- Nathan Fake set the chill out world alight in 2006 with the gauzy, fuzzy-synthed Drowning in a Sea of Love. Next the young pioneer dabbled in some club sets with Border Community to spread the word. It was in this environment that inspired his next release, Hard Islands, which in its tough, busy and acidic-grinding loops conjures images of sweaty bodies and strobe lights. Forget those blissed-out Norfolk flat fields that adorned the cover of his debut: Fake has moved home and now he's all about the clubs.
For the album's launch, Corsica Studios (not coincidentally a club) was aptly packed out with lookalike creative types and graphic designers that skirt the peripheries of dance music—the kind likely to listen to Aphex Twin, not a Hawtin mix. But aside from the paisley and checkered shirts, what first hit me was the bass-heavy, weighty, ear-crippling sound system going off in the main room. Early on, it was Border Community's new kid on the block, Wesley Mattsell, banging out an eclectic electro set that at times tested the low frequencies of Corsica in its crunching distorted grooves. Meanwhile Allez-Allez warmed up Room 2 with fun, jumping, disco beats. By 1 AM, though, the main room was the place to be (if only that Fake was on next) when the Operator performed a live laptop set that featured some close-mic singing over sultry, sexy grooves.
As if by magic, Nathan Fake emerged from under the table—his shaggy hair still as shaggy, his boyish face still as boyish as when I saw him play at Big Chill Festival three years back. He folded out his laptop and with a roar of acclamation dropped "Basic Mountain"—a euphoric mix of Drowning in a Sea of Love-synths against his new, hefty drum loops. Standout track "Fentinger" turned up the heat to boiling point though, with bass scales buzzing on clanking beats, which over Corsica Studio's system sounded apocalyptic in size.
He stared (much as he always has), hypnotised by the world inside his laptop, nodding but never taking his eyes away, as if the magic might end if he did. His mix blended through recognisable dreamy, pearly synths to acidic abstractness into the skipping beats of "Narrier" and went out in fine form on "The Turtle." His renowned spontaneous beat glitches and melodic pitch shifting still ignited nostalgia from when I first heard him mix. At set's end, a big gust of smoke blew from behind him and he dived back under the table and disappeared for what might be another three years.
James Holden saw the night out as if he was somewhat going through the motions, playing a noisy set, that much like the crowd, filled the gap between dance and indie. His niche, electronic selection always agreed but never dazzled, not least after Fake. And indeed, why should label head Holden have hogged the spotlight? Tonight was Fake's night and reminded how like many of the greats, he can shape shift, but still remain very much himself.