110th Street @ Red Box 29 Nov 2002
Return to New York Tour 2002 with 2Many DJs, Arthur Baker

Why did the chicken cross 110th Street? To see 2Many DJs and an intrigued Eyeballkid followed it into the Red Box.

To be honest, I feel like a bit of a whore. Just when you think that crush on Duff from Guns n Roses is little more than a distant teenage memory, you find yourself in a cavernous sweaty club with one Arthur Baker -he of unlikely breakbeat credentials given his resemblance to a Metallica roadie. And you're looking at this very metal gentleman and then you're headbanging and moshing and wishing you had long, loosely permed hair. And all thanks to 2 Many DJs.

Marshall Jefferson once prompted me to declare 'Turn Around' by Phats & Small a work of uncompromising genius, so I should be used to being manipulated by DJs. But nothing quite prepares you for the assault on everything you thought was right and proper that is the DeWaele brothers. The crowd is at one moment lulled into the security of Basement Jaxx only to find themselves inexplicably bumping and grinding a moment later. Indeed it is getting hot in herre, largely fuelled by a certain uneasiness at loving this so damn much.

Of course, eclecticism is the stock in trade of the Belgian brothers who are best known across the Atlantic for their electronica-rock hybrid, Soulwax. As 2 Many DJs, Stephen and David DeWaele combine an absurdly heady mixture of rock, pop, r'n'b, indie and whatever you're having yourself with glorious beats to create some of the best bootlegging you're likely to hear. Dolly Parton morphs surreally into Royksopp, whilst the funkiest 'Good Vibrations' I've ever heard has an entire club doing the mashed-potato (that or I made even more of a fool of myself than I previously imagined). Of course, Laurent Garnier is thrown in to assuage the slight discomfort of those who contemplated crowd-surfing during the Foo Fighters, but there really is no need. At that stage any last vestiges of coolness are swallowed whole by inane grinning and maniacal dancing in the kind of performance most of us save for the living rooms of close friends. Ah, the catharsis of coming out. . .

The legendary, pioneering and loads-of-other-hackneyed-superlatives Arthur Baker delivers an efficient warm-up primarily comprising funky breakbeats that occasionally sashay into even funkier house moments. The revered (there's that superlative) producer and collaborator cemented his status as godfather of electro-funk with an eclectic mix that satisfied the majority of what appeared to be a diverse crowd. But then its hard to judge diversity on the basis of a few isolated air-guitar incidents, because lets face it, we were all tempted.

For those familiar with the Red Box, it has recently been refurbished, which in Dublin terms usually means "gutted to make room for more tossers", but in this case means a few seats, a new location for the bar, and narrow footbridges apparently designed for optimum frottage opportunity. As usual, we received a torrent of abuse on the door, and there possibly should have been 150 less people there for comfort's sake. Then again, not everyone is as old and belligerent as me - the only thing Duff means to today's youth is a fictitious brand of beer. Bless 'em.

words: Sorcha Loughnane