In September of 2010 some of us found ourselves in the middle of the main room at Amnesia on a Tuesday morning. Helming the music was Canadian born Berlin resident, Richie Hawtin. Needless to say it was relentlessly hardcore in a way that is sporadically heard at such a mainstream occasion. It felt like we were being fed through a huge machine made of pneumatic jack-hammers and pumping audio pistons. Track after track often two or three being played simultaneously hurled out of the impeccable speakers whilst the ice cannons ravaged the hot crowd with blizzard jets, leaving frosted shells of former selves. Rarely were actual sequences of notes heard; the soniscape was synthetic, punishing, industrial and bleakly cold. The music was so devoid of any warmth you could have easily been forgiven for missing the connection between 4/4 dance music and soul/disco. Richie himself seemed to have even stopped his trademark hair flicks and hair dresser style grooving behind his laptops – he didn’t even look up at the crowd once – it was techno arrogance. He was the sheer puritan – throwing taxing rhythms and textures at the baying crowd of Spanish, Italian and UK technocrats. The mixes built up and up but then dropped back into nothing again and again – we looked at each other, not fully understanding what was going on; how can you have a build up in a club that drops back into nothing time and time again? This type of Spartan sound is strictly for the heads, however it was so involving as it felt as if it was made of pure sonic energy, it is so functional at that level; no gimmicks, vocals, or euphoric sounds – just an elemental assault. It was an incredible night.
As we left as the sun was rising and we wearily glided out into the morning cool of the car park, I remember feeling a little broken. We had been exposed to an unequivocal Hawtin shake-down. At the time I remember wanting to sit him down and give him a good old talking to – you shouldn’t be allowed to do that, not for six hours straight - it’s simply not fair to go that hard, for that long, at such a nice crowd. I have had some aggressive nights, mid 90s One Nation events at the Stratford Rex through to extended sessions in Berghain but this one had me up against the ropes. I couldn’t work out who was at fault for this, me or him. As I was mulling this over I stooped to pick up a lighter on the floor – it’s design seemed fitting…
