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Music

Seth Troxler’s Acid Future Party Was a Maniacal Celebration of All Things 303

Both nostalgic and forward-thinking, Troxie's East London soiree was one to remember.
Luke Baker

"Viagra ain't no good, man," says the security guy while rooting through the contents of my pockets on the table before us. "You need to go for the real shit."

"The real shit?"

"Jamaican Rock," he smiles, winking at me with reddened, glassy eyes. "Rub a bit of that shit on the tip and bang! Rock hard all night."

It is just after midday at Tobacco Dock in Wapping, East London and I'm here to experience Seth Troxler's Acid Future, a knees-up billed in advance as a contemporary celebration of acid house, of which Troxler himself has said "Rather than looking backwards we're looking forward, inviting artists from all over the world which I feel embody the spirit of acid house in 2015."

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Having shaken the guy before me down and found a few of the little blue fellas on his person, the security guard is now keen to open up about the benefits his own preferred dick-hardening balm has had on his recalcitrant winky before allowing me to enter into Seth's temple of scorching 808s.

"My wife, she's not a looker any more. But rub a bit of Rock on it and I'm going all night like a good'un." I thank the man for his insight and walk on. It's a surreal conversation, but amid the lunacy of today's acid-tinged event it seems comparatively normal.

All photos by Luke Baker

For those who've never been, the Tobacco Dock is a fairly anodyne conference centre on the Thames made up of glass and a lot of wooden beams. Previous highlights here have included Ritchie Hawtin's ENTER and The Erotica Show. Split over two levels with lots of different rooms dotted around all over the place, it's the kind of gaff that could easily look empty were half of London and Essex not here. As it is, scores of bare-legged Basildon lovelies barge past us dressed in the Topshop Fesival Range while a brace of lads in skin tight denim shorts and wifebeaters gaze longingly.

"Fuck me, I'll be carting my nuts back in a wheelbarrow tonight," one of them observes romantically.

The security guard's priapic capabilities may be compromised, but these guys are clearly firing on all cylinders, as are Filsonik and Jesse Calosso who are in the Great Gallery spinning a selection of tough techy cuts. It's early yet, but the room is almost full with a bunch of punters too young to have even been conceived in '88 frugging beneath the lasers and the dry ice. Perhaps it's because it's a hot Saturday lunchtime, or maybe it's the smell of Red Bull and sweat, but it really does feel like a rave in here. As the guys wrap up their set their cohorts The Martinez Brothers join them behind the controllers, bobbing up and down to the beats and waving and blowing kisses at the crowd.

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We enjoy a few minutes of William Kouam Djoko and Harvard Bass and then take the short walk across to The Little Gallery, where something rather special is about to happen: the Martinez boys will play a live, improvised acid-house set with techno veteran Arthur Baker, best known for his work with Afrika Bambaata and New Order. Perhaps in honour of this auspicious pairing the room is decked-out with a dizzying profusion of disco balls that cover the entire ceiling. Baker — who with his long grey hair looks like a viking in white dad-shorts and sneakers — and Martinez punish the 303s for thirty minutes, creating a celestial cacophony of mind-twisting sound so intense that everyone on the rammed dance floor seems rooted to the spot, afraid to miss a note. The chemistry between Arthur and the boys is such that I hear several people comment afterwards that it would be great if they released a track together, and indeed it would.

Half an hour later and it's time for more Martinez Brothers action as the Bronx's finest go back-to-back with master of ceremonies Troxler in the Great Gallery. As is customary at these events, the space behind the DJ booth is packed with hipster guys in black t-shirts and hi-tops and girls in tight dresses and gold face paint all nodding along to the thumping acid bangers. Seth, who has seemingly sprinted round the venue all afternoon enjoying every act along with the regular punters leaves the stage for a while, perhaps to have a quick nap, but is back soon enough to bring the party once more, extending the joint set to four hours. Chunky beats, subaquatic basslines and fizzing synth freakouts ensue.

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Later, after a breather during which we wolf down chicken wraps in the backstage garden area, we head to the subterranean carpark to experience the legend that is DJ Harvey. Stripped to the waist, and looking Christ-like before a monochrome smiley face with his long hair, he drops some of the most disgustingly hard techno of the whole event to a boiling and nearly pitch-black basement. Full of the most dedicated ravers going, it's as intense as stepping into Berghain on a Sunday afternoon, but there is beauty in the darkness too, not least when he plays the full eight minutes of Petar Dundov & Gregor Thresher's "Hex". Agog is probably the best word to describe the crowd's slack-jawed reaction.

Finally, it's down to Marshall Jefferson to close off proceedings with a classics set in the Great Gallery includes — of course — "Move Your Body," handing on the old school rave torch to a new band of ravers who leave or the afterparty at Fabric sweaty, saucer-eyed but very, very happy. The security dude may need Jamaican Rock to keep it hard, but Seth Troxler clearly requires no such assistance and on the evidence of today if he fancies organzing another shindig on the London docks next year he'll be very welcome indeed.

If you're enticed by that, why not check out another LWW event. Head here for more information.

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