Aphex Twin

Strange things are afoot at the Astoria. An odd creature with rather lank shoulder-length hair, and wearing what can only be described as a white chemical warfare suit, is doing funny dances in the centre of the stage, while using his laptop to force two Ataris to duel to the death across the speakers. Eventually one is victorious and the lanky man celebrates by knocking those present off their feet with waves of bass and hyperspeed beats. Occasionally he sings in a rather sinister vocodered voice about fucking some girl up the arse. I think. Welcome, ladies and gentleman, to the sick world of Ed DMX, Rephlex foot soldier and figurehead of the DMX Krew.

It is all very interesting, but we all know the crowd really came for that ginger-bearded armoured car-driving Apple Mac-wielding beat-molesting avatar of modern electronic music, Richard D. James. Unfortunately they are destined to be disappointed.

Eventually Ed DMX leaves the stage wreathed in feedback and fading bass to be replaced by vintage jungle and pounding rave. It sounds like Aphex. Probably it is Aphex. The dancefloor has certainly filled up. Unfortunately we can’t see Aphex. And the crowd(a slightly unusual bunch by all accounts - Warp/Rephlex disciples, jungle fans, NME readers whose interest has been aroused by Aphex’s last album, university students and obviously a lot of Germans) seem a little confused. Some, like us, get drunk and dance around a lot. Some stand around and keep asking when the Aphex is coming on. Some get pissed off, and go home. Whether it is the Aphex or not it is still fantastic - mad jungle breaking down into noise, before finding its way into some rave track, and then building up into shrieking wall-to-wall synths before segueing into Squarepusher’s ‘Boneville Occident.’ Even when he starts mixing his own tracks in like ‘54 Cymru Beats’ and ‘Taking Control’ the penny fails to drop, most people assuming this is some kind of post-modern joke on the part of the DJ. Finally we catch a glimpse of him, as he gives a last farewell from the centre of the stage before disappearing into the night, enigma still intact. Was it any good then? It was fun, but for all we knew he could have just set-up his laptop and been sat backstage all along. I saw a guy hunched over a laptop, but he didn’t look like the Aphex Twin. He’s no Conrad Keely that’s for sure. And the music? Initially there was some disappointment over the lack of sanpaper-mixing and bricks in blenders but in retrospect would it really have been any good if it was unlistenable? Probably not.

Besides Russel Haswell is there to provide that, and his reputation obviously precedes him - many people remember they have an urgent appointment with a train or other mode of transport just as he plugs in his Mac. He specialises in taking 80’s sounding, Cold War synth style tunes and basically fucking them up - a laugh on the night but impossible to dance to unless very drunk or stoned. Record sales are probably the last thing on his mind. At one point he does obscene things to So Solid Crew’s ‘21 Seconds.’ We look around nervously. After all there are thirty plus of them, and it wasn’t so long ago that there was a gun battle at one of their gigs. At this very venue actually. We all breath a collective sigh of relief as the track moves on. Let’s just hope Russel Haswell ‘packs a gat’ as Skat D might say. He may well need it.

Photos courtesy of Emma Porter.