- The British are a strange creature, thriving off our ability to accept, nay, revel in, low quality. Squat parties, dirty bass bins, MCs who just remind us ceaselessly what's going on. Outside of nightlife, we've got soap operas, a takeaway economy whose overall health far surpasses that of the food it produces...and Butlins, an archetypal English low-budget holiday centre/seaside resort/treasured punchline. To be honest, though, I was pleasantly surprised. It's a lot more agreeable than the Pontins where it was held when I first went, and it's... well... a fun place to be. For the Bloc Weekend things are a bit different for sure—usually grown men stay off the digger and sandpit, for example—but the ethos of the place gives a nice slant to a festival. Lots of interesting stuff to do, place to sleep (with roof): job done.
Photo credit: Liz Eve
By "stuff" I mean partly the usual Butlins treats—a pool with some remarkably fine flumes, games area, restaurants, although the archery and fencing was closed. (Drugs and weapons? Probably a smart move on their part.) But this weekend, it extended to the music too. If you weren't up for the queue for Four Tet or Aphex, you could go for Soul Clap's pleasant, current disco house, DJ Funk's x-rated Miami bass, The Advent's hard-edged techno or a nice cup of tea and even nicer empathy in the Tea and Empathy tent. The only problem was that, with the sheer volume of quality acts, there were going to be misses. For me, that meant Shackleton, Moderat, Luke Abbott, etc. etc. etc. Instead, I saw, amongst other things, an intense and masterful set from LFO; experimental breakbeat electro in front of a pulsating LED screen. Dopplereffekt following their minimalist and vanguard mission—two masked figures, old science film reels and lonely, escalating analogue lines.
Photo credit: Liz Eve
But although the curatorial work might have given encouragement to chinstroking, it actually made more of a robust backdrop to determined partying. Venetian Snares, Speedy J and London's Body Hammer crew slammed us through till about brunch on Sunday, with chalet parties going on after. The evening before, Addison Groove rolled out his juke-slanted arse-shaking kick arsenal, and on Sunday night, Laurent Garnier saw out a roomful of becostumed nutters with his accessible, diesel-fuelled sound and a microphone ("you are all crazy" was the commentary, stating the obvious). There were lengthy improvisations on "Crispy Bacon" and "The Man with the Red Face", but any such intellectuality was largely lost on us. By that point, it was more important to appreciate the coming together of the British tribe of underground ravers, with significant representation from London, Bristol and Dublin.
Photo credit: Liz Eve
There was lots of pleasantness between punters all weekend. The dismaying sight of security peering under chalet curtains on the first night, on the other hand, carried on with the familiar "bored bouncers" syndrome evident throughout the weekend, with myself and others being harassed unnecessarily at points. This wasn't a massive deal, though, and it wasn't like it spoiled the fun or anything. To be honest, with such an airtight lineup, not to mention the extras such as live Ableton tutorials from artists and "make music at BLOC" competitions, it was set to be a top weekend before we arrived. The organizers at BLOC are, basically, insightful at tapping in to the wavelength of the breed of clubber who likes to have depth to their appreciation.