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Tony Smith did it Barefoot

Tony Smith did it Barefoot

Tony Smith was one of the original cohort of DJs who were instrumental in defining what a DJ did in the modern era. Starting out playing at block parties as a teenager, before progressing onto the tiny, but influential, Barefoot Boy as a resident through most of the 1970s. He went on to play at commercial disco – and Studio 54 rival – Xenon. We talk about his early colleagues and heroes and the records they championed in an era that changed dance music forever, including his friendship with Larry Levan and the Larry impersonator who used to hang out in the DJ booth at the Garage. Sadly, Tony passed away in May 2021, having caught pneumonia during the pandemic.

Let’s start at the beginning…
I was born 20 blocks from here, in the projects, lower Manhattan. I loved music since I was a kid. My brothers  and sisters had a group, you know in those doo-wop days? So I was always listening to music. 

These must’ve been older than you.
Yeah, they’re like 14 years older than me. A brother and two sisters. I’m the baby, by a long shot. I’ve known music since I was little. And that whole R&B, Little Anthony & The Imperials, that whole sound. I started a band when I was 13 and we played in the projects, in schools and colleges and talent shows. 

What was the band called?
Soul Sound Explosion. It was good, until we kept expanding, because you had to have a bongo player, then we had a vibe player. I taught myself guitar. It was the only instrument people didn’t learn in school. And then after ’69 we had about 12 guys in the band and we were making no money and during the band breaks, I used to play the music for the party or whatever. Not calling it DJing then, just playing music.

How would you do it?
Using the PA system and two volume controls so there would continuous music. It wasn’t mixing, it was more blending. So what happened was the band broke up because everybody got greedy and, you know, personal things and I just started playing music outside. I got harassed to play music outside. Because that was before the police knew what was goin’ on; disco wasn’t out, so we could do whatever we wanted.

You say outside. Where exactly?
Right out in the park. You could hook up your system in the lights sockets; in the street lights, in places like Pierce 1 Park and the park right in the middle of Smith Projects. But then I went all around lower east side. Most people don’t know, but there’s project after project after project on the lower east side. All along the east river edge.

Was that an unusual thing to be doing with two turntables?
Oh nobody knew what I was doing. Until I had a competition. There was a battle of the DJs. There was a Puerto Rican kid and his brother who started doin’ the same thing. And we would compete for the crowd.

Do you remember his name?
Yeah, Spanky and Ice. I was just me, but I always had people watching my records, watching my sound system things like that. We started competing. I was still 16 then. The whole thing then was to get records he didn’t have and him to get records I didn’t have, just so we would draw the crowd towards us. Probably when I was like 17, I went to a gay club like in the West Village. Totally freaked me out. I didn’t know that existed. It was called The Limelight, where David Rodriguez was the DJ and he just blew me away. Before then I used to go to black straight clubs, but it was a totally different thing.

What were black straight clubs like?
In the old days the Mafia owned the real clubs, so they had the gay clubs. Most black people’s clubs were either recreational centres or restaurants in the day and they would turn into a black club at night. Or colleges like Hunter College, NYU, they would always have parties for black straights, so that’s all I really knew till I was 17.

What was the clientele at the black clubs; all ages etc?
Yeah, we were goin’ in there when we 14 and underage. No ID, no card, no alcohol, you always brought your own, they always had BYOBB. The music was… everything. I call it black music but it was all in those days. They were playing Chicago in those days, Rare Earth, Steve Winwood, Boz Scaggs, a lot of white groups mixed in with the black, James Brown, Dr. John. There was a lot of white groups that had maybe one club or R&B song and somehow or other the word would get around about it. There was maybe about four DJs who rotated around: Flowers, Maboya, Plummer and the Smith Brothers. And whenever you went they had really loud sound systems and they had a lot of exclusive records. So what happened to me was I was always around the DJ booth and I finally found out where they went to buy records, because they always had records that none of us had and that was Nicky at Downstairs. I finally got to Nicky’s in the train station and that’s when I finally wiped out everybody in my area, because I had the music that nobody had and it was like my secret store! No one knew about Nicky’s. And while I was there I got to know other DJs, because I didn’t really know that this was going on. 

What was Flowers like, because everyone says he was the best?
He was the best, but he was most egotistical, too. He was a bastard. He just wasn’t nice to you. He wanted to be so exclusive. He wanted to be the best and I guess and he thought that’s the way he had to be to be the best. 

So if you went to ask him about a record he wouldn’t tell you?
Yeah. In those days that was the one bad thing with straight jocks. As a matter of fact, they used to cross the records out so if you looked you couldn’t even see what the record was. I started doing that as a teenager, especially exclusive records. Maboya and Smith Brothers were definitely more friendly. Flowers had the best music. He had a really great sound system. 

Were they mixing back then?
It was more blending, it wasn’t mixing like say when I heard David Rodriguez. That’s when I knew I had to do some work because in black clubs it wasn’t about mixing, it was about programming. You could mix horrible, but if you played the right record everybody’d keep dancing. With the gay crowds, it was more about programming and mixing. You had to know how to mix, too, or they’d walk off. They might come back on but you’d still have a reputation for not being a good mixer. Straight clubs like that it was definitely more about programming than mixing. Finally one black disco opened up called the Cheetah.

It wasn’t the one around 18th Street was it?
No, it was different. Hey had Latin on Thursdays. They had all the groups playin’, like Kool & The Gang. I found out later that the DJ there was David Todd, which freaked me out because I was a kid then and I didn’t know there was a DJ there. I remember the strobes, because it was the time I’d seen strobes. We went every week. I was definitely underage, but I looked older for my age, so I got in. 

Describe to us your first visit to the Limelight?
I was scared. Scared shitless [laughter]. All these guys are staring at me and I just wanted to hear music.

So how did you hear about it?
I walked by. This is how I was in those days. Any time I heard music and it was something I’d never heard before. At that time I think he was playing things like Everyday People’s ‘I Like What I Like’, so that draws my attention. I used to just stand outside and listen to the music. Finally I got the courage to go in. Come on! I’m 17 and I’m scared. I didn’t know there was gay clubs. I had no clue. I stood right next to the booth. Until he got to know my face. Every time I went there I’d stand next to the booth and tell him how great he was. He was my first idol. My second idol was Richie Kaczor who worked at Hollywood. And that was like on 44th and…

It was what had been the Peppermint Lounge wasn’t it?
Yeah. Once I’d heard about Limelight, I knew they existed so now when I go to Downstairs I’m gonna ask about other clubs. Some clubs I liked, some I didn’t. Bobby DJ was good at Le Jardin. After that, I started going everywhere!

What was it that struck you about David Rodriguez. Was it the mixing?
The mixes.. but the one thing I took from him was enthusiasm. Some DJs don’t look like they’re having a good time. David always looked like he was having a great time in that booth! So that’s how I always felt when I was DJing. I always connected to him because he looked he was having a ball up there. Always smiling, always in a good mood and his music always showed. He never played filler music – you know that stuff you play to get to other things? – he didn’t really play that. He wanted you to always dance. Even if they didn’t always he wanted you to dance. He was the type that wanted to educate the crowd, which was another thing I learnt from him. You know, you can play it safe, play everything they know. But David was the type that wanted to expand their taste in music because he was playing like black club stuff, gay music and just these different styles but blending them so they went together. 

Do you remember the kinds of things he was playing?
He was playing Bohannon’s first record with ‘Stop And Go’, he was playing ‘Girl You Need A Change Of Mind’, ‘I Like What I Like’ and ‘Hum Along And Dance’ by Jackson 5. It was a wide range. That was the best thing about him. He was never boring. Some DJs are boring and I can’t really hear them more than once or twice because I know what they’re gonna do. One thing I learnt with David was that every night is a different night and you don’t know what you’re gonna do. He was totally spontaneous. He would see someone he knew and feed off of that. It was like a science to him, but at the same time he was having a good time. Then I went to Richie Kaczor. Richie was more technical than David. He was a better mixer than David. I can’t say a better programmer because they were both really good. Richie could blend much longer. Now there’s a new skill I didn’t know about.

Blending for more than five or ten seconds. For that you gotta memorise the record since all these records have different drummers and different beats so you have to know each record, because a lot of DJs would try and make mistakes. With new music you can do it, because it’s all programmed for that. Richie was good at things like ‘Newsy Neighbors’, which came out around that time. It wasn’t really disco yet but it was almost; on the cusp before disco. He was playing Blue Magic, ‘Dance Master’ by Willie Henderson; he was going into imports and all that stuff. That was when I first went towards the imports. Now Nicky’s making a mint off us, because imports were costing so much more. I don’t really remember David playing imports. You could tell Richie was hunting out for records. His range was wider. I listened to him for at least a year, didn’t want to miss him. Come to find out later that they came to hear me play, which was my biggest thrill. My four idols at that time were David, Richie, Walter Gibbons and Nicky Siano, because I was younger by five or six years…

David Rodriguez mix of Candido’s ‘Jingo’.

What was Nicky Siano like?
He was just crazy! He got famous even younger than I did. Nicky was like really young and his style was like… just crazy. He could throw anything on, he had such a rapport with the crowd. He would take any chance, that’s what I liked about him, he was very courageous. He’d play the most insane things, like soundtracks, not disco soundtracks, just soundtracks. I didn’t know whether David or Richie were takin’ drugs, but I knew Nicky was [laughter]! He could throw anything on it would work.

Can you think of any of these things?
I can remember him playing the Carrie soundtrack and then going into Love Hangover. Which is just totally bizarre, but it worked! That’s what I learned from Nicky was get your crowd to know you and then you can get away with more stuff than you can if you’re just a guest DJ. So the one thing I really wanted was to get a club. A friend of mine told me there was ads in the Village Voice for clubs. There was a club called Barefoot Boy before it opened, and it said: “DJ Wanted”. I thought, I know I’m not going to get this job. I’d only worked in straight black clubs and this was a gay white club and I only watched DJs. I hadn’t really played. So anyhow, I auditioned for this and I got the job. It still amazes me. It was like seven days a week, $25 a night. 

Would that have been considered a lot of money then?
It was for me! I was getting paid for something that I liked to do. I would’ve done it for free. Once I got that job, I’m in the record store every day because now I’ve got money to buy records. 

Tony Smith playing Barefoot Boy classics.

Where was Barefoot Boy?
It was on 39th and 2nd Avenue. Barefoot was open every night and it was packed every night. So there’s this packed night and I don’t know what the hell I’m doing! This was 1974 and I was 20 years old. There’d be a lot of people in the bar and a lot of people dancing, all gay, white. Which I knew I had to integrate, which I did eventually. I knew that to get to play all the music I wanna play I couldn’t just have all gay white. I already found out certain records that I couldn’t play. Like I couldn’t play James Brown.

Even though the gay scene was relatively new then was it already that segregated? Did you go to any black gay clubs?
I guess Nicky’s club, but it was mixed but at least blacks could go and feel comfortable. 

What about David’s crowd?
That was mixed, but it was in the West Village so it was predominantly white. They all had a little mix, but there was one black club and when I went there I was frightened out of my mind! It was Better Days and Tee Scott. I wanted to expose myself to everything so when I do finally get this job I’d be prepared for everything. A friend of mine took me to Better Days. Tee was just unbelievable and the crowd just scared the hell out of me because it was all black men staring at me and I just wanted to get into the music. But I made friends with Tee. I know how black gays are really harder to play for than white gays, but he could do that. I couldn’t do that. Mainly because I had white taste in music, but I also didn’t wanna play in a club where I was restricted. That’s why I like Richie and David and Nicky’s clubs, because they had a mix and they could play anything. I didn’t want to play just black gay music or white gay music, I just wanted to play music. 

So you had a strategy then?
At the beginning I had my straight friends come down, totally offsetting the whole thing! Straight black friends from Little Italy. Finally, the Latins came in. Once Latins come in, then everyone can come in. I don’t know why, but that’s how it is. Then my music widened even more. Barefoot never turned black, but there was always blacks in there. In the beginning, all the bartenders, busboys, coat check, waiters, everybody was white except me. 

Do you remember the first night?
I couldn’t wait until it was open. I just wanted to give a good impression on my first time, and it was packed and I really didn’t know what to play so I’m playing safe. So my inner soul has to do something crazy so they remember you, otherwise it’s just like, ‘he was okay’ which I didn’t want to be. But after the first night the owner came over and said, “You played good”. I stayed there three years. In the second year there, I got offered Garage and Studio. I turned them both down. 

Who offered you the Garage?
Mel Cheren. And Steve Rubell used to come to Barefoot. Rubell was in there all the time, he had a club called Enchanted Gardens. I used to guest there, Nicky used to guest there. I got some award from something like After Dark, I thought it was hokey, but you know, it was top ten and I was in it and so were my idols. This was when I knew Barefoot was big. I had started to find out on Mondays that Nicky, David, David Mancuso, all of them were coming to hear me on Monday nights, but I didn’t know it, they were downstairs at the bar. One day I’m going down to get a drink and I see them all at there, Richie Kaczor, all of them listening to me, at Barefoot! And Monday night was like my boring night, so now I gotta make it a better night! I felt like I was a peer to them who were totally my idols. And in Barefoot, too, which was such a dumpy little club, but there used to be lines outside the club. That was the other thing, it was free to get in, but maybe £2 at the weekend. So it’s always packed, now DJs are coming to watch me play and promoters are coming. All of a sudden I’m getting ‘Free Man’ on white label, Mel Cheren’s bringing me ‘Doin’ The Best That I Can’. I was totally overwhelmed. I was getting everything and I didn’t even have to go to a record store. 

Do you remember what you were playing at Barefoot Boy?
I’d play everything from Deodato to Yvonne Fair’s ‘Should’ve Been Me’. I used to play what I called sleazy music; slow but not boring. The only thing I really couldn’t play there, still, was black urban music.  But I still got away with ‘Doin’ It To Death’ by the JB’s but I couldn’t get away with ‘Give It Up Turnit Loose’ or ‘Sex Machine’. I was playing Fatback Band’s ‘(Do The) Bus Stop’, which was a dance. I could play African music, I was playing Osibisa’s ‘Music For Gong Gong’, Latin-sounding music, but I couldn’t play a lot of the stuff I was playing outside. That stuff was a bit too progressive for gays at that time, but they really liked female vocals.

So were you still doing outside parties [meaning block parties]?
I did Fire Island, I used to do Ice Palace. Since I was working seven days, I didn’t wanna give a day up because I knew I’d get backstabbed. After a while I knew I couldn’t work seven days I started giving a day to friends I knew like Wayne Dixon and Walter [Gibbons]. The one who backstabbed was Jerry Bossa who used to work at Buddah. I gave him the job and he undercut me. I tried to give it to Walter but he was too progressive for that crowd. Walter worked at Galaxy 21. The first time I heard him I think it was my first year at Barefoot. He blew me away. More than Nicky, Richie, all of them. Walter was just way ahead. 

François K tribute edit to Walter Gibbons.

In what way?
Mixing. See, everyone else knew how to mix, but Walter, he could remix a record live and you don’t know he’s remixing it. I never saw anyone do that. Most of the time you can hear when someone’s remixing it and I couldn’t believe he was doing it. First of all I couldn’t believe it was a white guy that was doing it and somebody I didn’t know, because he was really somebody who was unknown then. What happened was the bartenders used to bug me to go out and I was always exhausted. I was like alright I’m gonna go to Galaxy. I heard him remixing ‘Girl You Need A Change Of Mind’. You know the remix that you hear? It’s on a bootleg that loops the bongos? Walter used to do that live. And he would come out with records that no one else was playing, like Doc Severinson. He had unbelievable programming, unbelievable mixing. But he was really a bastard. He was really stuck up. He drove everyone crazy, but somehow I became friends with him and I was let through that barrier of Walter’s. Most people don’t really know what a nice person he is. He didn’t trust nobody. Come to find out later, he was smart not to trust anybody, because everyone stole his stuff! ‘Girl You Need A Change Of Mind’, ‘Erucu’, which Walter invented, Rare Earth, ‘Two Pigs And A Hog’. He used to do these live! And they used to be really hard work. I don’t know if you know how small [the part from] ‘Happy Song’ by Rare Earth is.

It’s tiny!
He used to do this live, with GLI mixer, which was just amazing. 

Really what he was doing was like hip hop DJs wasn’t it?
Yeah, and what was funny was that everyone was going to buy ‘Happy Song’ not knowing it’s like 12 seconds long! So what he did – because after a while there was just too many songs – he did quite a few Eddie Kendricks songs but the best known is ‘Girl… ‘ What he did was he went to Sunshine Sound and next thing you know everybody had his music. Nobody knows what happened. 

Well François went down there and did some stuff for them didn’t he?
Ah, François was playing the drums at Galaxy. He probably didn’t tell you that!

Yeah, he did.
He didn’t know any English or nothing. He was just this annoying guy – who we all got to love later – because he didn’t know how to play drums. But he knew the owner and the owner let him play drums right in the middle of the dancefloor. It used to drive Walter crazy. Every once in a while he’d be on beat, but with Walter’s mixing he’d be – Da! – but he was a friendly guy. We came to find out later that people were recording Walter secretly. There was a wire we found and we followed it all the way up. And this is when Walter became even more distrustful and went into God. He kind of alienated me and everyone else because he didn’t trust anyone. But he was such a genius. I remember he used to talk with me on the phone while he was editing ‘Ten Percent’ and asking me should I make it three times or two times – [mimics the stabs] – he used do things so easily whereas with me it would have been a struggle.  Once I met him, I knew I gotta practise some more. The one DJ skill he had that most DJs don’t know how to do and I still freak out people when I do it. It’s the drop mix. To mix like hip hop DJs do where you have to just let it go and it was on beat. It was amazing and it used to fuck up the whole crowd. This volume is up and this volume is up and he would do that continuously. I told everybody about Walter. I told everybody about Nicky, too. My big mouth was telling everybody at Downstairs, “You gotta got to Galaxy, You gotta go to Hollywood…”  Then Garage came out and it was totally different to Walter. 

Just before you go on to the Garage, do you have any experience of those really early guys like Francis Grasso, Michael Cappello?
Oh, I forgot about that. Francis I heard at Footsteps. I didn’t know he was there till afterwards. You know Union Square? It was right around the corner, maybe 18th & Broadway. You’d have to go up 200 steps, that’s why it was called Footsteps. There was no elevator and it was a long walk up to the club. I never heard him at Sanctuary. I always heard he invented mixing. Then I heard that Alfie Davison invented mixing, then I heard Flowers mixing, so I don’t really know who invented it. 

Who is Alfie Davison?
He was this really big DJ at the time and I know he probably hung out with Francis. He was a black guy, gay, he even made a record on RCA later on.  Who I never really heard DJ, but the word of mouth I heard when I was young was it was him and Francis. Gays and straights always argue about who invented that stuff. I don’t really know. But I remember straights when I was 15 or 16 who were mixing, so there was no pause. I remember when there was a pause and I remember when Flowers and them came out there was no pause. There wasn’t any mixers yet. My first mixer was two mic amps with two pre-amps connected with them. So I don’t know who did that first. Michael Cappello was a good friend of mine, but I’m just trying to remember where he used to work. I’m thinking it was Queens. I only heard him once, but he was like Joe Palmienteri. You know they were good, but they didn’t do anything for me. Walter I would go every week. Sometimes, later, I would find out he had been tripping when was doing this stuff. I can’t even smoke and do this stuff! Kenny Carpenter was absorbing all this stuff, because used to do the lights. And he’d be amazed, too, because he’d be looking over: how can he do this? And he rarely made a mistake despite doing all these crazy things. The only bad thing about Walter was you really wouldn’t want him to come near you, because Walter was critical because you couldn’t live up to his skills. You’d do your best and Walter was still going to diss you a little! He did it live, in front of 1,000 people, on acid, and never made mistakes! But, for some reason, once he left Galaxy, he never got big. 

People say when he got religion he lost a little something.
Yeah that’s true. Then he started working at a record store. I got him a job at Xenon, which was like a really big mistake by me…

That was quite a commercial club wasn’t it?
Yeah and he tried to put this religion thing and I’m like “Walter, I’m trying to get you back into the flow of everything, you can’t do that. Xenon’s competing with Studio”.

And they don’t want to hear gospel music all night!
They don’t wanna hear gospel or Salsoul all night, because he did a lot of Salsoul records. So I was like, “Walter, you gotta play the list” meaning you heard me play there you know what this crowd wants. And that was when it was mostly all-white. I hadn’t integrated it yet. But he influenced me so much I wanted to try and help but he would not… once he got into religion it was over.

CJ & Co doing the devil’s work.

So is it true that he really wouldn’t play anything unless it had a message?
I’ve seen him break ‘Devil’s Gun’. I’m like “Walter, that record’s hot!”. There were certain records he would not play. And I said to him if you listen to the words it’s not really saying what you think it’s saying. He wouldn’t play ‘Bad Luck’ by Harold Melvin, either. ‘Bad Luck’ wasn’t a bad song either. But I think it was the titles. When he went into the extreme religion thing, we fell apart. When he didn’t keep the job at Xenon he kinda blamed me. I said, “Walter, you’re playing gospel and it’s not gonna work in Xenon!” I wish he had’ve stayed because I knew how great he could be because I gave the job to Jellybean. 

How did you first meet Larry Levan? Did you go to Reade Street?
I went to Reade Street once. I thought Larry was really good. He was a programmer. He knew what to play. Mixing was secondary to him, sometimes he mixed good, sometimes he didn’t. But that wasn’t the priority. The priority was the next record. He liked to play with words, so sometimes his records connected with the words, which I used to love, because you had to think about it. He was more cerebral than most people give him credit for. Nicky was just crazy. Nicky could think of words, but maybe just for a couple of seconds before he was somewhere else! I got to know Larry really good at the Disco Convention in California because we were like New Yorkers in California.

What year was this?
I guess ’79. Even though I knew him, this was the first time we really hung out and acted like normal people rather than DJs. We were New Yorkers in California. And we were black guys in California. I didn’t know that Larry was like cool and funny and all of these other things you don’t get to see when he’s working. It was cool for him to see me when I wasn’t working, too, because I was working in a white club and he was working in a black club, but we both still had the same musical heads on. A year or two later we spun together at Area, which was just like the best times, with Gwen Guthrie. It was a birthday for Gwen Guthrie. One other person I gotta bring because I haven’t brung him up yet and he’s one of my best friends. He didn’t influence me DJing, but influenced me musically and that’s Danny Krivit. We’ve known each other so long it’s ridiculous. Danny influenced me more in black music and I influenced him more in disco music because Danny knew black music… I remember as a 16-year-old kid, I couldn’t believe this white kid could know black music so well. We met in a music store and we were both going for the same record and I got the record. I think it was ‘Yellow Sunshine’. We became friends after that. When I went from Barefoot to Xenon there was this weird transition where Xenon was tryin’ to compete with Studio. And Ray Caviano – I’m gonna tell this story, but I don’t know whether it’s totally factually true.

But it makes a good story!
Ray Caviano gave a list to Xenon of seven top DJs. They were going through DJs every month. He gave them all the white jocks like Roy Thode, Jonathan Fearing and I was the last person on the list. Every two weeks they would try a new DJ because none of them worked but they didn’t wanna try me. Finally Howard Stein gave in. I happened to be there one night and the music Jonathan Fearing was playing was so bad they said I could have the job, right there. Just because I was there! I told them no, out of respect to Jonathan and also I was working someplace else. I remember the mix I did that just blew them away and next day I had the job. 

Patrick Labatte’s tribute to Tony.

What was it?
The mix was Patti Brooks’ ‘After Dark’ with, in the break, ‘You Keep Me Hanging On’ by The Supremes, just in the background low in the mix. It was one of those things I learned from Walter: no voices crashing. Because Walter, if the voice’s clashed, he’d give you a look! And the keys matching, too. I also did it with Inner Life’s ‘Ain’t No Mountain High Enough’ and ‘When Doves Cry’ in the background. Everyone was blown away and was asking me to do it again, but the old school way is not to repeat it but think of something better! Once I got the job at Xenon and now I’m playing for 1,000 people. At Barefoot Boy it was only 200 dancing. I love challenges and this was a challenge. But they want me to work seven nights a week. I can do that when I’m in my early twenties, so I also had to find DJs. I wanted Wednesday thru Sunday. I went to hear Richie at Studio so I could know what kind of stuff he’s playing. I was always trying to do my homework.

What was the difference between what Richie was playing at Studio compared with Hollywood?
He had to play more commercial, which was understandable. But I did, too, unless it was a special party, which I loved special parties. But what I did was – and Richie didn’t do – try to make the crowd last longer so it would have a reputation of staying open longer, after the bars had closed. In the beginning the owner resisted that, but I’m telling him if the people start coming in at 2 in the morning, they’re gonna drink until four and they’re gonna dance and come back. I’m trying to tell him this is going to be better in the long run and he didn’t have to be here, just let me play till I wanna finish. I don’t want no extra pay, I just want control of the crowd, because that’s what most DJs want. And I finally had it, I didn’t really have that at Barefoot, but I did at Xenon, where I could play anything I want. I brought my whole collection, eight thousand records, so whenever I had a whim I could go with that and I had a tremendous time. 

When did you play from and until?
From ’79 to ’82. That was one of the best years of music because you could still play all the stuff from 1973 on. There was a lot of great music in that period, new wave, rock, reggae, disco, club. Anything

You played at Xenon around the time that disco was collapsing, really. Did that make a difference in the kinds of records you were playing? Was that Disco Sucks feeling prevalent?
What I did was play new wave.

But did you feel resistance to disco from certain sections of the clientele?
No. I could feel it in other clubs, but as I had my crowd trained they accepted what I played. I learned that from the older DJs that I watched. If you had the crowd on your side they accept what you’re doing. Because you’re right, when the music changed, at one point, that was one of the few points I didn’t like and that’s why I went into new wave, you started to play more oldies because the new music is not as good or creative and you put more oldies in your programming to compensate for the bad music.

Telex – Moskow Disko

What new wave were you playing?
It was English imports. I was playing ‘Pop Muzik’, Gen X, ‘Moskow Diskow’, ‘Jet Boy Jet Girl’. Plus they’re still hearing ‘I Got My Mind Made Up’ and ‘Disco Circus’. 

Was it a regular crowd?
There was a hardcore crowd. As a matter of fact, it was a mescaline crowd!

A mescaline crowd?!
Yeah. They would have the sticks, they would have the tambourines, they would really give the crowd excitement. They were usually Cuban, from New Jersey and they weren’t supposed to be in the club because they were from New Jersey, but what they did was, they used to have a bag of clothes and they would change once they were in. Meaning they would dress like Xenon people on the outside.

So they’d come in in suits?
And then change into shorts, outfits and take mescaline. You know the rest of the crowd was taking coke and coke don’t make you dance it makes you talk. Mescaline makes you dance!

So these kids knew each other?
No, but they got to know each other week after week.

That must’ve felt quite subversive.
It was the best. 

Because even if the crowd’s a bit lacklustre you can turn them?
I know! You turn them on and you turn the crowd on! I focused on them and the good thing about them was that their taste was as wide as mine. As a matter of fact, they turned me on to some new wave stuff that I wasn’t up on, like ‘Moskow Diskow’. At that time Americans wasn’t playing this music. The cokehead crowd, they like the commercial disco, but the regular dancers who were the ones who were always gonna be faithful if you please them. There was never this fear of making the crowd angry at you. Since the music was changing, at one point I was playing rock. That’s how bad disco music got. Really bizarre stuff, ‘Secret Agent Man’.

What was your relationship with Larry Levan and the Garage? You said you were offered a gig there…
That was one of the few times Xenon hated it… Because I could decide when to close early and if something was happening at Garage I would close early. And they’d all know, too: Tony’s going to Garage! Bobby Shaw I took the first time and he was totally resistant. It had this connotation of being too black and too raunchy or whatever. And, of course, once you go you’re addicted. 

Bobby said the first time you took him he didn’t like it. 
But he went back! He’s used to me mixing and Larry’s not that kind of technician, so I’m telling him you gotta forget about all these things you have in your head and go and listen to the music. Once you do that, Larry’s gonna be incredible to you. You just gotta let go of all this stuff you expect. Bobby was addicted to it! Then he got to know Larry and since he had the booth – which was the ideal booth for any DJ. It was as big as this… bar! It was two booths. One for us and one for him. We could look out and see the crowd. You’d be happy just hanging out in the booth, but sometimes you just had to go out in the crowd, because even though some records would sound good in the booth you gotta hear ’em on the dancefloor because of that system. There was never anything like that system. There will never be anything like that system. Records that would sound adequate in your club, they would sound tremendous in the Garage. So you have a whole new outlook on the record. You play it in your club and wonder why the reaction is lacklustre and then at the Garage they’re screaming and stomping to it. That’s not Larry, that’s the system and how Larry worked the system. David Mancuso’s system at the Loft was crisper and clearer but it’s not heart-rending. 

What kind of records do you remember him playing?
I remember what records he wouldn’t play! He wouldn’t play too much commercial. He’d play commercial, but once they came out he wouldn’t play them. So he always wanted to be exclusively first. The best thing we all liked about Larry was how many records we heard there that never came out.

So many of us DJs were salivating, oh can’t wait till that comes out and then when they came out it was a totally different mix from the one Larry was playing.

Was this stuff he’d mixed himself?
Sometimes. Sometimes it was just stuff people gave him. 

Do you remember any examples?
Well, I always wonder who has all this stuff. 

François is supposed to have a bunch of things.
Really? Well, how come when I went to Body & Soul I never heard any of it? I would notice! Most of the West End stuff, Peech Boys, ‘Is It All Over My Face’, what happened was that Larry would have like several drafts. Like Colonel Abrams records? We would hear versions you would not believe then when it came out it was so commercial sounding.  Larry’s versions would sound so raw. There were records like ‘Stay Free’ by Ashford & Simpson and ‘Razzamatazz’, you’d hear them in there and they sounded like number one records. You play them in my club and they sounded tinny. You know they sounded cute and you liked the song… Another one is Labelle’s ‘What Can I Do For You’. You don’t know how many DJs tried to play that in a club and the crowd would just be like phht. But you go to the Garage and it’s a 20 year old record and they’re still singing it like it was number one. You say it’s Larry but it’s the system, too. But without Larry there is no system because when he had guest DJs there, he would take out certain things. There was also a Larry lookalike.

Somebody who looked like Larry when he wasn’t there and there’d be a tape playing! 

Oh he fooled a lot of people. He would do it when he didn’t feel like spinning or he was pissed off at the crowd. I always wondered how he got this guy, because when you were on the dancefloor, he looked like him. 

Surely they’d have rumbled him?
Oh he would never get close up and he did look like Larry! Ask Bobby Shaw about this one. In the old days Larry used to live in the Garage, so he might have been sleeping or he might have been pissed off with the crowd which he did. 

So Larry would come back later?
Yeah. But you would know when he came back. He made sure that you felt it. The lookalike was definitely a fact. We definitely knew it existed. You could tell it was a tape in the Garage. 

What did you do do after Xenon?
It was a down point in my life. I went to Magique. Tee Scott used to call it Tragique! [laughter]. It was an East Side club which was already a no-no and an Upper East Side club… I got fired from Xenon for not playing ‘Happy Birthday’ for Bianca Jagger. It was the middle of the night and I just did not want to do it. She was a Studio person, I was like why are you sweating it, she’s not coming back anyway?! I was pissed but… if Bianca got me fired so what! The whole crowd didn’t know. Then they got a Tony lookalike! I swear to God! Everybody came and tell me, because they could tell it wasn’t me. It only lasted about another month and then it closed. Every club I went to closed after I left. After I left Xenon I had all these offers and I wanted to transform Magique, because Magique was a bridge-and-tunnel crowd, very John Travolta. I love a challenge so I thought if I can do Xenon then I can do this. It didn’t work. This crowd was so bad. If you didn’t play a radio song…. This was 1982 and new wave is the hottest thing, Thompson Twins, Ian Dury, everybody. They said they wanted to hear Xenon music, but Thompson Twins and Ian Dury weren’t on the radio. The only time I had a good time at Magique were the porn parties, with Ron Jeremy and a few of the porn stars used to give a party about once a month and there’s naked girls everywhere and I can play anything I want. 

How long did you last?
A year. I took a vacation for a month or two. I knew I was going to lose it., You never go away if you’re a DJ. From there I went to Limelight (which Tee used to call Slimelight). I hated that, too. 

The original Limelight?
Yeah. Then I went to the Palace which is Palluccio’s restaurant on 14th St. It only lasted a year but that was a lot of fun. New wave was hot, but I could play anything I want. What I didn’t know was that on 14th St they had it advertised as a disco and on 13th St. they had people coming in the club who thought it was a new wave place. Double whammy: Why you not playing disco? Why you not playing new wave? After that I went to Funhouse. I wasn’t really a rap fan, but I liked it, so I had to evolve my DJing style to accommodate this. Some of the music was creative, but there wasn’t eight hours of good rap music to play. I liked variety. Jellybean, you know, if a record was a hit he would play it four times a night. I didn’t like to do that. The one credit I give to Funhouse is discovering Set It Off, which nobody knows about. 

Walter Gibbons’ mix of NYC club classic Strafe.

Which was the first version, Strafe?
Yeah, because Walter mixed it. Walter brought it to Jellybean two or three times, but Jellybean wouldn’t play it. The whole sound then was the Roland drum and Arthur and Shannon and it’s totally the opposite of that. I was doin’ a guest spot and Walter didn’t know I was gonna be there or that I was tapin’ the night. I taped it when I played it. It cleared the floor. All of us in the booth goin’ crazy! This was at the time when even Loleatta was doin’ that drum sound and I hated that sound. He gave me two versions, a vocal and another one. Walter takes the record and he’s totally disappointed. A month later he comes back and they’re screamin’ to this record! They were callin’ it ‘On The Left’ because they still didn’t know the name of the song: “Tony, play the On The Left”. He didn’t know I’d taped the song! It was just so different for the time. So now Strafe wanted to do a PA at Funhouse but I didn’t know that Strafe had this thing against Walter. He didn’t like his mix. Even though Strafe’s mix was like puke. At this stage nobody’s playin’ it. Not radio, not Larry. Finally I’m telling Walter you gotta go take this to the radio and Larry. He was still skeptical because no one would give Walter the time of day. If I can get these 16 year old kids to like it, don’t worry about everyone else! Strafe came and did it and the crowd went ballistic. Then he tried to do a new song, I think it was ‘React’, and he got booed off stage. Kids are very reactionary like that. But then I got undercut again but a friend Randy. He’s not a friend any more. Then I went to an all-girls club. I had a new challenge. I’d played for all men, all black, all straight, all gay. Networks it was called. 84 or 85. Now I’m like this guy who’s a total threat to these women. If I could play for them and learn about what they like compared to men.

What do they like?
They like a lotta meaningful words. Not just party down. They liked a lot of female vocals. What I find out, once I got to know them, they liked everything that everybody else liked. There were a few things I played there that I didn’t play anywhere else, like Pat Benatar and Stevie Nicks. That lasted two years. The last club I played in was the opening of the Palladium with Jellybean. And that was because Jellybean hadn’t DJed in ages but his name was still big so he got me to play with him. Even though I’d retired, he knew I still kept up with the music. 

Strange Things Happened To Richard Norris

Strange Things Happened To Richard Norris

To celebrate the publication of Richard Norris’s excellent memoir, we’ve exhumed this brilliant 2010 interview from our capacious vault. In this wide-ranging interview, we cover lots of ground that Richard writes so well about in Strange Things Are Happening, from his teenage punk band, the Innocent Vicars, through to Jack The Tab with Genesis P. Orridge, The Grid and his solo project Time & Space Machine. A vivid account of clubland and beyond (the wizard’s sleeve).

What thing are you most proud of?
The thing that I’m most proud of is generally just the ability to keep making records really. Looking at it as a long haul rather than instant gratification is the thing that I’m proud of and I think the way I make records now has definitely got that in mind. I’m aware of current trends but I’m thinking a little bit like what they’ll sound like in twenty years’ time as much as two weeks’ time. In terms of music, probably ‘Floatation’, The Grid’s first single, I would’ve thought would be up there just because it was quite a timely record in that it was sort of the peak of Balearic Ibiza period but just managing to kind of marry John Barry with Café Del Mar was quite an achievement. More recently, I think one of my favourite things has been the mix of ‘Roscoe’ by Midlake which, in terms of the Wizard’s Sleeve, is probably the one that, if we were going to do it again, we wouldn’t change at all. [Laughs]

How do you make sure the machines that you use don’t force you to make music their way?
I think there’s two parts to that. When people come round to my studio they’re quite surprised because I haven’t got racks and racks of gear. I only use very very minimal bits of equipment so my first thing is therefore melody and ideas rather than, ‘How does this computer’s internal logic work or how do I turn the reverb off?’ Also, I’ve been working on making a record and I’m writing the whole thing on just the one sound, which is just a quite, cheap Fender Rhodes copy, which is quite neutral. With modern technology you’ve got unlimited sources of sounds that you know that every time you do put up a sound it can lead you in different areas so I’m trying to pare it down to this one noise at the moment.

On the other hand, I like the machines talking as well so it’s like a bit of both. The thing I like the most is the bit where you can hear that it’s humans and machines, so it might be a very stark and very motorik rhythm but it’ll have a very human melody. That’s probably my favourite thing about music really, like Neu! where it sounds very machine-like but it’s actually quite human as well.

Do you always know when you’ve made a hit?
I don’t think so. I always think I’ve made a hit [laughs]. But yeah, I am an eternal optimist. When we [The Grid] did ‘Swamp Thing’ which was such a big hit, the record company said, ‘Right, well the last one’s got to number three so the next one’s got to be number one’. So we were going in to make a record with the pressure that it had to be number one. And you can’t really write like that and I think that if you do write about music thinking that it’s going to be a hit, it’s never going to be because it’d be just too contrived.

Do you think that’s because of who you are because I’m sure that someone like Stock, Aitken and Waterman would just knock them out, because that’s what they did.
Oh yeah, I think so. For me personally, it’s more difficult to make pop music than it is to make leftfield music but that may be just me, I’m sure Stock, Aitken and Waterman would tell you the opposite or Elton John would say the opposite. But I don’t know, I think because of the changing nature of the music business and also how I think about music, I’m not that interested in having a hit, but then success and a hit doesn’t necessarily have to be the same thing. Our [Beyond The Wizard’s sleeve] mix of ‘Roscoe’ was a hit to me.

Well, hit as in a song that has legs rather than necessarily getting into the charts.
I think you know when to finish, definitely. That can be quite hard if you’re working on your own, as I was doing with The Time & Space Machine record. There’s a natural period when you’ve done it and sometimes – particularly with remixes – if you do something and the record company come back and say, ‘Ooh, can you just change one little thing?’ It’s quite hard because you’ve kind of done it and the arc of it has gone to beginning, middle and end and you’re like, ‘Well, I can’t really…’

Why do you think DJing leads so naturally into producing and remixing?
The bit where it’s great is when you are remixing and then can go and play it out. I remember playing things out where the new T Bar is downstairs, they’ve got a lovely Funktion 1 system and just playing a few things on that before people were in the room and just hearing this great sound and how it’s going to work on the dancefloor really did affect what I did with the records. So it’s kind of hand-in-hand.

I mean, I started off aged fourteen playing guitar and shouting in a kind of Buzzcocks type band and so the music bit came first before the DJing. I’ve never really put myself up technically as an amazing DJ. I know how to do it but I’d say I’m much more a musician than DJ. They go together because of the process. If you are out and playing all the time and listening to other things and being in that environment and then you can bring that into the studio. And that kind of energy that you get on a Saturday night if you can bring that into the studio on a Tuesday morning then that’s great!

You said you were in a band at fourteen, what was the band?
We were called the Innocent Vicars.

Where did you grow up?
In St Albans and we did a little single and got my dad to drive me up to London, and it was the first time I’d come up to London. I’d kind of read about Rough Trade in the back of NME but I’d never been to any of them… So we stopped off at Rough Trade and they took half of the records and paid us money out of the till straight away so we paid for the whole pressing really with one stop at Rough Trade. And it was quite intimidating that shop. But, you know, they were great.

Then we went from there to the BBC and took the records to John Peel and just went up to the desk and asked to see him and he came down, took it and played it the next day so [laughs] so from then on I was like, ‘Right, this is what I want to do’. I think part of that was it was quite an interesting Undertones-y kind of record, but also because there was a little period of time where if you were really young and were writing and putting out records, it was really really encouraged by the generation above. There was a St Albans label called Waldo’s and they had bands like The Tea Set, The Bears and The Bodies and that became Bam Caruso Records which is the psychedelic re-issue label which I worked for later on. I remember going around to see them and they were really welcoming. As a little kid you thought they’d tell you to eff off but there was a definite period – I don’t know if it was particularly PC to encourage the kids? It was very open. It was lucky we hit that thing, I hope it’s the same for anyone that’s fourteen and making music. I hope the avenues are open like that. Because that was it for me after that, I knew what I wanted to do.

What happened to the rest of the Innocent Vicars?
Bloody hell! I don’t know actually! I think the drummer Cali looks after Nick Drake’s estate. The rest of them, I’ve got no idea. I haven’t heard from them in a long time. I have tried to track them down on numerous occasions. But I also found out that there’s another band called the Innocent Vicars in America who did a funk album but I’ve never found it. I’m wondering if this record actually exists because why would there be two bands called the same name when it’s such a ridiculous name?!

How did you wind up at Bam Caruso? Was punk your formative influence?
Yeah, pretty much. Just the excitement of it. There’s two things really. One was the DIY bit of it. But the other thing was the romanticism. Malcolm McLaren is looked upon as a bit dubious really but I like how he always seems to have a story, he has a romantic vision for everything. I really like that. I was always much more a Pistols person than a Clash person because of that. I just like the ideas he was bringing to it. Putting odd things together that didn’t really work, as he did later on with lots of other projects. I like the idea of DIY and of something dramatic.

I got into Bam Caruso through Waldo’s, run by this guy Phil Smee and Cali (who was the drummer in Innocent Vicars). Phil’s done a lot of sleeves for Ace and Charly; he did a lot of Elvis Costello records, designed the first Motorhead logo. He’s an amazing record collector. I used to go in the school holidays and work for him. He’s got this big house, there’s probably more records than furniture. I don’t know how many thousands. We used to sit there all day just making up cassettes of disco. I remember acquiring someone’s mobile disco collection and just sitting there all day making disco cassette tapes. We’d invent genres like ‘cosmic cowboy’, which was psychedelia but it had to have a slightly trippy edge to it. Phil invented the word ‘freakbeat’ which is basically mod gone a bit wrong. It was the most idyllic apprenticeship for 19 year old trainspotters. It was perfect. It was psychedelic university. Probably the most formative influence of my career was Phil. He was a very, very generous sort of character. Just allowed me to do what I want. We had a magazine called Strange Things Are Happening, which I was really encouraged in.

So after you were in the Innocent Vicars, were starting to produce in your bedroom?
Mainly guitars and little amplifers and…

TEAC four tracks and things like that?
Yeah a bit but I don’t think I even got that far. I used to get old radiograms from jumble sales. I used to get those and take the speakers out and weld them together and do different things with them. I used to do tape experiments with two tape recorders, very primitive double tracking.

Was that inspired by Cabaret Voltaire?
Pretty much. There was a record on Waldo’s called ‘X. ENC.’ by Nigel Simpkins, which was the same sort of period as Cabs. In that they cut up very old records and certainly Cali and Phil when they made tapes they would put in spoken word bits, I got really interested in that from then. By the time My Life In The Bush Of Ghosts came out I was fairly aware of using spoken word and stuff like that but that then was a big step for me. Even today there’s a strangeness about it that’s really appealing and it’s got a darkness but it’s got a funk to it as well. If there is one record that is most influential, I would say it’s that. It’s a fairly obvious one for people coming from sampling and stuff like that. But it was Phil and Cali that inspired me more than Eno.

What was the link between that and Jack The Tab?
Well we were writing this magazine Strange Things – it was a slightly more cult and fan-based version of Mojo. There’d be comics and books but anything that was slightly towards ‘60s psychedelia. I went to interview Genesis P. Orridge in about summer of 1987, ’cos we found out he was a fan of Bam Caruso and psychedelic records. Previously I thought he was some kind of strange Alastair Crowley nutter. I didn’t really think of him as being someone who was into the sort of records that he was. So we went to interview him about it and he was fascinating. I wasn’t a big Throbbing Gristle fan – they had a slight love/hate relationship with the press. But he was a real enthusiast. He introduced me to things like Martin Denny and he was really into Tiny Tim and he was massively into psychedelia as well. In terms of things like exotica, it hadn’t really surfaced yet and he was massively into that. He had a great dark sense of humour that was obviously being lost on people. People thought he was a po-faced mad magician or something. So we went to interview him and he said, ‘Have you heard of acid house?’ and I was like “No! but it sounds great… psychedelic dance music. Brilliant! Let’s do it.” He hadn’t heard any records either, he had just heard the words “acid house” because I don’t think there were any records then? There probably were some records. X-Ray’s ‘Let’s Go’ was probably earlier but we hadn’t heard anything. We just thought, “That sounds amazing, let’s go into a studio next week.”

So we went into a studio in Chiswick – it was probably September ’87 when we went in, there just happened to be this guy, Richard Evans, who went onto become the main engineer at Peter Gabriel’s studio years later. There was an Akai S950 and an Atari computer. I bought a load of people from Bam Caruso and Genesis brought a few of his mates including [Soft Cell’s] Dave Ball which is the first time I met him. We just sat there with piles of records and loads of videos and tapes and stuff and just put it all into the computer. And we had a rule that we had to record and mix a track in an hour. This guy was so fast on the computer and there were 12 of us in three rooms, including children and a dog and stuff and people sort of splicing a bit of tape over here and finding a bit on the VHS and throwing it all in. And everything was first take. There were a couple of keyboard players and so we just bunged it all in. And ever since, I always thought everything takes too long in studio because I was used to making records in an hour, which is such a weird concept these days. But it was great! It was just an amazing thing. So we made this record which we thought was acid house and by the time we’d finished it we’d heard some acid house. So we put out this one single which incorporated elements of an Adonis track, ‘No Way Back’. That was the first one we’d heard and by then we’d started hearing them and then we started going to Shoom just a bit after that.

Who’s ‘we’?
Me and Genesis P. Orridge, we all used to go to Shoom. And the first person we met was Andy Weatherall, walking down the stairs. Who very proudly showed off his Psychic TV tattoo which I think he’s since had covered up. And ever since Gen thought he was the King of Acid House because he thought he invented it. I really think he thought, ‘These are my people and this is my time’ and in a way, in his mind, it was. But I don’t know if anyone else would’ve felt the same. I remember everything was very kind of loved up at the time and he sent in his picture for his Shoom membership card wearing a T-shirt with “Hate” written on it and Jenni Rampling wasn’t very impressed. Didn’t quite fit into the peace and love manifesto [laughs]. We used to go down there every week. Lots of people couldn’t get in and we’d make sure we’d go before 12 and we’d always bring something, like a T-shirt or a record or something and they’d go, ‘Ah great, come in!’ It sort of dovetailed into going out really.

There’s something that I quite like about British music is when you hear something second-hand and you make up your own idea of what it would be like. The same happened in psychedelia, hearing about San Francisco and all that. To get the records it took quite a while, there was probably a delay of about a year.

Well, they all sound like Lewis Carroll Does San Francisco…
Yeah I think that’s partly ‘cause there wasn’t a war going on that affected the British people in that they might get drafted. We were allowed to revert back to childhood. It was our idea of what psychedelic music with sampling would sound like. And the weird thing about it is that it sounds like Beyond The Wizard’s Sleeve. I’ve kind of gone full circle.

Obviously you saw the connection between psychedelia and acid house – it’s quite weird because it was a big break in dance music in this country because of all the old soul boys who had obviously been alienated by the psychedelic nature of it. But yet there were other people like Pete Tong who were quite straight in a lot of ways, embraced it. It was quite a strange time. Did the psychedelic aspect of it appeal to you?
Yeah, absolutely. Having worked at the psychedelic re-issue label and writing about that period, I was really disappointed that I’d missed it basically. So I thought, ‘Right, this is it, this is my time for something to go on.’ And it did feel really special. There was a self-consciousness about it, you knew there was something going on. Even though there weren’t that many people, not to start with anyway. The psychedelic thing, there are different strands that go together. I can definitely see it from Mancuso and his going to see Timothy Leary’s League of Spiritual Discovery talks and bringing that into The Loft. Because there’s definitely a psychedelic link there. Also there was a mix that we did of Findlay Brown’s ‘Losing The Will To Survive’ and Mancuso really liked it but he wouldn’t play it because the lyrics were negative. And I thought that was really interesting that there’s this thing that goes through all the records that he’s played. So there’s definitely a link there, although obviously I didn’t know it at the time.

Did it feel like it was going to be something massive when you were involved in it? Did you think it was going to explode or did it feel like this little secret thing that you liked?
The one thing that was really interesting about it was that it seemed to change very quickly. So from people going to this Gilles Peterson thing on a Sunday at Dingwalls where people were wearing very kind of Gaultier, uptight, black and white with very shiny shoes to completely the opposite: very loose, quite hippie. That was almost overnight; it was certainly no longer than two months. And because it was so quick, you didn’t have time to think of it as ‘your little thing’. But I do remember walking down the street in Euston Road at four in the morning in the early summer of ’88 and I was wearing a Shoom T shirt and someone over the road was shouting at me and they were wearing a similar T-shirt. There were like these lone beacons of acid house-ness and that felt like, ‘Oh right! There are more of us out there!’ I never wanted to keep it elitist even though at the time I was definitely quite snobby and wouldn’t go to the big raves because anything over 2,000 I thought was a bit too big – which was a shame because I’m sure I missed out on some great things. So I did have some elitism but mainly I wanted as many people as possible to get into it really.

I think it was so caught up in it, I didn’t really feel a need to keep it small. Even when the press got to it. Having read Sidney Cohen’s Folk Devils & Moral Panics: The Creation of Mods and Rockers and the way the press reacted to that and even that Marek Kohn’s Dope Girls about the 1910s to 1920s which is an amazing book about moral panic. It was the same thing – you could almost mirror acid house in what happened then. It didn’t really bother me, I thought it was quite funny. I think for a lot of people reading about it in The Sun was the first thing they’d heard about it. I loved how within days they had ‘Buy Our Smiley T-Shirts’ on the same page saying, ‘Drugs Are Really Bad’ and ’10 Bad Things About LSD’ by our doctor Vernon Coleman. They really went for it for a few days.

How did you get together with Dave Ball?
We did one track and we just got on really well…

Did he go to Shoom as well?
He was a big northern [soul] kind of guy and used to be able to the backflips and everything. Not sure whether he went to Shoom, he probably did. He’s always been a clubber really. We didn’t go that many places together actually, not until a bit later on. But I think he had his moments… and he still does. After Jack The Tab we were going to do an album as The Grid and The Grid was initially me and Genesis and…

Was The Grid named after the Lime track?
It wasn’t, but then we found the Lime track at almost exactly the same time and did a cover of it. We just had a list of names, including The Matrix, which was one of them and various other things. And Dave knew the Lime stuff and was very keen on that end of things. And stuff like Klein & MBO. Loved all that era. We were both massive Hi-NRG fans anyway. So it kind of fitted.

Genesis was going to be in The Grid and then we had some meetings with some record labels and Gen kind of didn’t want to do it because it was Warners and they’d had a deal with them before and it didn’t happen so we said, ‘Alright so we won’t do it’, and the guys from Warners said, ‘We want you to do it on your own’. So the plan was to do an album which would use house music or dance rhythms but as a kind travelogue. So you’d have an English one, an American one and a Latin one and do it with a load of different producers. But then Mark Kamins did something almost exactly the same and I was like, ‘DAMN! I really wanted to do that’, so that got scuppered. But I was signed to Warners (East West) on a solo deal and still was going to use loads of different producers but the first person I worked with was Dave and it worked so well we thought, ‘Sod it! We’ll just do it together’. So for the first album Dave wasn’t even signed, he was on the production end of it. But it changed from the second album.

So what was The Grid experience for you? It was sort of a changing era of music…
Part of it was great because it was coming from our slightly more ‘art school’ approach, slightly more experimental end of things. The bands that me and Dave really bonded on were basically the Hi-NRG, Suicide and Kraftwerk and a general art school mentality. But then that’s just one end of it. On the other end of it we had quite a lot of commercial pressure because we were signed to big labels. So there was always this kind of thing of ‘You’ve got to have a hit record’. We got signed and dropped from three major labels. It was quite schizophrenic really… our taste was quite broad. We loved pop music and we loved experimental music so it was trying to marry the two that sometimes worked really well and sometimes didn’t work at all. And a lot of the time we were putting those records out so we were making our mistakes in public. There is a great compilation album of The Grid to be had but there is also a not-so-great one as well!

The fact that that hasn’t come out is due to the three record label situation?
Yeah. We got dropped after we’d just done ‘Floatation’. We didn’t have a deal at all. The only reason we got a deal with Virgin was down to Boy George. We did a mix for him and he just completely championed us. No one was going to touch us because we’d just been dropped. It’s very rare to get dropped and picked up again. But he just really, really went with a real enthusiasm to Virgin and they picked us up for the second record and at the same time we got a new manager called David Enthoven. He hadn’t been doing anything for years – he’d been basically doing NA and AA and any kind of ‘A’ that you want. He had last been seen when he was managing Squeeze, being stretchered out of Madison Square Gardens for some kind of rock‘n’roll-related accident. In the ’70s he’d been this massive manager. He’s the ‘E’ out of EG Records, he managed Roxy and T-Rex. He was quite a player for the late ’60s through the ’70s but then had fallen into a bit of disrepair. But then we were signed to Virgin, he called me up and said, ‘I heard your first album and I cried’. A real posh, Chelsea, kind of slightly Austin Powers-esque type character. He said, ‘Yes, yes it reminds me of first Roxy Music, I have to manage you’. So I was like ‘Brilliant! Well, I’m not going to turn him down, he sounds amazing!’. So he started managing us. He was an amazing character and pulled in for the Four Five Six album, most of Roxy Music on it and Robert Fripp and loads of other people. Sun Ra did a bit on it, we got an insane list of people on the album, pretty much down to David. Who then went on to manage Robbie Williams and make stupid amounts of money! He met Robbie through us actually, through one of our guys. A fantastic character, worthwhile just for the stories.

Dave had quite a lot of success with Soft Cell so does he have an innate pop sensibility?
Absolutely. Certainly in terms of arrangement and simplicity and in terms of ‘hook’-iness. He’s very good at that. He’s a massive soul fan and also a massive Throbbing Gristle fan so quite wide Catholic taste. We are also drawn to dance music that’s based on a gay tradition. We’re drawn to ‘camp’, we’re drawn to artifice and to Hi-NRG; to Divine and Bobby O. Not in an ironic way. We absolutely love them. Some of those influences coming out and presenting them to the public can sometimes be misread as us ‘trying’ to get a hit. But actually we’re just trying to sound like an Italian disco record from 1982.

What’s the connector between The Grid, Beyond The Wizard’s Sleeve, Time And Space Machine and acid house?
I think mainly it’s the music of ‘sensation’. That’s the main thing. All studio-based rather than performance-led. For me, lyrics wouldn’t be the number one part of the song. It’s the melody and the sounds. Using the sounds as thematic hooks as well. It might just be an echo noise or a reverb or a little backwards sound. And then repeating that and making that the focus of the record rather than the singer or the performance of the song. It’s probably something that’s tied to the late 20th century and early 21st century. Recorded music is only something we’ve had for a short period of time. Recorded studio music is the link.

So live performance is not something that attracts or interests you?
It’s something I’d really like to do but we’ve never really found a really satisfying way of creating a great electronic sound live. I’m sure people can do it but it’s personally not something I’ve found.

Time and Space Machine is the first thing you’ve done on your own. You’ve always collaborated with people. What’s the difference?
It’s good because I don’t have to second-guess it. I can go up on my own path quite a lot more. It’s bad because you can lose perspective and you can go up alleyways that probably you shouldn’t. I’m really enjoying it. It’s probably the only record I’ve made where most of the decisions are mine. Not in a controlled way but in that it’s more ‘me’ than any record I’ve done before.

Where does the self-discipline come in when you’re on your own? Because the self-discipline comes from the collaboration usually doesn’t it?
I work in short bursts – I won’t work more than about six hours a day on the music because I think I get as much done as I would in twelve. Because you have to be on it and focus. I’m quite good at that, it’s never been a problem. Same for remixes as well. I kind of set a time and get that done. I think sometimes the opposite. Sometimes the collaborative ones can be a bit more unwieldy.

A bit more unfocussed… I suppose when you get two people trying say something….
Yeah, but also great as well. Certainly with Dave and with Erol, I’ve always found the things that we’d do on our own would be different. Some part of two people creating something else is really really useful.

What’s the difference between working with the two?
With Dave, it feels more like a duo, felt more like a band. Wizard doesn’t feel like a band. Wizard’s definitely more like a project than a band. But maybe that’s because of the way we approached it.

In what way?
In terms of we’d do gigs, it felt more like a band thing. With the Wizard it feels something we come together to do occasionally. Me and Dave have very different backgrounds but me and Erol, it does feel like two people coming from different places and the things that we get out of it are very much what we wouldn’t get on our own. Other thing with me and Dave, we’ve worked together a lot longer. I think with me and Dave we would just go and do something, we’d go and explore and just try stuff. With me and Erol, it’s a lot more considered, it’s a slightly different method of working. It’s quite difficult to describe.

Is that just to do with the different personalities involved?
Yeah, yeah I think so.

[bandcamp width=100% height=120 album=4088249139 size=large bgcol=ffffff linkcol=0687f5 tracklist=false artwork=small]

Which comes first, DJing or producing?
For me, definitely producing, making records comes first. But then again I go through periods where I get massively into DJing again. And it’d be down to one great gig, with one great sound system. And you’re like, “Right! I want to do that again and again”. In fact that happened last year, I just hadn’t played any warm, analogue, big room, electronic sets for ages and I just did one at Cargo and it just worked so well I was like, ‘I want to do this all the time…’ So I’d say production really. Going into somewhere with silence and then creating something.

How did you get into doing the Richard Noise writing for the NME in the late 1980s?
I was still working at Bam Caruso and I used to go out and take them our albums and the Strange Things magazine and James Brown was really interested and like, ‘Oh! You’ve done a magazine? Tell me all about it…’ Then I did the Jack The Tab album and I took that up to them. As I was taking the Bam Caruso records, I was saying to them – this was probably from September ’87 until the summer of ’88: ‘You’ve got to write about acid house, it’s really really important because this is our punk’. And I just remember people like Steven Wells saying, ‘Ah, nah that sounds rubbish, like bad Gary Numan’. There was no-one really championing it. And then Jack Barron started but it took a long time. It took almost nine months. It took until it was almost on the pages of The Sun before they did anything about it because it was quite strange because you’d have thought they’d be really on it.

So, why did you do the Paul Oakenfold book? It’s a pretty epic task writing one.
It started off as an acid house book…

So did you get commissioned or did you start something first?
I just met someone who was working at the publishers at a party and said, ‘Ah, I used to write’ and they said, ‘We’re looking for some more music books’. So I just gave them a few ideas. I was going to do a Scissor Sisters book at one point. They basically wanted to do books around acts really other than subject books as I initially came in saying I wanted to an acid house book. And that kind of mutated into the Oakenfold book. And it was their idea to hang it around Oakenfold. In hindsight I would’ve rather done the acid house book. Not knocking Oakenfold but it does set it in one particular time and space. I could’ve done a more general history, and it would still be about. Having said that, his career was quite useful, he’d done stuff at Profile and Def Jam and been in New York quite early on and the Ibiza bit and Goa. It had kind of wrote itself in the timeline of his career and so every pointer along the way I managed to get in a bit about the southern soul scene, pre-acid house, which hadn’t really been written about much. But I found him very generous really. He gave a lot of his time and was a really nice guy and I really enjoyed working with him.

What do you do when you’re not making music?
Look after my daughter quite a lot at the moment. There isn’t much time, I do make music almost every day. I listen to music is the answer to that! I have got interests outside – I just got a qualification as a psychotherapist actually so that’s what I do. I’m interested in the brain and how it works.
The soundtrack to the book Strange Things Are Happening

How does that impact upon the music and making music?
I don’t know yet. It’s just a new thing. I’ve just got my first qualification. I think it impacts a lot on the way I just experience the world.

What do you use when you DJ?
I usually use CD and vinyl. I’ve not gone Traktor or Ableton as yet. It took me quite a while to even just work out how to be great at CD DJing. And then Andy Carroll showed me one trick, and that was it, I worked out the bit I was going wrong. I just thought of it as a Technics deck so when you’re trying to spin back and cue up. Basically he said, ‘When you do that start on the vinyl button and when you try to do the other bit and you just want a slight jog, switch it to the CD button’. That’s all I needed…

Where’s your favourite club that you’ve played at recently?
At Istanbul the other month. It was a tiny club, probably 100-120 people. It was run by about 8 people and it was the first night and there hadn’t really been anything like that in Istanbul for ages and so it was just an amazing atmosphere, they were all really, really up for it. And about 5 minutes before, they’d just finished painting it. They were all really, really nervous but it went really, really well. That was great. It’s ongoing and it’s quite a big thing. There’s some great DJs, there’s a guy called Baris K in Istanbul. A real kind of crate-digger guy for Turkish stuff. So we hung out together, looking for Turkish music…

What’s the most superstar thing that’s happened to you?
They did a decibel counter for the Smash Hits Poll Winners party in about 1994 when we were playing, it – the event, not us – got the loudest screams in history or in Guinness Book of Records or something. Probably when Take That were playing rather than us. I remember we were introduced by Superman, or rather the bloke who played Superman on the telly, so that was quite good. We’ve been introduced by some quite strange people. We’ve been introduced by Angus Deayton on TOTP, which was quite weird…
The Grid on Top Of The Pops, with added Angus Deayton

What’s the one record that never leaves your record box?
I really like that Hardfloor version of ‘Yeke Yeke’ by Mory Kante. I play that quite a lot. In fact, that has left my record box, in which case probably ‘Dirty Talk’ by Klein and MBO.

What do you hope to be doing in ten years time?
Music. I just recently decided that. I just want to still be making music in some way. Whether I get paid or not, it doesn’t matter, I’ll still be making music.