It's been a good 3 years since I've set foot inside Sankeys HQ in Manchester, UK, which is odd for me considering it's the closest well known club that runs a weekly programme. I was a regular there back in the days of the Friday party Tribal Sessions, and before the club switched to its current layout back in 2006. Truth be told, as the club gained in popularity, and I grew older several years, I began to be put off by how packed the main room could be. I'm 27 now, not old of course, but old enough to want my own space and to avoid the man in front of me rubbing his sweaty back upon my face.
So, obviously, hearing that the party had completely sold out, and judging by the lineup, I arrived at the club expecting an epic sweaty crush, and strolling/pushing my way through the main room whilst Darius Syrossian was playing only confirmed this. I made my way upstairs to wait for Greg Wilson to come on with the pleasant thought of warming myself for the nights tomfoolery with a little light hearted disco. I'd forgotten how cool a room the Spektrum was. Gazing about the place you could see various people lost in a trance like state staring at the LED lighting system, some drooling, most not blinking for a good minute or so.
A typical set from Greg Wilson reads like a 'best of disco' compilation - pretty much every classic track you'd ever want to shake your booty to was dropped, with some in there I'd forgotten about or had never heard. Dancing to one his sets is an experience, an education on one of the finer genre's of music, and I distinctly remember realising throughout various points of the set that I hadn't stopped grinning like a mad man at all. All those people I was laughing at for staring at the lights had probably all come down now and were watching me act like some overexcited kid with ADHD grabbing my mates at the start of every tune and shouting "ohhh myyy goooddd, what a tuuuunee!" down their ear. What an idiot.
As Greg stepped away from the decks (not his old school tape decks though, unfortunately) I plucked up the courage to take on the main room, where Marco Carola was coming on at that very moment. It was rammed, of course, but my friends and I wedged ourselves in somewhere near the back, just in front of the stage (which would later prove to be a giant step for the unsteady). It was typical style of relentless techno we've come to love him for in Ibiza during his days with Cocoon, and last season, with his own night Music On. It was difficult to see the bottom end of the main room on account of all the people, arms, stank and general darkness, but in keeping with his attitude, not a single smile stretched across his face that I saw, so it's difficult to tell if he enjoyed himself, but the records were getting dropped and the night was going strong come 5am (roughly, it's a little hazy around that time) when our designated driver for the evening threw the towel in.
Sterling effort Sankeys, I'll be back soon.
