We Hit the Adriatic Sea For a Bass-Heavy Boat Party With My Nu Leng and M8s

THUMP, My Nu Leng, DJ Zinc, Mak and Pasteman, and a boat load of sunburnt Brits.

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28 June 2016, 11:30am

If you've ever been to Croatia you'll know the views are pretty good. From every angle, wherever you look you're surrounded by rock-cut mountains with clouds spilling over them, small terracotta topped houses built into hillsides, crystal clear azure seas, and sometimes, depending on the time of year, you might just see a THUMP boat party cruising off into the distance.

Had you been paddling in the Adriatic yesterday you'd have seen just that. Having enjoyed ourselves so much with Bicep and Chez Damier last year, THUMP are back at Hideout and hosting another boat, this time with My Nu Leng and m8s.

The opening MC was a new and nameless up and comer. His bars were pretty abstract, and he went totally acapella, spitting "In the case of an emergency please remain calm and the captain will liaise with the emergency services" totally freestyle. It was a brave performance, and we look forward to hearing more from this mysterious artist over the summer.

The first of those m8s were steady risers Mak and Pasteman. When they sent us their truly popping Journey To Hideout mix a few weeks back, we got a fair idea of where they were going to take their set, and they didn't disappoint. We've said it before, but trying to pin down exactly where the duo sit on the genre scale is close to impossible. As comfortable dropping Floorplan as they are playing with the darker stretches of the UK underground, they are carving out a unique space for themselves. This didn't go amiss aboard the deck of our boat—a boat named Champagne by the way—and within twenty minutes of the anchor being pulled from the rocky bed (or whatever it is you do to make a boat move—there weren't any sails—should there be sails?) the entire vessel was rattling.

From here Mak and Pasteman handed the reins over to DJ Zinc who took things further into the realms of UK bass. Tracing the varied contours of his career, his set took in everything from drum n bass, to garage, to grime. Drake and BBK nestled in comfortably beside cuts from the earlier stretches of Zinc's more breakbeat-meets-hip-hop productions. His set was buoyed by the presence of the inimitable Tippa, who made sure the crowd of slowly roasting ravers knew exactly when to jump—also making sure they didn't do it over-board. By the time "Man Don't Care" was spinning out across the boat it was clear we had a party on our hands.

Much of that is down to the big big big noise made by the party crew that came to join us on board. Despite all forgetting T Shirts, they all brought with them the sort of wild energy that can only come from beer, sunshine and an insatiable desire to hear 160bpm breaks in the middle of the ocean. By the time we'd made it to My Nu Leng's headline slot the only thing hotter than the sun baking down were the heaters coming through the system, and the spirits were high.

By the time it came to our joint party hosts, My Nu Leng, to put all hands on decks everyone was ready to course back to land in style. Slamming a surprisingly hard set completely with sub-bass wobbles and skittish drum and bass, it was up to MC Dread to guide the steaming deck through a wild final stretch of the journey. It's been an amazing couple of years for the Bristol-based boys and it was clear enough from the constant stream of screams coming from below the sheer level of devotion they've amassed from their following. This boat load of Brits, some of whom had weathered 36 hour long coach journeys to get to Croatia, were clearly enjoying a festival highlight. My Nu Leng proved themselves an immoveable force, justifying their ever-increasing status through a God-level control of the party, knowing exactly what to drop and exactly when to drop it.

As My Nu Leng and m8s, including THUMP—yes we're going to call ourselves m8s now alrite m8?—docked back on the Zrce coast, we were more than set up for the rest of the evening, and a festival that promises to be one to remember. Our ribcages still rattling from the bass we headed to the nearest bar, ordered as many large beers as we could afford, and settled down to watch England school Iceland and glide through to the quarter-finals. What could possibly go wrong?