- Traditionally, the Easter weekend has always been a big one in Melbourne. Public holidays and all their hedonistic connotations are deeply ingrained in the national psyche. Naturally, in club land this mindset is manifested in the form of extended day parties. Ten years back, such events would have been just as likely to offer prog as they would techno. But in the past couple of years—or even months—it would seem as if the city is falling in love with the latter once again. New venues and promoters are springing up, and big name DJs are flying in every few weeks. As a result, the atmosphere is anything but stale. Case in point: Electric Owl, a new masthead formed in late 2011 by several experienced promoters.
"Afternoon party" is probably a better way to describe the group's fifth event, which started at 4 PM on a Sunday. But to arrive at that time would not have done the décor justice. In the main room, a giant illuminated crescent moon hung over the booth, while eight-foot-tall anthropomorphic trees leered at the crowd from either side of it, their papier-mâché grins glowing like jack o' lanterns. No surprise that one of Electric Owl's members also organises psytrance parties. In the scheme of things, these decorations were a minor touch, but they cheered Brown Alley somewhat.
Mike Callander played a mostly brilliant warm up for Moodymann, the night's first headliner. It was only his last half hour that disappointed, possibly as a result of Moody starting late and Callander being forced to tread musical water for a while. Otherwise, his customarily deep selections were as solid as ever. When Moodymann finally picked up the mic to announce himself, the cheers were emphatic. "Hey, how y'all doing out there?" the man born Kenny Dixon Jr said in his caramel-smooth drawl. As many people have pointed out, proper electronic music lacks big personas, something which makes Dixon's antics all the more fun. "That one was from 1995. What were y'all doing in 1995? How 'bout this next one? It's from '82."
Sporting his famous hoodie with the word "Detroit" splashed on the front, Dixon's message couldn't have been clearer: "I am Detroit, I am the real deal." And he is. The two hour set was eclectic in every sense of the word, making room for vintage soul (Al Green's "Love and Happiness"), modern jazz (Gregory Porter's "1960 What?"), indie rock (The Whitest Boy Alive's "Done With You"), trip-hop (Portishead), disco (6th Borough Project's "Planets") and, of course, some Theo Parrish. Dixon mushed it altogether with surprising ease, mixing via short, natural-sounding fades to create a chatty, party vibe rather than a heads-down dance fest.
Sandwiched for a mere hour between Moody and Martin Buttrich, local veteran Phil K packed in an amazing range of tunes. His first third matched Dixon's for style, while his last was more complementary to Buttrich's rolling tech house. In short: the perfect bridge set. In between these ends, he showed off his own identity, dropping euphoric '90s house and mixing with particular brilliance. In contrast, Buttrich's live set was almost unbearably bland. But the crowd loved his intensity, lapping up the dependable two-minute-interval bass drops and unwavering, prosaic grooves for 90 straight minutes. His set kept the floor packed and energised until 2 AM. From this point of view, Buttrich was a good programming choice, but past that it was hard to understand how such an incongruous brand of music made it to the bill.
Roman Flügel opened with a string of particularly spasmodic tracks, starting with Nebraska's "Patina." Soon after, he slotted in Instra:mental's massive "Pyramid" and Dark Sky's "The Lick," on his way to playing the set of the night. Without doubt, Flügel is one of the most consistently creative producers of today, a trait which carries over into his selections. In the middle third, he took a more functional tack, but it was the last of his three hours which really won hearts. Heavily looped and extended with the CDJ, his own "Dishes and Wishes" was central to this. Pachanga Boys' "Time" and Todd Terje's ubiquitous "Inspector Norse" also proved popular. Despite the dearth of emotional cuts in this final third, the weekend-weary crowd struggled to respond, even if there were big smiles all around.