Classic Detroit techno comes to Liverpool in the form of Cajmere...
Chances are this is probably not what Madonna had in mind when she told the world of her luuvre of techno music. Shouting her praises of “techno” from the rooftop a few years back, the sound Madge was actually referring to courtesy of her associations with William Orbit and super DJ Sasha was that shiny, over-produced trance – sounds at least a galaxy away from the evil, industrial-tinged concoctions emitting, deafeningly, out of the Sound Factory’s speakers tonight.
And with Chicago’s own Cajmere (AKA Green Velvet), all round madman and producer of some of the most disturbingly psychotic techno classics, including ‘The Stalker’, on the decks, no one here is ever going to get the two genres confused again.
If one did though, the patrons of Liverpool’s seven-year-old underground techno club Voodoo might be forced to lynch them – that is, of course, after they’d made a night’s work trying to convert them to their trainspotting ways. Either in the corner talking about the merits of Dave Clarke’s ‘Compass’, gathered in several rows in front of the DJ booth in silent observance, or as part of the dancefloor massive, whooping, gurning and hollering for it to get harder and faster, no one can say the Voodoo crew aren’t all about passion.
It’s a sentiment echoed by the DJs who come to play the club like Caj, who admits it’s one of his favourite clubs. Dressed rather subtly for the man known for his outlandish attachments, Caj is able to relax and focus on the music, playing to the converted his nasty storming techno as easily as it’s guzzled up.
Later on Ben Sims Britain’s answer to Detroit’s Jeff Mills, mixes up the furious beats with a funky house twist as the all-nighter heads for dawn. No cowboy hats, superstar DJs, bindi tattoos or strobe lights – instead Voodoo, with it’s sweat, unrelenting pulse, and the clubbers’ sheer adulation of the dancefloor, is techno.