- Eastern Electrics doesn't come around regularly, but one thing you can count on is a great lineup, and they seem to keep getting better and better. It's hard to see how they could top this one, though, with starlets like Lone and Actress alongside the likes of James Holden. Apologies in advance, however, if you're looking forward to hearing how they did, because the most special set of the night was undoubtedly DJ Koze.
Given this centrepiece, it was surprising to see the clientele upon entry. With chests on show—from both sexes—seeming to be the order of the day, and about half of the dance floor wearing sunglasses, I wondered whether they'd all got lost on their way to DC-10. To be fair, it is quite difficult to see where you're going in a dark club when you've got shades on. That was, at least, the idea for Geddes and Clive Henry's set (figures, I guess, but still). Less annoying, thankfully, was the music, which was pumping tech house sturdily constructed from slabs of tonality, anchored by tough rhythms. It was faultlessly mixed, and the sound in the huge main room was crisp and more than ample in volume, even at the back.
The same couldn't be said for the Bloc stage during Martyn's set, though. You really had to cram up near the speaker to get much impact, which was a poor advert for those auditioning the rooms (as you do) along the corridor at the end that connected them. As a result, attendance was sparse. The set itself was a different matter, really, and variety was the order, mostly house-based, with old school chord stabs, sleazy inflections and lots in between, but popping out every so often for a more syncopated kick.
As DJ Koze came on in the main arch, the sunglasses began to disperse and it soon became clear that he wasn't just the kind of excellent producer who wasn't so hot behind the decks. His RA podcast made me think that perhaps it would be too out there for a club setting. Again, wrong. It was varied on a rare level, and on a number of levels; tempo, style, and mood were all shifted between without much, if any, desire to keep any of them constant. On the contrary, the push seemed to be against doing so. Despite this, though, it firmly made some kind of sense.
Starting gritty and charging, with a general air of foreboding, he soon leavened out into clacking beats with shakers before the rising bass and strings took hold. Loose, ethnic percussion was something that came around often in the set, as did a pastel, mosaic beauty that'll be familiar to those who listen to his productions. The flow was disruptive; slow and sketchy was followed by upbeat in a matter of minutes. Congas, tight hats, some psychedelia, some darkness and even all at once like Plaid's "Ol," finding unobvious but intuitive threads.
But as mentioned, it wasn't simply listening music, and was danceable pretty much throughout—often challengingly so. At one point, a twenty-or-so minute stint of driving tech—still loaded with quirky, handsome melodies—had me pumping my fist down at the front. However direct, though, it was exhilarating to be taken on this journey around myriad musical nooks and crannies, with each new environment being about as unique and rich in personality as you can get.