The Pondering Blonde

Don’t Mind The Gap, Get Innit

Remember the day’s people went on a Gap year, returning with enough dosh to put a deposit on a house or buy a new car? Well, it’s likely those people never left their grotty flat share and ate baked beans on toast every day; kinda useless when you have one of the maddest, interesting cities at your fingertips! If you go overseas you’ve got to experience it and get your nails into the awesome, dirty, sexy culture and live it up! Well, in my almost 2 years as a party-chasing Saffa in London, I certainly did try! Here’s a scratching-the-surface summary of life on the nightshift in London Town.

London really is a melting pot of incredible culture. But you can’t sit in Wimbledon aka Little South Africa expecting it to come to you- you have to chase it and get involved. A round up of our regular (not necessarily all at once!) nocturnal team included several South Africans, a Brazilian, an Italian (and sporadically; her loud Italian entourage), a lone-ranging Turk, a couple of Aussies, two Spaniards, an American, a Welsh lass, and a good dozen curious Brits, among them! It’s a truly incredible thing to be surrounded by so many different people and never a dull moment on a night out!

It has to be said, South Africans aren’t the most stylish bunch; Saffa’s are more likely to spend cash on going out and getting hammered than on new threads, but this is a good thing… We just don’t look as good doing it. The locals are pretty lekker and accept- no, welcome- raving travellers who adopt their city and dancefloors- contrary to belief that they’ve been sulking about immigrants for decades (Those old farts moved to Cornwall ages ago anyway!) But as they say, everyone leaves eventually, and while it’s a bummer for residents to watch international friends come and go; when it comes to the London clubbing community at large, this constant shift and new energy is what keeps UK dance culture so alive and well!

The core club scene, aka those deemed the coolest club kids of all by no-one in particular- they’ve just danced up the year-miles to prove it, is actually kind of small when you elbow your way right into the thick of it- everyone knows everyone and supports everyone. And so you just have to go and party at everyone’s party every weekend- it would be rude not to. (No mean feat I tell you!) When they know you, they put you on the guestlist, let you skip the queue and coat check your stuff for free. It’s the little things that make it home, right?

If you’re still clubbing at Pacha and Ministry of Sound 6 months into your London Life it’s safe to say you probably couldn’t find the underground in a mine shaft- but hey, maybe next time you can tickle the Deadmau5 pantomime behind his ear even? Okay, big room shows are great, and the underground is not without its massive warehouse parties, but there’s nothing like an intimate shindig with your favourite dj just metres away- you can even pinch his bum if you want to… I’m just saying!

Experiencing The End before it closed and witnessing the power of its era in dance music history sucked me right in. I entered a world that crossed the border of Recreational clubbing into the 24/7 realm of Professional Party People. A community ‘headspace’ that speaks EDM- discussing venues, promoters and releases in beats per minute; the same way you might natter to your girlfriend about your day at work, the traffic and what’s for dinner. It’s something else entirely and privy to a well-networked and thriving music scene- totally worth trading your collection of pictures of The Queen to experience first ear and foot! London, you sexy vicious bitch; to be continued…

Have Legs Will Dance

Dance Music Culture. That’s what we call it, and month in and month out websites, magazines and conversation with friends surround, discuss and dissect everything about it from the dj’s and music to the parties, equipment and club layouts. Yes, when you find yourself debating the soundscape of a Funktion1 sound system and whether the dj’s tunes are working the room- you’re no longer an ordinary party-loving patron anymore.

Back in the day the ‘The Lifestyle’ meant you were into some seriously kinky stuff in high society circles but these days it refers to anyone immersed in their subculture and indeed it refers to us in ours. We eat, breathe and dream Electronic Dance Music. We talk about dj’s like they’re our neighbours and plot our nocturnal rendezvous with more zeal than a dancing dervish. And yes, men even plan their party outfits!

But with all the analytics, politics and fashion frolics- there’s a huge industry element lacking in limelight and love: The dancing. The body slamming, club slumming and shoe shuffling antics- our physical offering if you will- brought to action whenever we hear our flavoured beat. Dancing is the club cultured roots that brought us here in the first place. It’s where we met, made and merged party families- because we found other people like us, who understood the music like us- who moved like us. And it just made sense that we moved together.

Even those Skippies on the Funky Floor… sure, they almost knock out half the club with their moves but they’re sweating in glorious, unadultered Fidget bliss; a community and vibe all of their own- this is their moment, their music’s reflexious identity- and they’ve been working up a life-size stutter all week to purge into this release! And before you beat them away with a well-oiled Techno Arm, behold The Krochn; a spastic little dance with fancy footwork infecting Techno floors across Europe- and soon, a dark and pokey dancefloor near you! Don’t say I didn’t warn you!

Every sound has its soldiers and we all march in our own special way. Even our team of party-stompers have their own rodeo-techno dance- now affectionately dubbed ‘The Hade Ho’ – like Howdy Ho but with a South African twist- well that’s what happens when the Saffa’s make such a momentous discovery!- and there’s nothing like a marathon party familia Ho-down. As my friend Sj so rightly puts it, ‘This is what we came here for!’ And indeed, bender weekenders trying to dance at every great party on offer have seen the word ‘legless’ redefined.

Forget ‘unconscious expressive movement’- okay, ye that too- but first and foremost this is about compulsion. The unexplainable urge to direct your feet to that dance floor and surrender to the music again and again. You know, that moment when you realise you’re in; you’re body starts to ride the groove and you don’t even have to think about legs and arms and rhythm, they all just seem to come together and cavort in the most perfect of soul-touching symmetries.  That is what we do this for. And it’s beautiful. And nothing feels better.

I mean, where or who would we be if we didn’t have dance music? If we didn’t move with gravitational force to throw shapes at these sound shrines each weekend? People just don’t bond the same way over gardening and baking. And then there’s trying to explain this all this to your mother! And we wonder why the world looks at us like we’re crazy!

Pre-Clubbing Ritual Confessions

Ah the smell of bank holiday weekend!  Another glorious excuse to dip into the hot-party pot and do a spot of Electronic Olympics! And with so much on offer, it’s really only fair that you try and give everything a decent shot! Everyone who’s tried to do a long distance leg over the long-weekend- that’s 72 strong hours of beat body thrashing- knows; it’s all about the pre-planning! So this week, I got stuck into everybody’s business to find out what their weird and wonderful rituals were…

The meal: Yep my unofficial social survey was unanimous that a decent dinner or two in the days prior to your marathon is called for- it’s all about the carbo-loading and a spot of vegetable nutrition! Pasta took the top spot- yes I’m actually discussing pre-clubbing dishes here- salad, sandwiches and… beans and meditation? Oh-kay then! My tasty little tip- prepare your post party meal too… when you finally find your way home, feeling like death and smelling like a camper- you’ll never regret making that Spag Bol before you left the house!

The drink: There’s certainly not enough pre-hydrating going on but everyone’s keen to hit a bit of the bottle before heading out. And it’s all about the vodka. And the wine. And the beer. And all about the same time too… Totalled tip- If you’re not driving, vodka in a soft drink bottle can see you right to the door of the club and be inconspicuous enough while tubing and cabbing- don’t act all surprised like- we’ve all done it! And don’t forget to toast Boris will you…

The music: Rock and heavy metal- seriously? Well, there’s interesting way to cleanse the ‘aural palate’ if that’s your thing! Something deep, groovy and jazzy- easy listening- is a good party starter- or just start banging it outright if you want to practice your body slam in the mirror as you get dressed. Tonal tip to get everyone out the door when it’s time to go- Samim’s Heater will have everyone running out for air!

The random bits: A disco nap, a quick mix, a cup of Tetley, a nervous pee, a game of Final Fantasy and a herbal remedy were all on the table, as was reading the paper and a phone call to mom- yes really! And you’re just about set… all you need are your tickets, your friends and a GPS navigation tool, but chances are, if you’re this prepared- the fun will find you!

Happy long-weekending!
Little Lexi x

Girl on Girl on Boy

There is no better place to be sexually liberal than in Europe. In fact, it doesn’t take being here long to find oneself in an if-not-why- not? situation, providing a previously seemingly elusive all-access pass- to real experimentation and self discovery with the same sex. Its human nature to be curious and you can’t help but wonder if the Same-same Society really does know something you don’t. Basically, I kissed a girl and I liked it. And while the news would possibly shock my mother- I’ve told her not to expect marriage from me anyway- it really doesn’t matter here, in fact; I’d probably do it again…

When it comes to fiddling-fodder, the question of one’s sexuality isn’t thrown into debate either. We’re living in a modern society that allows one to chop and change our minds, morals, personality and now, sexuality, as we wish. If no-one’s asked the question, there’s no need to answer, so as you were…  It’s refreshing to know one can play kissing catchers on their own playground, decide they still like boys the next day, and no-one will blink an eyelid- although, you still have to be weary of breaking hearts! But it’s simply just another day of human existence on planet earth, really! And I’m not going all safe-sex debate here either- this isn’t school, it’s a genderised cultural celebration- because we can.

When it comes to going out, meeting and congregating; the big-wigged neon flashing camp site is a thing of the past- thank god, that’s so 90’s! No really, a far cry from the bare-chested, oiled up and happy-hardcore pre-conception of the gay clubbing community (We can find you those, if you really want!), the subversive dance-loving society is all-encompassing and generally all roll together as one. Without falsely creating some exotic unisex utopia; yes- he is making bedroom eyes at the boy in the skinny jeans and he will score; those two girls kissing in the corner are not trying to wet the pants of every man in the room; and him, over there- he pinched Sven Vath’s bum- well someone had to, he tells me!

Speaking of dj homie’s- I tried to put that in a context that didn’t imply Mr Vath was one, but couldn’t- so moving along; they’re also a lot more common than you think. While for some their sexuality is very much part of the show, for others; well what did you expect- gay music? The gay kids want Techno too! That’s right; this ain’t Kansas anymore Dorothy, indeed!  A recent random email from a female dj in London- watch me open a real can of worms now- openly shed light on the fact that until quite recently, she was actually a man. She spent her first 31 years of life male, she told me, but now confessed to being fully transgendered- and trans-genre’d, with a record label that’s spans the electronic spectrum to prove it! You go girl! Keeping mum about her transformation is also simply a matter of it being part of her, not defining her. Fair enough!

The gay community have long known their personal preference on heels and hi-teks, and even before the legality of gay marriage- which certainly set the tone with a new-age precedent to ‘coming out’- they were getting loud and loved up in public, and flicking a self-assured middle-finger at the square jaws of the world. Homosexual mouthing off, literally, is no shock tactic or charade- they’re really don’t care; they’re just getting on with it- clearly! It’s safe to say the proverbial ‘closet’ has long since been vindicated, but if you come back at 7pm, they’re more than happy to let you watch them coming out of the shower? Basically, the show’s over- nothing to see here!

Straight-down-the-liners partying with the Pinks learn the etiquette very quickly; and no, no matter how hammered they get they do not want to have a threesome- with you. Don’t ask. Indulging a sexually kinked and ambiguous atmosphere while out with this encumbered bunch however, is quite an experience- remember to bring your dancing queen shoes!

Welcome to the Electronic Re-session

BPM MAGAZINE 2009

We’re living in extreme times, people! Yep, the UK has officially (finally!- though I appreciate their initial denial) announced it is in recession, and every man, dog, and his chip shop are buttering up the newly stiff-fisted population in the hopes of prying a few of them dead weight gold coins from their purses.

But before you buy into this ‘Recession Philosophy’ be warned: When you want a Mozzarella, Tomato and Pesto Panini but come out the sandwich cafe with two because it was only a pound extra on the Recession Special menu, you have being taken the piss, my friend! Seriously, the only time you ever buy into that kind of marketing scheme is when the discount applies to alcohol- especially in times like these!

Now I could lure you into a great depression with woeful tales about redundancy, the property markets, the price of eggs, and make your feel sick to your stomach recalling your spend at the Boxing Day sales (and I was on one of the first busses in, I won’t lie!) but frankly my dears, I think this is a bloody exciting time to be alive! It’s certainly an interesting time to be in London!

History has more then proven that times of economic hardship spur on a renewed desire for creativity and escapism. Aah yes, you’ve seen the loop hole here then? Long story short- when there is no money, people like to go out and party even more! Who would have thought! So while this is without a doubt a time to consider if you really need those new shoes, it’s not quite food-on-plate dramatic; the leverage is simply; or, one smashing night on the town with friends!? I’m all for experiences rather than things, eating is apparently cheating and I think we’ve been carefree consumers for way too long! (Besides, Vintage will be all the rage in 3, 2, 1… !)

Not since the Acid House Revolution in the late 80’s/early 90’s have we been in a better position to experience- and get caught up in- a most incredible new movement! A fresh emergence of music, fashion and art as a result of the struggle! Think about it- this is the all encompassing, culture creating, energy renewing, never-forget-because-we-lived-it downturn of our generation, that gives us enough sour to make us come together and unite to form the power of the sweet! Okay, odd analogy, but with purpose: The music has been good but temperamental; we live life to the max, savour the moment but we spend our silent Mondays wondering what it was all for!

Now, according to the incessant wailings on various nightlife forums, it seems London- or Londoners anyway- have all but taken the feather from its cap and bowed out of position as an international clubbing Mecca due to the closure of several prominent, okay- revolutionary!- nightclubs over the past 2 years. The Cross, The Key, Canvas, Turnmills, The Astoria and most recently, The End, have all played their last tune and dragged out the last legless warrior, leaving a gaping hole in London club culture and panic without the disco has never been more evident! They all want to know, ‘Where is the new beginning? Do we need to move to Berlin?’

Slow down I say; all is not lost! This is no doubt the end of an epic era; Layo Paskin, owner of The End admitted in a recent interview that Britain’s clubbing scene is in need of a new direction- or just a cause?- and maybe the clubs timeous closure is evidence he’s knows something we don’t. So what’s next? The Warehouse Rave revival? Oooh, maybe this summer we’ll all be dancing crop circles into the English countryside!? But never you fear; a pulsating new hotspot and happening audio adventure is on the way. I can feel it in my techno fingers and it’ll be fascinating to witness!

Until then, a North London club has launched an indie-rock night called Recession! And claims it will pay you a pound for every hour you spend inside- although that’s after you’ve paid a fiver to get in… still, it’s a way to keep on keeping on if you need one, and one of the many ways Clubland is giving back so we can keep dancing forward.

The French Revolution potentially started with Marie Antoinette uttering, ‘Let them eat cake!’… Two friends of mine once ate 8p noodles for two weeks as a result of raving beyond their means, and while I think that kind of extreme is not conducive to a balanced anything, never mind diet, I would certainly rather eat bread and dance the night away with friends than devour any kind of expensive delicacy and stay at home! The next revolution is ours and our party fighting spirits will not be made redundant!

The Brand New DJ

BPM MAGAZINE 2009

It goes without saying that we’ve been brought up in a brand new world. Never before has life been so fast, so convenient, so at your service, at your finger tips, at the push of a button -or the flick of a knob. And, whether you’re a proud member of Generation X or Generation Y or skip merrily on the blurred line between the two, (it’s somewhere in the 80’s and I’m blaming Madonna- can the women please stop behaving like an adolescent!) we’re all part of a society that wants it all, and in fact, we wanted it yesterday!

This very much goes for the influx- I’d rather call it spawn- (simply because it sounds like a spreading disease) of new musicians chasing instant fame and success, who so badly want to be the hottest thing since sliced Electro was dubbed ‘Fidget’, that they’re literally making up a whole realm to their musical empire before they’ve even produced the goods! Literally!

They’ve got the reasonably trendy band or performer name; if you need help selecting it, something with the words funk, groove, super or bass jammed in somewhere usually works. They bought the self-actualising set up; all you need is a DJ-In-A-Box! They’ve got the pimped out MySpace page- this pretty much makes it official; ‘Welcome! You are now a musician, you are number 1, 965 447 281 in the quest for superstardom and we’re going to help you get your big break!’ Well, there’s no time to wait around hoping to be discovered… So, they set up their own record label; you really just need to give it a ‘we’re serious about music’ sounding name and complimenting logo.

Then, it’s all about the biography: A musical genius from the age of 3, they were divinely influenced by the advancements of technology and were making mix tapes as birthday gifts for their cousins and friends at the age of 9. At 13 they were raving in some of the meanest underground clubs with their older brother who just happened to be big mates with DJ Whatwhat. Dj Whatwhat himself taught them how to play and gave them their first pair of decks at 16 and now, at the tender age of 21, they’re a musical sensation, with their own unique and distinguished sound. They’ve played with every almost famous DJ and their dog and watch this space; this is only the beginning!

WARNING: You have now entered DJ-By-Numbers territory; please ensure you’re shades are correctly positioned, you’re picture poses are down pat and that for the life of you, you actually can match a beat or two (For the latest edition of DJ’ing for Dummies, please visit Amazon.com). From here on out, it’s all about a bit of marketing savvy and Bam! Rob Riviera could soon be your DJ uncle!

And so there they were; standing in their bedrooms, strumming the jog wheel of their favourite tune on CD, headphones on, eyes closed, a vision of an elevated DJ box and 20 000 people running behind their eyelids… It was all going so well! They’d publically ‘gone underground’ and rumour had it they were working on ‘some serious shit’. The last thing they expected was this global outbreak of EverybodywantstobeaDJ Fever! The 2008 strain has been particularly serious- the 60’s equivalent of playing a guitar- it’s everywhere, it’s contagious! Their neighbour has it, their brother has it, even that science nerd down the road has it- oh wait, that was you!

They curse themselves, having spent too long mentally preparing slick answers to burning questions like, “Who do you consider the legendary DJ and producers of our time?” and “If you could take only 5 tracks to a deserted island, which would they be?” They’ve been put into a box (and not the one they were hoping for!) and are in somewhat of a panic. They’re wondering, “How can I stand out in this insipid DJ Generation?”, “How can I compete with this onslaught of mass music murderers?” Soon enough their webwhore girlfriends are on the networking sites, making groups, fan pages and start spamming the hell out of everyone about their plans for world domination! A little FYI; in this business it doesn’t say much, to be seen and not heard.

And that’s about where we’re at with that and it really is much ado about nothing. Many have already spun out of control and into oblivion. The others? Well, in time they will learn that less is more, they will see that slow and steady wins the race, and that there’s ‘always next year’. A real connection with and passion for music stands the test of time. If you’re life is music and music is life, then you may want to note- you’re already living the dream! The beat goes on in 2009!

Before You Prick An English Rose

BPM MAGAZINE 2009

So there I am; in the ladies bathroom of a small bar next door to Pacha- the supposedly massive super club of London and The White Isle (we’ll get back to this)- having a little pee, as you do, when the banter of a gaggle of girls at the sink catches my ear. It’s nothing outside the usual; in their thick London accents they’re talking hair, handbags and dancing up a storm, but it’s once I’m standing outside the cubicle, waiting for my turn at the mirror, that I’m somewhat stunned to the spot.

The five ladies are adorned in what can be described as a rainbow of colour that could make only Boy George break out into a dj set; each one in a little satin frock with lashings of frill, bow and sequin that give me the same nauseous feeling I get when I’m being followed- I swear- by a women pushing a pram ridden child, screaming it’s head off, around the supermarket. (Insert random Pro-Contraceptive slogan here). My outfit, in brief; black mini, funky top and my ultimate in all night club survival; black Ugg boots, are suddenly looking very indistinct in comparison. I find myself wondering if it’s possible we’re going to the same place or did I just miss the Carnivale Night memo?

Now L-town, being one of the biggest economic monstrosities of a city on Planet Earth, is surprisingly feminine. Much of the city has been delicately crafted (to encourage tourism demand) and gleaned (to satisfy tourism demand) to graceful perfection. Old buildings and ‘typical English’ houses are the brick and cement equivalent of Lace with their engraved curly wurlys and molded roses. Well, never mind that the inside of any given one looks like a dated IKEA store catalogue- a cheap Swedish story all on its own! And the same, to some extent, is to be said for the lasses that run the place amuck- possibly right down to their ‘IKEA filled’ internal fixtures as well but without the Swedish-ness. (Did I mention the random pro-contraceptive slogan here?). And we thought South Africa had a brain drain…

Yes, the women of Britain are being flogged as English Roses to this day. This distinctly ‘English Country’ or ‘Posh Society Girl’ looks being punted by High Street designers and ‘fashion gurus’ from shameful Cable TV shows are convincing the fashionable- questionable- female public that donning a shapeless old curtain and teaming it up with a Kate-Moss-attitude, Cowboy boots and Aviators is ‘bang on trend’. And they’re getting away with this foul crime- all for the sake of selling England to the world as being the home of My Fair Lady. Personally, I’m good with holding onto a little bit of Joburg Girl Glam, thank you- as My Fair Ladies this lot is not!

English girls could very well be the thorns among the roses, in fact, when put on a global scale. Dainty dresses aside, they’re feisty and shoot from the mouth with words that would shock a Pikey, carry a pasty (if not ridiculously Oros tanned) pallor you cant help but fear (either way) and are prone to popping out illegitimate children to live a cushy-as-pins-and-needles life on The Dole. (Seriously, pro-contraceptive campaigners have invaded this space!) When it comes to going out on the town- leaving their mums to babysit?- they dominate the dancefloors of their chosen musing and set the precedent for a whole new era of Girls Gone Wild. I’ve been given much opportunity to witness this fascinating lady species in action, as in my attempt to be adventurous, and much to the tumultuous delight of my roommates and fellow party bitches, I’ve poked a toe, with them in tow, onto the dance floors of several scenes this side of the pond, to see, without the sub-genre political jousting in my earballs, where my toes actually like to jam.

As it turned out, the Loo Ladies and I did all head for the Cherry emblazoned doors after a few party starters at the local. Though famed for its legendary rosters of Thee. Worlds. Best. House. DJs. Like. Ever. (See, I told you I’d come back to it), one of my girls beat me to the Pacha punch when she yelled over the good but yes, ordinary sound system, average sized dancefloor and strangely shrined DJ box, “Is this it?”. (I even went back again a month or so later just to check and, no offence to the European tourists who feed its annual income; yes, that was it.)

At the end of the night I spotted two of the Pouffy dressed party girls looking somewhat deflated. The one, dangling her teetering stilettos from her fingertips was navigating the other, hobbling behind looking like what another mate of mine would call ‘a very dizzy donkey indeed’, towards the exit. If these are English Roses, then God save The Queen! (Pro-contraceptive campaigners thank you for reading here.)

Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Nu-ravers

BPM Magazine 2009

I like to think I’m not a romantic; that I could give any marketer a run for their moneys-worth and that I would all but revolt before joining the i-pod generation- simply because I enjoy being fickle towards popular culture. However, a series of events; a black cab ride from Heathrow Airport to the most perfectly quaint red-doored house, a perfectly soggy weathered pub lunch and amble down Oxford Street- and a perfectly proper ‘avin it large’ night on the town, and London had me; heart and sold and on the i-train to ‘innut bruv’dom.

It’s possible I’m still just flushed, The Big Smoke and I are more than likely still in the Honeymoon phase of our journey, but this is one sexy little city! Scratch that… Huge-ass mother fucking city! Don’t gasp, the Chavs made me do it!

London really is everything everyone tells you it is; silently miffed Englishmen and women, reading the paper on the tube; excessively graffiti’d walls- well, any flat surface really! Stodgy as hell food- they love their smokey bbq’d bacon, mash and peas- and I hate peas! ‘Heathrow Injection’ is not a myth; it’s a freak of friggen nature I’m evading like the plague! The sky is always a different shade of grey, everyone wears black and bad sneakers to work, the Polish have officially taken over and you really do have to mind the gap between the train and the platform. But it’s art if I ever saw any! This is thee most diverse and cutting edge place in the world… The culture, lifestyle; extravert people and pace of living in a first world city are enough to woo any hardened sunshine lover!

And all this before I’ve even mentioned what we’re all here for: The variety of music to see, hear and shake your ass to is unimaginable! There is so much music in London I have seriously considered pitching for a national sponsorship to fund me to live the EDM lovers dream! Hey, I strongly believe someone should try listen and dance to it all- why can’t it be me? If The Queen reads this; “Lady, I hear you have a very big stone of ours in the royal jewelry box- its time to show some Saffa love!”

Seriously, the Nightlife here is beyond incredible. The chaos-inducing mix of Guy Richie meets Irvine Welsh for an all-weekend boogie binge could be an apt description of the situation. There are enough loyal lovers of every music genre to fill up the Wembly Stadium. From the faux-classy but nasty Chav culture bopping to Speed Garage and Nu Ravers who take Hard Dance to a whole new level in fluffy boots and swatches of Neon lycra- to the Drum and Bass massive, Psy-trancers, Techno-logists and the Punk Rockers of Camden Town- there is a beat to suit your mood every night of the week!

Queues to get into nightclubs snake around the block and some guest lists are 500 names long! Bouncers discreetly- or not so- watch over the proceedings and keep the walkways flowing- you have to take the safety of 5000 people in a big dark room seriously, and so, don’t think twice about riddancing with a vengeance any unsociable beer-breed behavior. And the beer- for you connoisseurs- comes in 65 varieties- and the boys from the Bokyard still drink Amstel!

Fabric, took everything I thought I knew about clubbing, threw it on the dancefloor (which has speakers imbedded underneath), moshed it to the sound of the Scratch Perverts remixing ‘Jump’ and made me enjoy it. This Club Capital of London goes 4 floors underground, has a vending machine that pops out Minimal Techno albums- have you ever?- and is famed for it’s casual line-ups of the worlds top artists and performers. Did I mention I’m looking to marry a nice Pom so I can stay here forever?

The Big Smoke was recently put out however, when Mister Brown- the Queens trusty sidekick- declared no smoking in all restaurants and clubs. Whilst I’m happy to go home without my hair smelling like Camel breath- Patrons now have to collect their jackets from the dedicated coat checks before stealing a quick puff in the icy night air and returning to thaw-out with a few excessively priced Tequila’s! This is the reason people hit the bottle before hitting the clubs- drinking in public is legal! Good thing no-one is driving ye?

A good night-out doesn’t end until the sunrise session- if only because waiting for the tubes to start around 6.30 will save you 50 Quid on a cab home! Or you can march on to ‘breakfast shots’ at The Egg or The End- and commence another beginning- Sunday clubbing is huge! Somewhere in the middle, I might have stopped and wondered if I’d lost the plot- but then my favourite track came on and I realised, in London, I may have just found it! Have your next cup of tea on me!

The Next Round is on Spike

BPM MAGAZINE 2007

A recent ladies dinner revealed that every one of my girl friends knows at least one other who’s experienced a spiked drink – if not having experienced it herself. The stories vary; some experienced extreme drowsiness, others severe vomiting, and scarily, a few partied the night away only to awake the next day, their previous evening’s antics an empty memory.

Out with friends at a local drinking hole one night, I too succumbed to the ill fate of a spiked drink on round two. I spent a not-so good hour retching into the decorative shrubbery in the parking lot, aware of my surroundings yet not able to see 10cm in front of my face, never mind over my steering wheel! I was promptly chauffeured home where I spent the rest of the weekend ‘finding myself’ on the couch with DVDs and a family size pizza.

The media recently sensationalised a ‘drink spiking incident’ at a Rivonia nightclub, highlighting the serious trend stealthily surging the South African nightlife once again. Oh good, they’ve decided to pay some attention! The young woman lay comatose in hospital for several days after downing an indecent amount of brake fluid in someone’s bid to ‘spike’ her drink and … What?

What exactly would this asshole have done if he’d had the chance? Brake fluid – are you joking? Who decided that was a good way to drug up the bitches? I looked up the ingredients. It’s a freakin’ corrosive toxin! The story got me on edge – it was a mere week after a good friend sipped herself into a semi-cognizant state at a similar venue in Fourways. These glorified bars are clearly being preyed upon by valiant predators whom clearly lack the charm and decency to pursue a real pick up!I’d love to have a word with a few of these guys … give them a few tips on how to end their lives now, rather than later, because they are most definitely useless beings in our society!

In fact Al Gore should support the initiative; after all we’re trying to conserve energy right? My friend too spent the rest of the night beady eyed and hurling her soul into the porcelain pot – luckily for her, brake fluid wasn’t in that week.
A forum on a nightlife website was humorously debating the situation: “It’s sad what some people will do for a lay” said one and ‘Life must be good when someone else is paying for your drugs’ said another. Non-funny jokes aside, I know there are some seriously not well people in the world but you’ve got to be one helluva sick bastard to pull this stunt!

I’ve seen women being dragged by friends out of bars and clubs on several occasions – a different kind of fucked up; too intoxicated to walk, knees buckling under their own weight, a glazed look of disorientation on their nebulous faces. People even snigger about ‘the lass who can’t handle’ – not realising the situation is much grimmer. The guy behind the malice still lurks inside!There’s nothing worse than spending the night on the edge of your feet wondering who it was and hoping you’re not next. We ladies are warned time and again to watch our bags, drinks and selves with the defensiveness of a rabid dog to minimise the dangers of an ‘insecure’ environment.

Oh yes, and then still squeeze in a degree of enjoyment to make it worth our while! We’re only too aware of how wrong such a situation can go, but I do wonder, how much of a challenge is a woman – or group of them – out having a razzle for someone with a wicked ulterior motive? Where there’s a will …?

If the shared stories are anything to go by, however, by the grace of The Man upstairs – they don’t quite get the dosage of their hampering drug of choice right. Women have a smaller alcohol intake. A heavy hand with these illicit substances will cause the victim to flounder more than flounce – a less than desirable state that attracts way too much attention – and thus be shipped home by watchful friends before any desperate damage can be done.

Awareness is simply being conscious of the people you’re with and around you. If your friend is not the type to leave with the leering loner at the bar, stand your ground and take control. Ladies and … Erm … really pretty men? … Watch your drink, buy your own drinks, stick to the same drink and as always, drink in good company.

Party People vs People Who Party

BPM MAGAZINE 2007

“Where do you go out?” It’s a simple question really, but one which answer unfailingly reveals much about someone’s personality. It tells you; aside from the obvious hotspots or ‘so not’ spots they indulge at; what type of person they are, their music tastes, their preferred dress style and the kind of company they keep. Randomly induced with the meeting of some very interesting people at some seriously strange intersections in life, like Greek weddings, Police Stations (don’t ask) and the BP at three in the morning, one learns there are many different ways to ‘party’.

The question at the BP, however, is usually “Where have you been?”. At this hour, telling someone where you’ve been doing the bump and grind whilst looking like a drowned rat is most undignified… especially when your friend is trying to mount the counter and hug the hotdog lady! Moving right along…

One blue mooned Thursday I found myself being toddled into a club I rightfully keep well away. Feeling like a new delivery at a meat market, I soon tired of being prodded to see if I was ‘tender’ and whisked myself and a large beverage off to the sidelines to watch the calves at play. Approached by a prodder, attempting to mince his meat one last time, I was asked, “Why are you not dancing?”

I looked around for a moment, slurped the fast diminishing drink in my hand and drank in the room before me; Akon moaned loudly from the speakers as the dancefloor swarmed with what I can only describe as a mass of rather limp dry humping while the satisfied grins of over eager hyenas curl their lips. Equating the lurid scene with the fact that the term ‘party animal’ is used way too loosely- (though it may sound like a positively wicked description of your ‘inner minx’, this is a fine example of it not working in your favour!)- I replied; “This, my dear boy, is not dancing!”

The entire population of New York’s real Manhattan would be insulted at this mockery of their incomparable, pulsating nightlife!

It was at this moment that I realised I was in the vicinity of a very different animal. Using this opportunity to study the decidedly dense species, strange mating rituals aside, I came to the conclusion that there is a big difference between Party People and People Who Party.

The dissection shall commence here:

Both flying under the banner of ‘clubbers’; The Party People are attracted to a cultural nightlife and seek out a ‘musical education’ of sorts- an acquired taste if you will! The planning of their night out entails negotiating which club has the best DJ line-up and the type of sound they’re feeling for, thence deliberating over the clubs dance floor design (they need space for their Natural Groove moves) and sound system quality. – No, really! The People Who Party are more socially oriented, they’re inclined to seek out the biggest social affair- a ‘show face’ appearance if you please! Their planning considers the best ‘people’ places and deliberating which runs the best cocktail specials. The clubs layout is irrelevant, they’ll pack in like sardines regardless- in fact, the closer the better- when you can guess the next persons brand of breath mint correctly, you know you’re in!- and the sound had best not interfere with their working of the room!

While the first has its equal share in bar attendance, it’s about the dancing and the music- a quick shot of vodka for that special buzz and a Long that’s easy to dance with- while for the latter, dancing is the end result, and by that stage, they’re not phased what drink they’re spilling into the lass ahead’s heels or which commercial cheese is playing.

The People Who Party have probably never visited the Party People’s scene and haven’t seemed to notice that those who have, never came back. -Interesting that! They discover a whole different kind of Night Fever my friends; transformed to no return! These two worlds dwell on parallel lanes and now that I think about it- rightfully so! Lest they should meet at the same end one day- I have visions of this Rivonia whore house attempting to have a dance-off with Speedy’s stage dancers (oh, the visions!). A mangle of entertainment mayhem will diminish what we Party People know and love; think Happy Hour with Ryan Dent and a De Sousa brothers 2 for 1 special until 12pm. Dammit, I’m giving them ideas!

So, let’s regroup; should we play this modern game of 21 questions and reveal all when proposed the beginning inquiry? I think not! Let the People Who Party think they’re as tough as their last tequila until their own curiosity brings them to into the fast lane- and may they leave their commercial degradation far behind! Party People; same time and place as last Saturday?