How Channel Four did not change the world

Channel Four tried to be innovative and cutting edge this bank holiday weekend, offering up an eight hour spectacle of ‘house’ music and telling us how the whole thing had changed the world and then having six deejays play one hour sets [without advertisements – radical, I know] with ‘twisted visuals’ and a ‘clown’ shouting out shit and sexist remarks in between as deejays changed places, swapped position and sounds.  Whilst I wanted to admire the broadcaster’s spirit  - it all felt very flat. Well perhaps not completely flat – but there was a documentary before the DJ sets presented by ‘an actor, deejay and clubber’ that was lamentable in every sense. Another countdown of the arbitrary 40 ‘pivotal’ moments that typify and extend our understanding of how ‘clubbing’ changed the world. It ended with ecstasy. When that was where it should have started.

It was out of sync and out of place.

When you have a detailed, analytical [in places] and well researched book in ‘Altered States – The Story of Ecstasy Culture and Acid House’ by Matthew Collin – it would seem a logical starting point to make a ‘documentary’ about the social and psychological impact of the 303 and 808 on our mindset, play and morals using that as a reference guide. But instead we got the usual fair – the talking heads and random sequences taking in Chicago and New York cityscapes, queues for Studio 54, a touch of travellers, swaying masses, The Hacienda, da police and The Sun, strobe lights, lasers and smiley faces. Yeah, just like I remember it. Okay – I didn’t watch it all – but I think I could fill in the gaps between number 37 up to number 5 – it was hardly rocket science was it? I guess my only thrill came from seeing DJ Pierre turn on the actually 303 used on Acid Trax and let it bubble and squelch in what seemed to be a record store – but was more likely his own collection in his house.

Funny that the documentary was the actual product of how ‘clubbing’ changed the world, a shortened attention span and lack of depth, anecdotal musings, devoid of politics and meta-narrative and pretty much vacant. Also this substitute of the word ‘clubbing’ as opposed to ‘House’ or ‘Rave’ or ‘dance’ – you know people where fairly wild before Atalantic Ocean released Waterfall [ironic ] I do believe my mum and dad went to clubs – they danced to Elvis and Eddie Cochran. The masses frightening the establishment –oooh scary maaan. Commodification and consolidation – take it under your wing my friend and exploit it for all it’s worth. Make a documentary about it and reduce it’s edge – package it up – put a logo on it [I don’t know – something ‘ministry’ like – sort of official] and sell it back for late nights in lounges and car rides, or nostalgia trips and fancy dress [School Disco – anyone?]

That’s what pop music is. It is a package of this and that – sold to us all.

It does what we want when we want it to. As Adorno said all those years ago popular music exists to fulfill the needs of the ‘emotional listener’ quickly – a hit for the moment.  This standardization of popular music means that we have already pre-accepted it even before we have heard it. Our ears are trained to hear the music in a standard form whether it is pop, rock, dance, drum and bass or death metal, we already have an expectation of the music, it is ‘pre-digested’ through the structure of the songs. Thatcher must have rubbed her hands together as we ‘put our hands together’ as the music which radiated defiance and difference was slowly reigned in and accepted. Rendering it redundant.

I was wondering round Hirst’s exhibition this week – with the kids – they wanted to see the shark and it was the same there. Empty, devoid of comment and all about the money. That should have been number one – in the C4 doc – how ‘clubbing’ changed the world – it made a lot of people rich at the expense of camaraderie and equality we all thought we were having in the queues and on dance floors as we embraced and gurned our way through the night and emerged ever ready to right the wrongs through euphoric songs and repetitive beats.

I remember when suddenly you weren’t welcome in clubs – you know ‘promoters’ wanted you to ‘dress up’ - pay twenty pound for a ticket – because ‘house music’ was only for a certain swathe of the masses. These ‘strictly’ sounds were strictly for certain kinds. Clubbing changed the world by ghettoizing the sounds and shutting the doors. By subsuming the boredom and frustrations of 1980s Britain it did the Tories a favour – it took us all off the streets and made us sleep through the day.

Now don’t get me wrong. [or do – it doesn’t really matter]

I don’t want all my music challenging but I do want to be challenged. I’m only here once. I want to think. And ‘house music’ can make you think – it can ‘open up’ the mind [body and soul] Through hearing those manipulated beats and synthesized sounds in Orbital, Black Dog, Luke Slater, Beaumant Hannett, Mark Broom, Carl Craig, Derrick May, Juan Atkins, Marshall Jefferson, Todd Terry – you understand – the list goes on and on and on – brought me to ‘musique’ concrete, Cage, Glass, Ligetti, Satie and Stockhausen. To Can, Neu!, Tangerine Dream and Eno and  other musical forms beyond the four on the floor. It made me listen to news reports about space, developments in science and technology. It made me question post modernism and the rethink Marx. It politicized and spoke with understanding.

It changed the world a little bit. 

we queued and we danced

Waiting in a queue for a club or a concert is something that I seldom do these days – my queues are in Sainsbury’s now. Trollies pushed with purpose. But many a night had started with a queue – the anticipation building the teeth grinding and the chatter starting. The queuing was preceeded by a drive out of the industrial to somewhere more pretty and rewarding, the latest mix from Daryll keeping it four to the floor as we kept time with the [strictly] rhythm and began to feel that urge to dance – you’re going to dance and have some fun.

We used to park up in Nottingham city centre – this was before the move – already building this affection for a city that would ultimately shape my ways – all of it so familiar in my head now – but at the time it seemed so sprawling – so lit up by late nights and underground sounds. We used to go to Venus. This small club in a small street full of large characters and lots of love. Later – Emma and I would see a rat there in the street – by the fish and chip shop – but this hadn’t occurred yet and the street was still a magical place. It was the second, third, forth Summer of Love – whatever the mixmag or The Face had decided to label it.

We called it music. Still do.

There are a thousand tales to tell about nights out in the company of house music – in the company of Daryll. There’s another one I should have stayed in touch with – but late nights make you jumpy and off it – so we drifted. I see a pattern emerging here – I see what the root [down] cause is – I just don’t want to admit.[because if I say I am I’ll get it] Upstairs bar – coat off – drink – swaying to the garage sounds and hi hat clicks – then down the stairs to false light and fags –as the guest dj began their spot. Andrew Weatherall was always a revelation – always special in that tiny room. Dropping Rez by Underworld for the first time and taking us to a frenzy as Koenig Cylinders blasted our ears and all we could do was grin. Because beats and repetition go hand in hand as we drank Red Stripe and grooved. Or Dimitri dropping 1000 by Moby – a 1000bpm in a windowless room in the centre of the city.

Then at two o’clock that was your lot – out into the open air all wide eyed and delirious with joy – because music does that to you.

There was always a thrill to the club scene – the banter, the chatter, the open eyes and open arms. When Venus closed for a while and James moved the operation over to the Rockadero – we queued again – this time for Pirate TV and the Sabres of Paradise live – Weatherall rocking the spot from the stage this time – all of it leading to good times and fun. So I guess this should be about Weatherall – but I’m not ready to write that yet. And I think when I started writing this morning I was thinking of techno – of electronica – of dance music – of music.

But what filled my head was Sandy B – Feel like singing – and then suddenly it was the Nervous Track by New Yorican Soul and now I need to write about that repetition – its build and its release – all energy and soul and fat sounding keyboards. A guaranteed floor filler – tearing it up. There’s this sense of the never ending about it – just rolling and rolling onwards catching us all dancing in its net.Percusion and a horn stab - and feet just start moving. 

I long for that simplicity in music.

I long for simplicity like this.