Nuria Haering reports from under the arches.
It's the last Sunday in August and I'm making my way to an Eastern Electrics all-nighter that's by far the most promising offering of the Bank Holiday weekend. These sporadic mega-promotions have built up a reputation as vast as the Union Car Park arches under which they're held.
The makeshift venue, with a capacity of at least a couple of thousand, is predictably rammed, with revellers shelling out £25 for on-the-door tickets. A high price tag, but then again, one is literally spoilt for choice. Room One, hosted by Kompakt Records and mulletover, features German tech-house favourite Michael Mayer; Room Two, hosted by Resident Advisor, is led by dubstep dons du jour Scuba and Joy Orbison; and finally, Room Three, hosted by Dirtybird Records, is headlined by indefatigable American crowd-pleaser Claude von Stroke and labelmate Justin Martin.
My friends and I are amped about all the big names and what we hope will be a varied array of sets. Little do we know that the night's biggest revelation isn't even top-billing; it's the ambiguously named J. Phlip who, for me, ends up stealing the show. But more on that later.
Once we're inside, it's just like I remembered from a mulletover event I attended in 2008: gritty, cavernous and uber-crowded. If it's an intimate setting you seek, don't venture here. One of my friends claims that the place "lacks atmosphere". But once in a while you want the feel of a mega-club (crowds to wade through, multiple rooms of music, hidden corners and passageways...) without the trappings of a mega-club (slick decor, pushy security, pretentious idiots). The Union Car Park delivers that – portaloos, clouds of cigarette smoke and all. And although it's true that the high ceilings don't offer the best acoustics, as long as you're in the vicinity of the speakers the sound is top-notch.
We kick off in Room One, where Robag Wruhme, a DJ previously unknown to me, is pumping out some quality tech-house. There's lasers and smoke machines and I'm digging it. Next up we head to Room Two where we catch most of Joy Orbison's set. Tech-house beats are interspersed with garage vocals, and dubstep basslines rip through spacey house sounds. At one point a beat sounding very much like Major Lazer's 'Pon de Floor' underpins an entire segment – few DJs can switch from moody to booty-shaking so seamlessly.
Over in a jam-packed Room Three, we welcome Claude von Stroke's offering. Known for bouncy sets full of unpredictable turns, I find the affable DJ falls short on this occasion. The beats blend together, and while it's not bad, it's uninspired. Back in Room One, The Orb's Thomas Fehlmann is pumping out some hard-hitting techno. One of my friends finds it entrancing, but for me it lacks rhythm. A few of us head to Room Two, where Scuba is delivering a mellow and ambient set. It's already 4.30am, and I feel like I need to either expend all my energy or leave.
We finally opt for Room Three. An excellent decision indeed, for it's here that the night really takes off. Over at the decks, eye-level to the crowd, stands an unassuming girl who you'd more likely take for a Topshop attendant than an international DJ. Her name is Jessica Phillippe, but she goes by the intriguing moniker J. Phlip. Her profile on the Dirtybird website describes her sets as possessing "a fun 'let's-not-forget-this-is-dance-music' feeling", which succinctly sums up her style. I inch my way towards the front of crowd to get a better glance of Claude von Stroke's protégé, while the head honcho himself proudly stands beside her, warmly egging on the crowd and praising her every flick and transition with an unwaning smile.
Miss Phlip covers every base: tech-house, booty bass, bouncy techno, hip hop vocals, and even a Super Mario sample. Frequent breaks and drops keep the crowd on edge. The only detractor is the sleazebag element which is overwhelmingly present at this stage of the night – there seem to be a lot of intrusive or else obtrusive guys, whether just weird or merely wasted one can only guess at. Memo to male clubgoers: girls don't want to be rudely hit on or abrasively bumped into. Yet such inconveniences are a small price to pay for two-and-a-half hours of non-stop dancing to a flawless set. After a thumping back-to-back coda with Claude von Stroke, J. Phlip removes her headphones to unfettered whoops and applause. I've never seen a DJ delight so much in rocking the crowd – raised arms, high-fives and all. Like a cheesy teeny bopper, I give her a thumbs up.
As we stumble out into the chilly but sunny near-autumnal morning, I realise how much my legs ache. Now if anything is the marker of a good club night, it's that.
Click here to read our interview with Justin Martin.
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