Twice the Fairley missing Mayer at the Mod Club

Take German techno and mix unemployment. Take a Portuguese community centre and fade it into a club for Mods. Take a dance-floor and drop in a crowd of people who want to be there, young men who didn’t have to change before coming and women from backless tops to sweaters. Ladies’ choice. One woman looks like a Cossack before ditching the coat to dance and find her friends. The drinks, of course, obscene, but fresh unemployment outweighs guilt.

With DJ’s you have to know faces or tracks. Before the coat-check: Has anyone been up yet? Yeah, someone whose name I don’t catch. Then Jake Fairley will be on next. Cool. Thanks. The door-girl doesn’t check ID’s. The tickets are scanned, not ripped.

The first DJ we see then is Fairley. He starts off with the micro-house equivalent of “(Make Me Do) Anything You Want.”

The questions arrived as late as the after-dinner drinks. What are we going to see? Micro-house DJ’s. What’s that? Dance music for chin strokers.

We don’t know faces. Fairley’s set gets harder, faster. We put in earplugs. It’s good, really good for an opener. Imagine what Mayer will be like.

There’s lots of dancing and trips to the bathrooms. The basement halls to the bathrooms smell like Annex sewers with a natural gas leak. Two women do coke in a stall.

You have to know faces. Fairley stops and it’s not Fairley. It was Mayer. It must have been Mayer because the next DJ looks even less like the Mayer photo. The real Fairley plays a more intense set than the real Mayer. Everyone dances harder. He sings over his electronics.

It’s irrational, but there’s a bit of disappointment when you find out you weren’t dancing to who you thought you were dancing to. The dancing is still amazing.

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