- I arrived in Leeds two days earlier than originally planned after a turn of events too unrelated to find their way into this review. Nonetheless, I was here and ill-equipped as always to report on what I believed would be the death of the biggest name to come out of Chicago since a once-famous fool messed up his tax returns.
Recent years have brought nothing but disappointing productions from Derrick Carter. His Sessions CD offers little of the originality that his timeless Cut the Crap and About Now mixes had and a string of bad reports stifled any hopes I had of a re-crowning. There was a time that all I wanted was the chance to see the master of the jack back on form, but I'd come to accept that it was never going to happen.
And yet here I was: Walking into a warehouse in the middle of nowhere on a Sunday afternoon...
Photo credit: Lizzie Matthews
My efforts were instantly rewarded as Paul Hardy, one half of the Baker Street ensemble, was causing marked rhythmic spasms in a room that a friend aptly described as a youth club. Air hockey table, check. Reasonably priced drinks, yep. Oversized motorcycle arcade machine? Of course. What's more, the Baker Street boys did the right thing: They kept the main room locked until the first room was bursting with bleary eyed house junkies. I was almost saddened when the doors were cut free and the depths of Beaver Works opened up. The timing, however, was perfect and two ciders later I found myself in the thick of it.
Jacob and L'il Mark, like all the DJs that played throughout the night, shouldn't go unmentioned. L'il Mark especially managed to brake my resolve and shortly after he dropped Mike Dunn's "So Let It Be House," I was uncaging the evil wobble monkey. An old track about green and red lights that I've not heard since the bountiful days of free Napster downloads shortly followed.
Photo credit: Lizzie Matthews
It was the headliner, though, that truly left his mark. Few words can express the riotous brilliance that Derrick Carter unleashed over the next two-and-a-half hours. I can only begin to describe what happened; few breakdowns clawed their way out of the sweat drenched speakers, as an insurmountable number of tracks thundered momentarily into ear shot. It seemed as though at least three tracks were playing at all times, something that most likely didn't happen. But, then again, I always consider the cold-hearted truth an unnecessary mood killer when recounting such glorious moments.
Full credit has to go to Baker Street for bringing Carter back to Leeds after the bad press that has hounded him of late. Work commitments aside, I would have stayed to the bitter end but sadly I had to leave at 22:30, forever engraving the memory of catching a pioneer at his greatest. Missing Buckley close things out was a regrettable move, but a Cheshire cat-style grin was still carved into my face as I rejoined the rat race on Monday morning.