Over The Hill? Bedrock at Heaven

Over The Hill? Bedrock at Heaven

21 July, 2008
by: Professor

Bedrock. Let's party like it's approximately ten years ago, and Digweed is a genuine pioneer rather than a slightly rotund, uber-competent and highly-paid crowd pleaser. Yeaaah!

You know you're at a rave for 30-year-olds when you pop outside for a cigarette and see gurning couples arguing about whether to send a loved-up text to the babysitter, and revelers crying "see you next year!" as they depart two hours early, aka moments after Digweed's set finishes.

This really was a pivotal point in a long and reasonably distinguished raving career for your correspondent. (Despite an inauspicious start rubbing my face off thirty weeks in a row at psy-trance events in Dalston – why?!?) But does it signal an end? Will I now be consigned to the mushrooming waste-heap of former party animals brightly clad in clothes that accentuate their roundness, reminiscing over banging parties at chardonnay barbeques but passing up invitations in favour of a double bill of Grand Designs?

Probably not. It was a hell of a lot of fun.

Digweed did his stuff with aplomb in the main room where sweat literally rained from the cooler side of Heaven's main arch, forcing even weary old ravers to favour the hot, packed core of the dancefloor. The laser show was good and Prydz played some music I hadn't heard before. Even the drugs worked – probably a result of being too sensible to take them any more except on a double bank holiday.

There was one moment that threatened to cement this as the last rave ever of a sad sack, where God pointed down from heaven and said "Lo, you should really start saving up for a mortgage". It was 5am and 'too hot' in the main room so my assembled massive were upstairs listening to X-Press 2. They closed their set with 'Lazy' which as well as being a monotonous pop dirge, reminded me of a sadly departed friend, whom I suddenly realised died over five years ago.

Time to get out?

No – time to stop listening to all this shit old music. Digweed is a good choice for driving my Ford up the M1. He's got nothing to do with raving any more.

I was rescued by running into a group of friends, all exactly the same age, at an after party. They too looked slightly ridiculous in their 'young' clobber. They were also completely shafted despite having not thrown themselves into it, and generally looking forward to Antiques Roadshow. But they'd been at Adventures in the Beetroot Field at Fabric and recommended a slew of new bands. We even went on myspace so I could have a look.

If you want to feel old, listen to old music. If you want to rage against the dying of the light, get the cool kids to stick something fresh on your iPod and break out your best impression of an embarrassing dad. Embarrassing dads are cool.

Professor