a brave face as we danced shoulder to shoulder with people we could see hadn't stopped moving for at least an entire day.

From Commercial Street to Commercial Road next, and to the familiar surroundings of the Ice Factory Warehourse for Lo*kee. Considering it was only 4pm, it came as no surprise that the underground chamber was practically empty when we arrived, but we were patient and remained optimistic that London's loyal Sunday following would eventually arrive to lift the place. Gradually they did, and before we knew it Lo*kee had become actually quite good, good enough to keep us there until around 8pm when we decided it was time to move on. Next stop was Kingsland Road where Damaged returned to Basing House, with residents Matteo Manzini and my good friend Georgio Onioni supplying the bulk of the music. Georgio's set was well underway when we arrived, his sleek fusion of deep, brooding techno was a welcome sound for us as we wasted no time in cluttering up the dancefloor immediately. What makes Damaged such an enjoyable night is the passion of those behind the operation, and the friendliness of everyone who comes. Admittedly, the majority of those in Basing House that night were from the same network of East London's house/techno regulars, but it is that family-run approach to the night that makes it welcoming for everyone. It also provides us with some relief on a Sunday from the more undesirable characters that we usually have to put up with...



As Sunday drew to a close and I looked back at the string of parties we had found ourselves in over the last 24 hours, it seemed only necessary to end what had been a fairly tepid weekend in fabric. The perfect antidote. After Damaged, and even briefly before, there were calls for an early night as we scampered across East London from venue to venue looking for something that little bit special. But as soon as I mentioned that M-nus's Gaiser was at fabric for WYS!, the reaction suggested we were never going anywhere else. I am aware of Richie Hawtin's label, and I'm very familiar with, and very fond of, many artists signed to M-nus. But in all honesty I wasn't ao familiar with Gaiser, so I was particularly intrigued by the serious hype that had accrued prior to his appearance at WYS! On my way to fabric, I text Chris asking what I could expect. Predictably, he replied "He's on Minus, so you probably won't hear a single chord all night". He was right, as Gaiser delivered 90 minutes of classic Minus minimal- nothing but the leanest, loopiest, chunkiest basslines you could imagine. I confess to being totally blown away by the force of this man, and I can't help question how on earth he escaped my attention in the first place? WYS!'s birthday celebrations with Marc Houle was great, but there was something special about how Gaiser selected and mixed the Minus brand of techno. The bass was of course, constantly bellowing from beneath while acidic riffs and other venomous sounds filtered from above as the soundsystem allowed every frequency to dominate the room. I now understand both the force of Gaiser, and the force of Minus better than I ever have before, leaving me ripe with anticipation ahead of Magda's return to fabric next week.

Saturday, March 26th: Exstatic Sounds with D'Julz, London and Tuesday, March 29th: The Boiler Room with Four Tet @ Corsica Studios, London
The following weekend Exstatic Sounds continued their hot streak of parties by acquiring veteran French DJ and rEx club stalwart D'Julz to headline their latest warehouse party. I was honoured when promoter and resident DJ, Martin Langed asked me to write an interview for him, which I duly did. As well as the predictable, I included some fairly probing questions which I hope to find out how he responded soon. The actual party was excellent, despite it taking place in where other than the Ice Factory Warehouse yet again. Unlike previous occasions, I had never seen it bubbling with so much energy from the moment I entered. The main space was immediately appealing, bustling with the familiar party-hungry Europeans that make these kind of parties so unique. D'Julz took control around half three, playing entirely off CD's and exploring the deepest, dustiest corners of tech house. There were some interesting remixes thrown in, and some even more interesting accapellas used, such as Green Velvet's evocative lyrics from Flash, layered over distinctively French moods of techno and house. Anyone DJing around the world for almost 20 years should be celebrated and appreciated, and although he's never been a name that has raised my pulse, his performance at Exstatic Sounds was flawless. It's not often acknowledged as much as it should, but experience like D'Julz's is a priceless attribute in making a party truly successful.

The very final chapter worthy of mention in this extraordinary month has to be Four Tet's eclectic two hours at Corsica Studios, recorded live for online streaming site The Boiler Room. It had been over a year since I had last seen Kieran Hebden, and since then his production outlay has received universal acclaim. His album There Is Love In You was nothing short of phenomenal, and several of his remixes, such as his brilliant take on the XX's VCR has made him firmly one of the UK's precious talents. In London, he's made quite a name for himself as a DJ too, and he kept a packed Corsica Studios crowd very happy on a Tuesday night with his intelligent amalgamation of UK bass, electronica and two-step orientated hybrids. Unfortunately, he was the only morsel of enjoyment for me. Following his very clever two hours were a sequence of pretty awful characters who entertained everyone else with offensive bashment, UK funky and wobbly dubstep, the kind of dubstep that people liked 3 years ago. Nonetheless, Four Tet for free on a Tuesday night is always a treat, and after the riches I had been fortunate to experience in the weeks previous, I had no intention to sulk.