Category: Other stuff
Date: 28 September 2001
Imagine the worst pub you could ever enter mistakenly: The Goldsmiths Tavern!.Near empty,a stout bouncer is telling the heavy metalish barmaid about someone whose ear had been ripped orf in a fight, the walls are filthy and covered with thousands of drink advertising posters and crap grafitti, two other punters wander in from a squat across the road dressed as mohican punks, the fried chicken eatery nearby has bank-style security, the stained( by beer, not some paint effect) floors have flies buzzing about hungry for craps and the keg tables are encrusted with wax or grease. It shivers your bougeois bones to the timbers.
Some people say Drum and Bass is dead, but they just go to these venues too early to know, or not at all: the tracksuit and trainer mob like it late. In a large empty room I listened to the DJ in deafening noise and darkness: subcultures enjoy their technical terms and variations and criteria within a conservative corpus, so outsiders can perceive everthing and nothing.Drum and Bass seems like good music for fucking, and being drunk to. It allows a silence in the brain for thought, and provokes a vibratory and spasmodic style of dancing. Prima facie it is violent in its noise and crushing repetition, and avant-garde in its ugliness.
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