Freerotation 2008

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  • Baskerville Hall is a big country house on the Welsh/English border. It's now a hotel with chintzy red carpet. Under previous ownership, Baskerville was the major rave destination for mid-Wales: The Big Chill and Green Man festivals both made early appearances there. A change in focus by the management meant things quieted down for a few years, but another such change means that the party is, tentatively, back on. That said, these days Baskerville sees more Stag parties than psy-trance lifers pass through its doors. The sole exception, of course, being FreeRotation, a party which has seen Welsh dance majordomo Steevio lure a lineup that has left Berlin's DJ booths looking like saloons at high noon for one weekend each of the past two years. The lovely, blustery, mediocre weather of English summer greeted the festivalgoers trickling in Friday afternoon for this second edition. The trickle never became a stream, and although an intimate vibe was promised, it seemed too much to hope that it would have been that intimate. With six hundred tickets sold purely via word of mouth, the not-for-profit collective behind the festival stood to just about break even—and we, the lucky punters, got to wander amongst our musical heroes for 48 hours. Photo credit: Frank Bogdanowitz Friday night kicked off with Suade, followed by a live PA from Tom Ellis. The focus early on tended towards energetic minimal techno that filled the main room quickly. The frankly damn good sets from the local heroes bade well for what was to follow, and Sven Weisemann, the first of the Easyjetters, moved quickly to make good on that promise. Weisemann ran the gamut from Paperclip People to 2-step, united by a taste for the bracing melodies that distinguish his productions. Weisemann went for the interesting mix every time, and as such provided a few rough and ready moments, but his extraordinary enthusiasm and athletic performance behind the decks meant that absolutely nobody cared. Twenty-three year old Weisemann's breadth of selection wasn't matched by Mala, whose set was plagued by technical problems, but might not have impressed hugely without them. "Left Leg Out," as always, went down a treat but most of the rest was not more than a collection of big tunes with little flow between them. The epic moments were epic, but there was little to persuade that Mala was there to DJ rather than just to prove that his friends have bigger basslines than yours. Sonja Moonear and Dandy Jack were next with a two hour live performance under the guise of Junction SM. Separately, Moonear is a diesel engine behind the decks whereas Dandy Jack is a sparrow flitting between funky and weightless melodies. For a while, their set seemed to unite the best of these worlds. Two hours might have been a little ambitious, though. One nonplussed dancer put it like this: "the groove is wicked, but the keyboard synth over the top adds nothing." Junction SM have potential, but a little more practice or a shorter set could help avoid the inconsistent patches. Photo credit: Barbara Gamper Portable/Bodycode, on the other hand, was the highlight of the evening. His distinctive sensibilities took a while to persuade some, but in the end he proved utterly winning. Portable played Ableton like an instrument, and sang nicely into his vocoder to boot. Tracks like Perlon fresh cut "Knowone Can Take Away" had everyone smiling. Capitalizing on his success, the Portuguese pocket-rocket launched into a day of revelry that had the festival a-twitter. They say he went feral, ran naked, climbed to the roof and howled at the sun… I can confirm that after I joined the more lilly-livered for a short sleep, Bodycode's motto was, "as my mother used to say"…"action is satisfaction." Marcel Janovsky played a musical variant on the same theme, spending three hours (at least) taking his time with carefully chosen tech house. Janovsky didn't put a foot wrong, eschewing any overreliance on only the newest cuts. As the evening gloom gathered, Janovsky seemed to have a stronger effect than the coffee, which by then was turning a bit useless. By Saturday night, the UR hoodies were out in force, and Süd boss Lakuti, dressed in admirable gangster style, played a classic house vibe. Her functional mixing carried forth sounds that were soulful, sensual and floor shaking. Shackleton was about the opposite in terms of DJ style. Greatly rejigged live versions of "Minimoonstar" and "Blood on My Hands" were treats. His intricate percussive arrangements opened space in the music for a colossal range of sounds that all seemed derived from a pleasant underworld known only to the man behind the laptop. Photo credit: Barbara Gamper Move D played two sets. One, in the second room, was a collaboration with long lost pal Jonah Sharp as Reagenz. The sound was reduced and at times a little reminiscent of Songs from the Beehive. Though tasty, D said not to expect another outing for Reagenz too soon: it had been ten years since Sharp and he had last met before they had gotten together before this festival to work on their set. In the main room, his second set was deep without being ostentatious and fun without being frivolous. In short, D's musical bonhomie spread to us like the plague. A taste of Freund Der Familie's slow beat exploration in room two impressed as much as their 12-inches, but with Andy Stott gearing up in the main room, a taste was all I got. Stott's strict and bright dub techno was yet another highlight. The endlessly rising cannonball that is "Hostile," or, a live remix derived thereof, was my favorite. With Stott done, Peter Kersten, AKA Lawrence, AKA Sten, moved in for another laptop set. A range of material followed from both aliases, with an emphasis on tracks from his new album under the Sten name on Dial, Way to the Stars. Kersten ranged in tone from tear-jerking to pleasurably fatuous to dark and dirty, backed by silky beats that were enough to integrate into the music organically without taking center stage. Roberto Q. Ingram took to the wheels next in an "unfuck the world" t-shirt and wearing a look like he intended to do just that. As much as I wanted to be unfucked, however, the pace was by then getting to me, and so I wandered out in the crisp predawn light for a cup of tea and homemade cake. The King Lear-esque storm that howled outside Saturday night, providing a dramatic backdrop to the titanic performances inside, had by then abated. Feeling at least as shaken as the old windowpanes of Baskerville Hall, it was time to head to bed. But only after a little more music.
RA