Tales of a night owl...

With a gentle push of my thumb, the digital, hand held juke box that is my trusty and well loved ipod ignites into life and allows a steady stream of sound to travel the length of the headphone cord up into my waiting ears. My brain clicks into motion and almost mechanically my head starts to nod along with my foot in a synchronised rhythm, raising and then lowering, gently caressing the stained floor of Platform 3 of Newport Station. No eye service is required to know what record my ears are gorging upon, A sublime edit of Dexter Wansell’s slow disco burner ‘The sweetest Pain’ courtesy of OOFT trickles in and teases my body to start moving around, No doubt attracting the attention of some curious onlookers. I can’t really picture the scene myself, the wax sheen of my Oliver Spencer duffel coat reflecting the diluted sunlight into a muted tone and a pair of well worn Nudies, whose rolls flirt with a trusty pair of red oak Topsiders, must make me look like some sort of character from another dimension to the people also awaiting the 3.45pm to London Paddington.

With a quick one-two manoeuvre that could quite easily have graced the Paradise Garage during a set of Larry Levan classics, I seamlessly position myself for boarding, onto the glorious wonders of London town and with it, the epicentre of something that has truly taken a hold of my mind, body and spirit.

Growing up in Newport has always been a tough gig. I always used to feel as though I was inside a culturally oppressed vacuum where means of creatively functioning and expressing myself was hard to achieve. My early years were spent doing the sorts of things that young kids from Working class towns do although I was soon to learn that music could change that and give me the inspiration and release that I needed. From a very early age, I was exposed to the wonders of sound from parents who were committed and time served disciples of the Northern Soul scene. This early introduction to music, a somewhat formality with the type of people my parents are, is something I am thankful for every time I set foot on a dance floor, search out a particular night, or place a needle on a record.

I truly believe that the reason I am who I am, someone for whom music and the general associated subcultures are life, comes down to those Sunday afternoons when Mam and Dad would pick me up en route home from an all nighter and Dad would cumbersomely comb his exquisite collection of Soul filled vinyl, each one striking a lasting mark on my inner memory banks.

That’s why I find myself residing in Coach D, seat 54 A of the 3.45pm Newport to London Paddington service on a typically bland Friday afternoon in South Wales. However, the small amenities such as the weather and the clouds gathering on a far off horizon are not the things that infect my mind. It’s the inner warming knowledge that this weekend I will be setting foot in a place so full of opportunity and ideas that I can taste it in the gum that I chew, as always, in a motion that pays homage to the beat that circles around my head and the luscious vocal delights of Patrice Rushen.

I feel the Love coming on already, having to contain the joy enriched chemical reaction taking place all over my body, the feeling that makes me want to get up and relax my joints and go with the music. This is the reason I find myself on this modest carriage, because London is where it’s at. A spiritual home where I can explore the streets, canyons of individualism and pathways to the places I want to be… Dance floors filled with the sounds that I am infected with… The only remedies that I know work are the ones that are administrated by the procurers of this soul drenched, Heart beat increasing, leg moving, smile inducing sound of Disco, boogie and Deep house available for the reasonable sum of an entrance fee in stalwart temples such as the Horse and Groom, Shoreditch or Corsica Studios in Elephant and Castle.

However, this isn’t a club scene. This is something where the gravitational pull and energy source is the nights themselves and the music that will be played at these nights. Discovery, Warm, Horse Meat Disco, Disco Blood-Bath to name but a few, bringing in names such Mark E, Cottam, Jamie Jones, Faze Action, Yam Who? The Revenge and a mouth wateringly large community of artists, DJs and Producers whose different takes and styles on the main focal point of Disco and disco-influenced sounds is a spectrum that can take you on explorations from dark corners of a warehouse at 4.00am to sun kissed terraces at the height of summer.
I could and never would call myself a purist. There are people who were there from the beginning, when the original black originating sounds started arriving on these shores from New York clubs such as The Loft, Nicky Siano’s Gallery and of course, The Paradise Garage. However, music should never hold elitist tones. Music should be there for everyone to enjoy, whoever and wherever and I have always found that simple factor prevalent at the nights I have become accustomed too and have a deep feeling of love for.

When the robotic sounding announcement informs me that our desired destination of Paddington is only minutes away, the feeling that I get knowing that my fix of life and good times to be had are within touching distance, I feel an addictive excitement. Walking with a new found purpose, now striding in unison with the beat that tempts my every move to develop into a fully fledged groove, the effect of a warm concoction of Chemise – She can’t love you, a record so forward thinking for 1982 it holds that timeless mystique that makes it sound so good, making the hairs on my neck stand on end when the angelic like vocals seep into my brain. I know it won’t be long until my feet are flirting with a dance floor.

The weekends highlight is Saturdays soiree provided by Laser Magnetic, a duo consisting of Jonny ‘Chingas’ Hillier and Neil Thornton, together they have lured The edit label of Moxie Disco and it’s associated crew across the vast waters to play to a crowd that will draw it’s elements from a varied plethora of people. It doesn’t matter where they originate from, the vital statistics and make up of each individual is what makes life such an interesting thing… What really matters is that they will be gracing an old Shoreditch pub for one thing, the love of the music, that will be soaking into the walls and melting into the ears of everyone present, that’s an element of true togetherness and that’s a very special thing.

After an afternoon spent nursing unrushed bottles of beer and enjoying good food, I allow myself to drink-in the many styles and attitudes that awash the streets around Brick Lane in a magnificent and alluring glow. My other vice in life, clothing and the keen eye I have for it, is well treated with the amount of jacket porn that’s on constant display together with the enthusiastic magnetism of vintage boutiques and independent thread pushers. Curious eyes dart everywhere and I often catch my own get-up of faded denim shirt, rolled denims and Gordini mesh trotters being judged on the street catwalks of East London. I let the fashionistas take me in, staring through the occasional look of distain.

As the blanket of darkness starts to guide itself over the streets of Shoreditch, a rich and deep sound can be heard from a quieter looking patch of Curtain Road. The Yellow and Black exterior is an unmistakable feature of The Horse and Groom, venue for tonight’s meeting of mind and body. Once safely guided through the entrance, my company and I find ourselves cast into our element with a warm and feet tingling set consisting of Ilija Rudman, 6th Borough Project, Marvin Gaye and other such protagonists of Discofied sound waves and records.

It’s not long until I find myself expelling some of the pent up energy that has been building inside me patently, from the time I first set foot on Newport Station – platform 3 and throughout the weekend. Then finally my journey has truly begun. It’s a journey that I will never grow tired of taking, a journey that encapsulates all my passions and opens my most stubborn of senses and a journey that allows me to dissipate the energy that I can exuberate and share with the like minded souls that surround me in this factory of memory making and love. This is home, this is me… this is disco.

© Saul Wilks.