Andrew Weatherall doesn't wear a watch; he's got to be making up the schedule as he goes along especially in continuum of the fire fiasco (as reported in Big Daddy Kane at Dedbeat). The events of an idiot deciding to turn on the smoke detectors when there's enough smoke to bring Bob Marley back from the dead led to trouble. The japes of a Mr Richard D James as he licked windows were enough to even shake the foundations of The Rotters Golf Club- the institution of mayhem which always bought the celebrities rolling in once a month to the studios of East London.
One can never know quite what frame of mind he's going to be in (check out the noodlings of the last Two Lone Swordsmen LPs and how they differ from electro to hardwork techno! Or the old Junior Boys Own tracks to the new…) He is the master of catching the critics off-guard- one project'll be fat, the next'll be the skinniest techno for yonks.
A man with an intense and perverse attention span, his recluse to the hills of Yorkshire seem to have made him slightly more beat-ripe and mellow. Ever the originator, about 20% of the records he's playing are of his own breed. Sounds like the old Sabres of Paradise tunes are getting a dust down.
Tonight we are in for a right proper treat. Andrew and Keith Tenniswood (his Two Lone Swordsmen partner) are taking us down the backbone of electronica. Weatherall, one of the oldest ravers on the block is playing the epitome of what this room is about. Pulse Rankin', body skanking beats.
They've been about all weekend, playing a set in the Mong room yesterday, which I was elsewhere for (that ol' watchless thing again, I'm sure). It's Saturday night peaktime now. The minimally busy electro is beginning to kick in and many people are going to feel the analogue spanner up the stairs any moment now.
Tenniswood takes over the wheels of steel for a while and I retreat from the frontline to catch some chalet shack action. One recommendation I would suggest for the promoters next time 'round (apparently next summer) is that Dedbeat TV should cover all rooms. They blast out the main room action most of the time on channel whatever but some Pulse Ranks would have been appreciated. Anyway, Mike Dred appears to possess a turntable in the room above ours so after a good slide down the icey trail home we have a good skank round the deck. After a few more 'curtain-rail barricade' casualties and a bit of shut eye, the end of weekender is in sight. Towards the swimming pool!
