- Born of an epiphany creative director Paul Noble had while in Japan, Spiritland, an audiophile music venue in King's Cross, is an example of deep-listening culture taken and reproduced on an audacious scale. Though it's one of several similar venues to emerge in London in recent years, it's in a class of its own.
Spiritland is a ludicrously well-kitted spot. Sets of £1700 headphones sit positioned in the window, and there are shelves of rare no wave records up for sale by the entrance. The venue's horn-powered Living Voice soundsystem takes up an entire wall of the two-chamber restaurant. Every corner is fitted with some piece of ultra-hi-fi gear. The soundproofed studio at the back has two rotaries, including a rare Taula 4. A shiny Kuzma Stabi XL DC record player sits behind the booth, which holds three Technics turntables and a custom-made solid brass mixer that's apparently impossible to distort. Even the toilets project audacity. Each cubicle has a pair of Tannoy Autograph Minis, pumping punchy, pristine sound direct from the front of house.
That might make Spiritland seem stuffy or showy, but the atmosphere on the night was anything but. The musical element was, if anything, understated. I'd guess that maybe 75% of the clientele on Thursday night had no idea who the guest DJ was. As elderly couples sat eating olives just a few feet away, Josey Rebelle, who'd been invited for the latest edition of The Pickle Factory's monthly takeover series, grinned and rolled her shoulders to elastic disco basslines and modal jazz keyboard runs. What might seem like a concept caught between two worlds––the draw of a headline act in a space that wants to tamp down the myth surrounding DJs––was well balanced. Rebelle had arrived hours early for dinner before her slot, during which her friends pulled a table closer to be able to jam with her.
Before Rebelle were two of The Pickle Factory's own bookers and residents, Hamish Cole and Toby Nicholas. The Bethnal Green venue's programming skews cerebral, fond of giving all-night sets to the likes of Daniel Bell, Jane Fitz and Fred P. This thoughtful curation translated well to Spiritland. Cole drew predominantly from a stock of loose downtempo and house records, playing the likes of Hanna and Atjazz—a signature I recognised from his years running the respected Leeds party Butter Side Up. Nicholas went lower and slower, playing Sly Dunbar, Sade and Slum Village. An uptick in head nods across the room suggested a likely crossover from dinner walk-ins to those who had travelled specifically for the music.
Rebelle's broad tastes as a club DJ and radio host are highly regarded, so it was little surprise that a set of more expansive, non-dance floor tracks was enjoyable. The music was generally tactile and warm, sliding through gospel, soul and quiet storm from the '70s and '80s, with the occasional outing for staccato funk or drum machine clatter. Sitting directly in line with the gigantic speakers meant conversation was at times difficult, yet even when a feedback squall or guttural wail punctured the air it didn't jar. The volume across the evening was loud, but thankfully non-fatiguing (as a tinnitus sufferer, this came as a relief). Certain tracks were incredibly vivid, most memorably Donald Byrd's "Lansana's Priestess." I can't imagine it has ever sounded better.