Gonzales / A.R.E. Weapons : London Great Eastern Hotel Electric Stew

The beautiful people of Shorditch gather for a shot of disco-punk...

“Post-Shoreditch multi-media cocktail, sir? And would you like a hint of cyber-cultural ennui with that?” Welcome to Electric Stew. If you ever wondered where the beautiful people spend their weekends whilst you’re slumped over a cloudy glass of stout in the Pig’n’Whistle look no further.

They’re here. Vincent Gallo’s upstairs showing off his latest movie ‘Honey Bunny’, whilst downstairs, in the baroque main hall, we have this month’s impressive display of designer genes. Luella Bartley fashionably to the left. Harmony Korine to the right. And straight ahead, A.R.E Weapons .

They’re getting better. Drilled by a week spreading their synth-leper virus around a bewildered U.K, the Weapons are understandably keen not to erm, backfire. Singer Brain strips to leather gloves and trousers. Keyboard-tramp and token limey Tom twitches like someone just wired him into the main-frame. A brazen, unrepentant ‘New York Muscle’ even marks the hitherto uncharted territory between Earl Brutus and Divine [I]and[/I] gets the asymmetrical haircuts nodding. Good news: the nihilist punk-disco bandwagon appears to be back on track.

Berlin’s greatest living entertainist Chilly Gonzales arrives at midnight, dressed as if he’s just returned from an elephant shoot along the shores of the Zambezi. Not for Chilly the potentate aura of the superstar dj. Instead, much like Elton John when he actually [I]was[/I] on acid, he invites a girl on stage to whom he croons a warped piano ballad, throws in samples of Jacko‘s ‘You Rock My World’ and. suitably, Toto ‘s ‘Africa’ and does all he

can to apply a party aesthetic to what is, after all, mean’t to be a party.

It’s a manic, absurdist display of self-absorbtion, but then that’s tonight’s glorious cultural splurge all over.

“Visualise a smile!” beams our hyper-active host after ‘Take Me To Broadway’, prior to an exit which involves him hurling a handful of coloured vinyl twelves in the air. Speedy just isn’t the word. Catch him if you can.

Jason Fox