Weatherall’s relaunched Sabresonic. The flyers now have the roman numerals “II” printed on them and the party’s moved from the arches beneath London Bridge to a proper, posh club. EC1 in Clerkenwell. It’s also once a month, instead of once a week. Making it harder to remember, but, we’re in ’cos it’s on a Friday, and getting wasted at the end the week is a given. Also, Weatherall’s not on the radio anymore, so this is only way of finding out what he’s into. Still basically groupies, every record dropped, of course, is discussed. We’re ecstatic if it’s anything we’ve already bought. Boasting, “I’ve got this”, as if it makes us musical geniuses. Me and The Lizard chanting “Get on the don-key!” at each other, for example, in celebration / recognition of Armand Van Helden spinning. Since we’re shopping at FatCat, this actually happens quite a lot. Not like before, when we were clueless (1). 

I’m renting a second floor flat, on Woodleigh Gardens in Streatham. It was probably quite nice once, but the police have clamped down on the High Road’s prostitution, and the business hasn’t disappeared, just moved one street back… Which means not just brasses but creepy, curb-crawlers and run-ins with pimps. I’m often propositioned and then threatened. Used frangers frequently, thoughtfully, decorate the front lawn. Lol Hammond from the Drum Club lives at the end of the opposite terrace.

I cab it over to Steg’s in Clapham, and together we then set out for Islington, Almedia Street, and the basement The Lizard shares with his brother, The Polite Pelican. Both of us have smoked a spliff and done an E, so in the taxi there’s a stoned serenity. This will inevitably be busted by The Lizard turning up late, or forgetting his keys. Meaning we’ll have to stand, hypersensitive, in the cold on his doorstep, until The Pelican shows up. Earning the two of them the affectionate tag of “The Dildo Brothers”. 

After waiting in Islington, we queue for the club. Weatherall pops up to look at the numbers and Dean tells him that Matt Ducasse, from Skylab’s in the line. Beaming, Weatherall replies, “We’re not worthy.” (2) I remember, once, we were talking to Alex while getting ready to pay, and The Orb were doing the warm-up. While we were chatting full-on techno began banging, and Alex dashed downstairs to get them to stop and start over (3).

Eric The Viking does the EC1 Club door. The Chelsea chap who found himself famous after Boy’s Own published a candid Ibiza snap. His security finish patting me, and I turn to him, already a bit bent out of shape, and tell him, with a wink, “Don’t worry, I always hide the gear in my socks.” He shoots me this puzzled look, not sure whether to take me seriously, ’cos surely no one can be that stupid. Once inside I remove my shoes and the drugs. 

Heavy hip hop instrumentals are being seamlessly segued. I might have once been a “B-boy”, but that was in my teens, and now I have no way of knowing what anything is. To begin with it’s almost as if I’m not really listening, but the clinically, cleverly constructed beats bring me in, a surface simplicity masking their true complexity, and the little loops eventually have me hypnotised. The very definition of “trip hop”. Some are short sketches, some epic journeys, and subconsciously, while sipping a beer at the bar, I’m swept along with it. Screaming guitars, tortured trumpets. Horror score horns. Snippets of sinister Satie-like piano. Seductive soaring strings, scratches, vibes, and backwards sequences. A mutant boom-bap jazz. But I’m here to party not to dive into deep contemplation (4).

The music is slow, strange, and funky. Highly machined. Everyone’s concentrating on looking cool, but then these cellos cut in, and we’re all trying to hide a grin as they strike a very familiar theme. “Smokebelch”. Smiling in recognition. Caught up in our own memories and moments. Fuck me, the fun we had. Only a year or so ago, but it seems like a lifetime. We don’t seem to be able to recapture it, no matter how hard we try. No matter how much medicine we neck. We’re a bit, I wouldn’t say wiser, dafter, desperate, perhaps, but definitely wounded, cynical. None of what we’re doing is new. More a habit. Weatherall once called “Smokebelch” “a space blues”, and I get that (5). 

Reload’s “Le Soleil Et La Mer” adds to the nostalgia. A thing of beauty, it’s minor chords, rising and falling in wave after wave. Grounded by its heartbeat, while breakbeats race with an urgency. Reminding me of speeding so fast that I had to lie still and hold on as the world rushed past (6). 

The only time I saw Weatherall do the first set here, 4E’s “Temple Traxx” was the tune that stood out. Pinging, popping electro, with sharp snares and a propulsive bass pulse. Wild acid squiggles whipping the rigid rhythm. It being Weatherall, and early doors, we didn’t dance, but made notes and wondered what was coming next. Nodding our noggins in appreciation. Sipping from bottles of Sol, with a slice of lime pushed through the top. The juice after a while making your lips sticky. Or Becks. Fidgeting fingers picking at the silver foil. 

Abacus’ “Relics” has us floating in an analogue bubblebath of warped, extraterrestrial tones. Between house and techno, its cymbals crashing like surf smashing against rocks, as Martin Luther King delivers a righteous speech (7). 

Alex somehow manages to squeeze in Danny Red’s “Riddim Wise”. Although it doesn’t sound like the version I’ve got. Every month he moves effortless from 0 to 120 BPM, always finishing with Chris, the Rhythm Doctor’s bootleg of Phuture. This perfectly matches the state my head’s in. When I first heard it, I thought, “How the fuck is he doing that?” He later confessed it was a gift from Chris. Alex puts the record on and everything stops. Comes to a blissed out halt as the piano from “Moments In Love” begins. The congas and the finger clicks bringing a chill, chemical calm. Blowing across me like a breeze. As if someone turned a wind machine on. “We Are The Phuture” fades in and for a minute, I’m back at The Trip, at The Astoria, the summer of 1988. This used to fill me with optimism. I really believed I was part of a revolution, but we don’t seem to have changed anything for the better. The furious 303 now has me feeling my pockets for another pill (8). 

Washing it down, I remember when they were updating the mailing list. All you had to do was write your name and address. I’d taken something, fuck knows what, but it was strong, and at loss during the warm-up, impatient, I figured I’d sort out my membership. Andrew, Dean, and Nina – who appeared to be wrapped in a dress made from a silk Stars & Stripes – were sat at desk and they looked on in disbelief as, instead of neatly printing my details, I scribbled wildly across the address sheet. Like an out of body experience, I was also gaping in disbelief. Without saying anything I walked over to The Lizard – who was randomly licking and smacking his lips. “Mate, you need to go and get a new membership”, and pointed the way. I watched him walk to the desk and bark gibberish at the 3 of them – horror in his own eyes – as they fell about in fits. I’m laughing now. It was fucking funny. The more he tried to explain, the more nonsense came out, and the more horrified he looked. Barking, gesticulating too, he was. When he came back, I pretended not to have noticed. 

“How`d it go?” 

The sound at these shindigs is more technical, more refined, more precise. There’s a ton of Basic Channel-related business being played. Filtered, muted kicks and details of flickering delay and debris. I’ve Hoover-ed up a load of these records. Fascinated. But I can’t mix any of them. Stoned on the decks, I forget, can’t tell which is which. It’s a very different type of trance induction to the sides that Weatherall was championing last year. We, the crowd move in unison, responding to every slight fluctuation. Something as simple as the bass momentarily dropping, or the introduction of high hats, especially the high hats, shifts the energy. Can elicit cheers and shouts. Generally though the room is silent. Everyone locked in the groove. Each tight to their spot. 

Solar winds whoosh across a B-line whose mantra mimics Coltrane’s “A Love Supreme”. Instrumental machine soul that approaches the spiritual. The congregation, assembled in worship, whisked off to distant planets. Worlds far more peaceful. 

Singing, uplifting, twisted, trebly alien chimes. Soothing, well-being inducing swells. Their prettiness paired to an express train of kick, more high hats and hand claps. Crisp, clean, and a long way from the dub and darkness of Weatherall’s previous parties in the dungeon that was Happy Jax. 

Star Wars obsessives The Jedi Knights’ “May The Funk Be With You” is off like a rocket. Strutting its futuristic fusion stuff with synths like rayguns. Shaking a retro electro tail feather with phasers set to stun. My toes are tapping. The tablets taking effect. Here we go. 

From here things get harder. Green Velvet has a Southern preacher throw a conniption fit. Bruising us with ruff, raw stripped back Chicago jack. Apart from the fire and brimstone gospel, the track is nothing really but drums. Still we’re marching. Possessed. Like those bucket carrying broomsticks from Disney’s “Fantasia”. It’s impossible to resist. Driven into delirium by mind-bending EQ-ing. Sirens and alarms building a tension that’s kinda claustrophobic, an anxiety even. When it stops… I suppose that’s where label, Relief, gets its name from. 

DJ Sneak then chops up a vintage disco break. Giving us a hook to hang on to. Back in the day I’d have been searching for smiles. Kindred spirits. Reaching out for hugs. But I’m keeping my eyes closed. Lost in it, I don’t want to see anyone else. Selfishly savouring the high, the escape. Time out of time.

The music is totally modern. Bang up to date. Sleek. Polished. Futuristic. Not much is immediate. Instead, deep, hypnotic. Unlike the past, there are no cheesy, euphoric anthems. This is for the electronica connoisseur. The devoted, the hardcore, who’ve followed Weatherall on this path, are no longer ravers wanting an instant hit. Arms-in-the-air piano, forget it. To appreciate this, you need to submit, surrender to every minor change. However, the faithful are eventually rewarded with some classic acid.

Bam Bam’s “Where’s Your Child?” is a flashback to RIP at The Clink. Cars zooming between the speakers. Babies crying, while a demon laughs, “You`re all my children now!” A bottle breaks, and two twisting TB-303s duel one another (9).

There have been some boots knocking about, Lil Louis’ “Blackout”, Risque III, R &R Record Review 12s containing 80s classics that are hard to find, and otherwise too expensive. DJ Pierre’s “Dream Girl” is on one of them. Acid camouflaged, this comes out of Bam Bam and then takes the club by surprise when it switches to strings and a sweet duet. Instantly, unexpectedly, lightening proceedings, and providing a moment of post-rush clarity. Easing the pressure. Giving us a sorta breather. The crowd’s marching moves to swaying and folks are mouthing the words. Not quite an “erection section”, no one seems inspired to dance cheek-to-cheek, but this is a loved-up as it gets in here. 

Alex told me that when they set up FatCat in Covent Garden, they stuck a load of old Trax 12s – warehouse finds from a trip to Chicago – in the racks for a fiver. When word got about, folks from some of the established Soho shops, who’d been charging 20 for the same records, came and threatened them.

Weatherall follows that with a shot of wonky, wobbly robotic funk. Bumping and bouncing, but the bass-line is so breakneck I’m struggling. 

That’s nothing, though, compared to Steve Bicknell destroying Todd Terry’s “Bango To The Batmobile”. Creating a hurricane with razor and tape. Stopping and starting, rewinding. Keeping everyone guessing. 

Matthew Herbert, Dr Rockit’s in front of me. Halving an E with the woman he’s with. Alex taps me on the shoulder. He looks trashed, but has a huge scowl on his face. “Is that your mate over there?” glaring at Tommo. “Tell him to stop staring at my girl like that.” I’m so out of it that this aggression goes right over me, but I promise to have a word. I can completely understand why Tommo would be staring. I can also understand why Alex is pissed off. Tommo’s terribly apologetic and more than a tad freaked out. He claims he didn’t know he was doing it, well, he didn’t know she was with Alex. A bundle with the DJ is never a good look. I remember when we were freshers at Uni, and Bruno Brooks, at some at horrible nightclub near Leeds station, got Steg in a headlock. That’s a story, an urban legend, that’s been told nearly as many times as the pasting him and The Bothered Ostrich took from the chess club. Admittedly the pair of them were so pissed they could barely walk, let alone throw a punch, and the gag was that those chess club fuckers were always at least three moves ahead (10). 

“Life moves pretty fast. If you don’t stop to look around once in a while you could miss it… “

Link’s “Amazon Amenity” is like the third or fourth drum & bass tune in a row (11). The Lizard says, “I’ve had enough. Me and Paul are gonna go,” and him and The Polite Pelican leave me in here alone (12). I’m not that into this either, but I’ve got a few things by Photek, and on Bukem’s Looking Good. All ambient swirls, showers and cascades. I recognise the Ferris Bueller quote, but its hurtling breakbeats are too much for someone as fucked as me. Tricky’s “Brand New You’re Retro” is grungy. Pace-y post-punk funk rather than polished Metalheads. Another track that claims, “we are the future”, it brings the party full circle. The place is practically empty at this point. 

I don’t know how long I’ve been asleep. It takes me a minute to work out where I am. I’ve been standing, propped up, leaning with my forehead against a traffic light, on Blackfriars Bridge. I think. It’s fucking freezing, and I’ve no idea how I got here. The sun’s up, but it must still be early, because the streets are deserted (13). No cars. Nobody. No nothing. Thankfully no Old Bill. I stagger / stumble over the river into Southwark, and Borough. Descending into the tube station, I heave what looks like a gallon of water. Flooding the tunnels with expensive bottled lager. Embarrassed. Lucky, relived no one is watching. Waiting to rattle my way down the Northern Line toward somewhere closer to home. 

 

NOTES

(1) My local shop at this point was Inner Rhythm on Streatham High Road. Staffed, amongst other South London music biz luminaries, by Ross Allen and Damon Havlin. They stocked underground house labels like Cajual, Power Music and Prescription – the places where house and techno were, at the time, reuniting. House got harder. Techno got groovier. Acid was popular again. They also had some decent hip hop and reggae in their racks. Plenty of Pablo and Tribesman. This is were I bought my Mobb Deep and The Gutter Snypes 12s. They were one of the few shops to take a punt on Bassett & Rooney’s Black Cock.

(2) I can’t remember if anything by Skylab was actually played, but their album, #1, had just come out. Weatherall and The Sabres Of Paradise would later rework a track, “Indigo”, lifted from it. Perhaps a deal was struck that night.

(3) Sabresonic II guests included Dr Rockit, The Orb, Global Communications, Laurent Garnier, LTJ Bukem.

(4) One of the tracks here is Butter Foundation’s “Anaty”. Martin Brannagan from the mighty Flightpath Estate ID-ed this tune last year. It’s the last track on 1 of 3 mixes, titled Game Over, that were given out, on cassette at the last Sabresonic II party. For me, it was the find of 2025. 

Another is DJ Wally’s “Possi Purple”, which must have surely inspired The Sabres’ Wolfgang Press remix. 

(5) This was the Two Lone Swordsmen remake of “Smokebelch”, exclusive to Weatherall’s mix for the Back To Basics “Cut The Crap” CD box / tin set. Dedicated to Alistair Cooke, it got its debut at EC1.

(6) Weatherall once compared this track to The Chilites’ The Coldest “Days Of My Life”. Playing the two tunes one after another to try to illustrate his point, during his “Giving It Up” sessions on Kiss FM. 

(7) Prescription was a shiny new label run by Chez Damier and Ron Trent, out of Detroit. A lot of their records got played at Sabresonic II. Not just Abacus, but Chez & Trent’s “Morning Factory”, Damier & Pullen’s “Forever Monna” and the EP, “Hip To Be Disillusioned Vol. 1”.

(8) The Rhythm Doctor aka Chris Livingstone ran a record shop, called Feel Real, which shared the same basement space as FatCat. Chris also hosted a Feel Real night at The Gardening Club, also in Covent Garden.

(9) When I interviewed Bam Bam he told me that he created “Where’s Your Child?” as part of a proposed score for Wes Craven`s “Nightmare On Elm Street” film franchise. Claiming that the 4 / 4 was only added in case the movie studio knocked it back.

RiP, or Revolution In Progress were parties thrown by Paul Stone and Lu Vokovic every Saturday from July through to the end of September, during the summer of `88, in an abandoned Thames-side warehouse on Clink Street.

(10) The club was called The News and they’d have messy student drinks promotions, and occasional “celebrity” DJs, mid-week.

(11) Alex Reece’s spiky, punk funk remix of Tricky’s “Brand New You’re Retro” – which closes the third “Game Over” tape – was another Sabresonic II drum & bass tune. Something that clearly influenced some of Weatherall’s own stuff, such as his remix of Battant’s “Kevin”.

(12) In reality this was the last ever Sabresonic party. Held in December 1995. LTJ Bukem was the guest. Everyone I knew, including The Lizard and Davey, left before the end. I actually left with them, but later went back on my own. The place had emptied out, and I did blackout only to wake up on Blackfriars Bridge.

(13) Like the film “28 Days Later”, but with me being the one zombie wandering about. 

A huge thank you to Alex Knight, John Matthews, Carl and Mark Ratcliff, for sharing their memories, to Richard Sen for the artwork and Nina Walsh for the newsletter.  

Nina mentioned that this monster was once played as the the last tune:

If you have any Sabresonic II memories, or can recall particular tracks that were spun, please share them in the comments below. 

TRACK-LIST

DJ Wally – Possi Purple

Group Home – Living Proof

Skylab – Indigo (Sabres Remix)

Two Lone Swordsmen – Smokebelch

Pharcyde – Drop

Butter Foundation – Anaty

Reload – Le Soleil Et La Mer

4E – Temple Traxx

Abacus – Relics One

Rhythm Doctor – Future

Round 2 – New Day Dub

Chez Damier & Ron Trent – Morning Factory

Chez Damier & Stacey Pullen – Forever Monna

Jedi Knights – May The Funk Be With You

DJ Sneak – Disco Erotica

Green Velvet – Preacher Man

Bam Bam – Where’s Your Child

DJ Pierre – Dream Girl

Tim Harper – I Know You’re Gonna Dig This

SB Project – Xtra Edit #2

Herbert – See You On Monday

Maurizio – M4.5

Link – Amazon Amenity

Tricky – Brand New You’re Retro

I think that you can hear how all of these things influenced, fed into, Weatherall’s subsequent productions with The Sabres, and as part of Two Lone Swordsmen and Deanne Day.