Walking into Bookbinders on a Friday night has become a much anticipated and welcomed monthly familiarity for me and my illegitimate associates. A good reviewer would talk at length about the disintegrating ceilings, sound system or perhaps even the mood setting visualisations. However, this time the crowd overshadowed the peculiarly—yet aptly chosen—venue, providing an atmosphere that would have laid waste to any pretenders. Few minutes passed by without a thorax being un-caged or an unsavoury armpit let loose by raised arms.
It all began with resident DJ Arnaldo laying down three hours of no nonsense four-four grooves. His set unravelled and the crowd willingly followed suit as the building momentum herded them towards the infamous Bookbinder's mirrored wall. A distinct memory lurks deep within my mind of Francois K being played alongside house cuts old, new and forgotten. I was awash with envy as his slot came to a close, knowing that I would need a time machine and vast quantities of money to ever expand my vinyl collection to such extremes.
Two hours previous I'd unsuspectingly spied two men in the toilet brushing their teeth, one of which was sporting an electric toothbrush that would bring any dental hygienist to their knees. And, at 1 AM, two masked adventurers suspiciously similar to the fresh mouthed foreigners I'd seen earlier took over.
They started with a record befitting the Slowhouse name, low slung and moody. Almost instantly the pace was quickened and the rhythm re-introduced. Three continual hours of unknown amazement leapt forth and hauled the room into vortex of exasperated madness. Those tracks that I could name included two of their own productions and the much loved "The Way" by Global Communication. I can name little else, including the DJs, and suspect that I regrettably won't hear most of them again.
Excitement rose without ever falling as my favourite meandyou crept ever closer to the unwanted 4 AM closing mark. The atmosphere rolled along with each black imprint and when the end was eventually upon us, the wide arching bouncers struggled aimlessly to dislodge us. Faint memories tell a tale of dancing extremities set to a soundtrack of rolling house rhythms reminiscence of classic small parties put on in Leeds over the past seven years. Either way, it was without doubt my favourite of all the meandyou nights so far.