[ 18:15 sunday 26 march 2017 – old ford lock ]
late last night elaine came round. we watched a 1970s documentary about the inhabitants of the (now demolished) tower blocks of hackney wick’s trowbridge estate then chatted about life and love. we both had things to do on sunday so around four in the morning we decided to call it a day. i accompanied elaine downstairs to see her off. as we reached the front door i observed a slight rhythmic vibration in the walls. somewhere nearby an unusually powerful sound system was playing. i suggested we should go and hunt it down. elaine concurred. i donned shoes and a jacket, turned off the lights. we went outside and locked the door.
coming out of the gate onto the dark towpath the sky was clear and, in the absence of street lamps, populated with more stars than the usual meagre london ration. the surface of the canal was inky smooth and black in the windless night. a swan grunted from its nest in the centre of the lock, protesting our disturbance of its sleep. straining our ears we followed the faint rhythmic sound of bass. we crossed the footbridge over the lock and proceeded down dace road. walking past the edwardian red-brick stables on the left and the construction hoardings on the right. there wasn’t anyone around. i was about to turn up bream street but elaine suggested the sound was coming from further down so we continued to smeed road. the bass increased in intensity. half a dozen people were huddled on the street outside one of the warehouses. elaine said “let’s see what the door charge is”. we approached and found the door open. we walked in.
over the years i’ve visited a lot of the warehouses in hackney wick but never this one. the pattern was familiar; a two-storey brick structure with a pitched roof of corrugated asbestos, the interior subdivided with stud and plywood to create a large open living space, kitchen, bathroom and several bedrooms. at first floor level a dozen bicycles were mounted on a rack. decorative gewgaws were displayed on the walls and floor. the kitchen area had been turned into a makeshift DJ booth with decks, a mixer and a tangle of electronics. a video projector played abstract images across the side wall. a laser scanned patterns like an oscilloscope. speakers were stacked two metres high in the corners opposite the DJ booth , explaining the vibrations we’d felt from the house. a hundred or so people were in there, ranging in age from twenty to forty .
elaine and i started to dance, weaving through the crowd until we found a welcoming space. after a few minutes we realised the music wasn’t being played from a recording, it was being generated by a curly-haired man working a suitcase-sized modular synthesiser with a mass of dials and patch cables. we kept trying to leave but it was too intoxicating. we stayed and danced until our limbs could dance no more.
experiences like this are what make me feel alive in london. the event itself was beautiful. there might only be half a dozen places in the world where one could encounter a live performance with a modular synthesiser like this. but the fact we walked out of the house and discovered it through pure serendipity is what makes it truly transcendent.
ten years ago it might have been commonplace to encounter something like this in hackney wick. but every month that passes brings the demolition of another warehouse to make way for a bland apartment block. nowadays each time i stumble across an event of this kind it requires an effort of will to appreciate its beauty straightforwardly without allowing myself to feel a sense of impending loss.
: c :