- The evening of Friday, February 5th was a significant one in Nottingham. Every year since 2008, the UK city has hosted its own version of Light Night, a Paris-born cultural festival that sees the city transformed after dark. Its main attractions are open late and lit up in myriad colours, there's poetry and free live music held in churches and tourist centres, and, new for 2016, activities such as "Star Wars fighting with lightsabers." Thousands of people of all ages flock from across the county for a taste of Nottingham at its most vibrant.
Bang in the centre of town, though, it felt like your average Friday night. Students in supermarkets pondered cheap drinks deals, while groups of policemen stood idly on street corners, preparing for the drama ahead. Maybe it's because of how vast London is, or because I never go out in the West End, but I find there's a distinct, raucous vibe that exists only in city centres cities outside of the capital. Up and down Goose Gate, a bustling street in the artsy area of Hockley, partygoers spilled out of bars with flashing neon signs.
In the midst of all this was the less conspicuous Bar Eleven. During the week it's a run-of-the-mill cocktail joint, but on weekends it sometimes doubles up as a venue for roving house and techno nights. You wouldn't have thought so looking at it—it had a mock saloon bar thing going on and the dance floor was small, maybe big enough for 30 or 40 people. Even so, Ron Morelli, Anton Zap and Workshop newcomer Willow have all played there in recent years, and Lee Gamble's dropping by later this month. Jane Fitz DJ'd when I was there, booked for a three-hour set at a party called South Jack Street.
This was the first South Jack Street in almost a year, and their first event at Bar Eleven. The night before, a refugee fundraiser had blown some of the speakers, though luckily only those towards the back of the venue. On the floor, the sound wasn't crystal clear but it was loud. London-based DJ Molinaro warmed up with two hours of deep, chunky house, while the crowd slowly swelled in size. Numbers fluctuated over the course of the night—one minute the dance floor was packed, the next it barely hit double figures—but Fitz played so well it didn't matter. Her selections were robust and uplifting; her mixing and programming exemplary. It was the kind of performance that comes from having an intimate relationship with your record collection.
Before Friday I'd never been to Nottingham, but talking to people I got the sense that it isn't home to a particularly thriving scene. There are some standout offerings—the city's leading underground night, Wigflex, springs to mind—but, as Bar Eleven proves, it's lacking in proper venues. It's also hard to make the financials work—cash-strapped students aren't willing to take risks on smaller nights, preferring to save themselves and their sterling for the more established events. That said, there are a handful of promoters, like the pair behind South Jack Street, who plug away regardless. In the early hours of Saturday morning, while thousands gathered to see their city sparkle under the bright lights, a small pocket of dedicated clubbers were having their own illuminating experience, only of a very different kind.