London’s fabric: Pissing in the Wind

Tape moi dans le…

The Frenchmen’s final word was inaudible, but not past the stretches of my imagination. Unfortunately, it provided little insight in response to my inquiries about his thoughts on Quebec. But oddly enough, his spanking desires ended up being one of the most coherent conversations I had at “the world’s greatest nightclub”, London’s fabric.

I arrived slightly before midnight and skipped past the two block line to waltz through the guest list. I checked my coat and wandered into the infamous Room One. Inside, Boys Noize was playing the first of his two sets that night, but the DJ table was far from the first thing I noticed.

The shaking floor… ridiculous lasers in every direction … smoke machines on maximum output… a mammoth disco ball… thousands of well-dressed dancers… and, of course, the endless security.

Everywhere I looked, it seemed as though there was a clubber being removed from the premises for raving just a little too hard. I couldn’t help but wonder: if 50% of your clientele have dropped a day’s pay at the bar and 40% are rocking dilated pupils, then shouldn’t the standard for public decency be just a hair below the Changing of the Guard?

For most, I imagine Room One is too much. While Boys Noize delivered on every level a grimey-electro DJ is expected to deliver on, the constant lasers and ground-shaking bass (literally, thanks to the “bodysonic” dancefloor) caused me to seek new discovery somewhere else.

Room Three was for the real dancers thanks to the absence of a crowd and more tribal-based rhythms, but Room Two was where I found myself most impressed.

Room Two featured an eyebrow-raising lineup of genuine instrumental artists that still managed to create an intense dance party. A definite highlight, Visions of Trees worked through a wholly original synth-heavy set. I guess downloading their limited, but growing discography immediately when I returned to my laptop that night is evidence enough of my appreciation.

But beyond the dancefloors is where I kept myself most entertained—specifically, the massive outdoor smoking “corner”. Throughout the night, a constant flow of hundreds of people stood together, surrounded by buildings and miscellaneous trees; smoking, conversing, and relieving themselves from claustrophobia.

It was there that I met the previously mentioned Frenchie, along with what was apparently preparation for the 2012 London Olympics of Clubbing. Ravers of every nation were represented, in fact, I can’t recall ever meeting more than two groups from the same country. I spoke with individuals from Chile, Italy, Germany, France, England, and likely a few I’m forgetting in hindsight.

All of them were eclectic and unique; undoubtedly helping make my potentially isolated night far more interesting. If anything came across, it was the reminder of an old cliché: it’s not what you do, but who you do it with.

Still, I experienced a satisfying night of randomness, leaving past 4am, though never really coming across anything unforgettable. Maybe my expectations were too high or maybe the circumstances just weren’t right, but either way, I made my final exit and gave the nod to a gentleman relieving himself in the street. I could relate, because after all, I too had just been pissing in the wind…

Visions of Trees by Visions of Trees

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