ONCE upon a time, Saturday nights were like this: a trip out of town with a dodgy phone number on a dodgy ticket, a convoy of cars in search of a good time (and a service station with a plentiful supply of Lucozade), a party at the end of a long, deserted country road. Back then, the quest for acid house thrills was somewhat illicit the party people always having to stay one move ahead of the authorities, the police and the local landowners as they circled the tarmac arteries of big cities in pursuit of hedonism and the next cool party.
Now, a decade after going indoors to invent and then reinvent club culture, we're going back to our grassroots. This time around, though, it's strictly legal. Last weekend's Tribal Gathering on the Luton Hoo estate outside London was the dance nation's annual one night stand, a conflab for those who like their tech no, trance, jungle, hardhouse, hardcore, hardbag and what ever you're having yourself in the open air. Organised by Universe, the promoters responsible for many of the better outdoor raves in the late 1980s, it attracted more than 30,000 people looking for the perfect beat and an edible beanburger.
Housing over 12 different tents, Tribal Gathering is an excellent way to gauge the continued splintering of dance music. With the exception of the big beat brigade (who were all at sea in Brighton at the Essential Music Festival) and the nu-house and speed garage scenes (a good eachway bet to be under canvas at Tribal Gathering 1998), almost every genre of 1990s clubland was present and correct. From Detroit's soulful techno and the nutty giggles of the happy hardcore tent to John Peel's gleeful eclecticism and the supersmooth Masters At Work house odyssey, this was Saturday night nirvana for hyperactive feet.
As with every other summer festival offering big names and hot tickets in the coming months,
Tribal Gathering featured its share of five dance acts. The days when this translated into a dithery two song PA from an anonymous chap behind a synth and two uncoordinated female dancers are no more, thanks to acts such as The Prodigy, Chemical Brothers, Orbital (whose performance on Saturday was, as always, sleek, powerful and utterly convincing) and Underworld taking rock performance aesthetics to their stagecraft. The ability to play live has become a useful marketing tool for many dance acts thus the presence at Tribal of Moloko, Faithless, Fluke, Cornershop, Psychonauts and many others.
Representing this new strain, a ninestrong Icelandic multimedia collective called Gus Gus impressed with their blend of Arctic techno and soulful textures. Alternating between three singers, including Daniel Agust who once sang Iceland's Eurovision entry, and 17 year old Sunday School teacher Hafdis Huld, Gus Gus combine a cocky stage confidence with sublime grooves which veer from metallic bases to warmer beats. Tracks like Polyesterday and Believe are likeable and languid, enticing the listener to move closer and investigate further.
Of course, live dance music is nothing new as festival headliners Kraftwerk showed with their wonderful display of Teutonic electronica. Proving once again that modern techno would have difficulty existing without their Kling Klang output to act as a template, the four Kraftwerk members stood impassively behind their consoles and flicked switches. Truly, techno was coming home subtly, of course.
With their fixation on transport and human interaction with technology, Kraftwerk have also set thematic parameters for those who've followed their musical path. The disembodied voices which accompany Autobahn and Tour De France still sound alien and robotic, but the grooves are familiar to anyone with the merest passing interest in Detroit or European techno. One sign of the respect in which they're held by the new school was that the main techno tent closed for the duration of the Germans' set to allow the DJs take a closer look at the pioneers.
With no sign of new material to soothe trainspotters (indeed, there hasn't been any since the Electric Cafe album), Kraftwerk concentrated on mining a considerable back catalogue. While the subtle stagelighting couldn't disguise the occasional flashes of grey temple among the elder statesmen, Radio activity (kicking with a harsher groove than on record) and especially Trans Europe Express showed little signs of succumbing to the ageing process.
As one offs in large fields go, this was one of the very best. Whatever the Kraftwerkers do every other Saturday night, it's probably quite tame compared to this.
After this feast of minimalist pop, we returned to the DJs the true taste makers of club culture. From adjoining tents, Kevin Saunderson and Felix Da Housecat gave hints of two different takes on US techno's ongoing developments. Gilles Peterson turned in a suitably funky and freestyle variety of global sounds while Roni Size put some challenging drum and bass into the Bristol vibe and Paul Oakenfold entertained with five minute breakdowns and suitably epic trance. American superheroes and all round large blokes, the Masters At Work, seduced a packed tent with their beautiful blend of house music. Emotional and uplifting, their three hour set was a gorgeous delight.
Back at the happy hardcore tent, the likes of Dougal, Vibes and Slipmatt treated the whistle posse to energetic and bouncy workouts. Not the most widely acclaimed of genres, due perhaps to its narrow appeal and even narrower musical range, it found plenty of detractors on hand to sneer at the faithful. However, even they had to acknowledge the overwhelmingly positive energy rushing in waves from the tent. It even reached John Peel, who threw one or two hardcore nutty tunes into his unpredictable set in which Status Quo sat happily alongside extreme techno and chattering ragga.
But Tribal Gathering was more than just about squeezing into a tent to see Daft Punk or rushing off to hear James Lavelle's choice of tunes. It was also about wandering around a big field at 3 a.m., dodging bonfires and chatting to space cadets, getting bass from one sound system and treble from another, wondering what was around the next corner, and stepping around the meditation posse.
As dance music and club culture become more than fads and fashions for the E generation, events like Tribal Gathering define what they can be. Diverse and varied, they are not just about hedonism (though this is still a defining characteristic) but also about responsibilities and representation. The recent Ministry Of Sound advert campaign around the British general election and the Reclaim The Streets movement are indications of club culture's growing awareness of the world beyond its (our walls and large boombox. Suddenly, club culture has opinions and views on something other than, club babes and Junior Vasquez. This can only be a good thing. Today Luton, tomorrow the world
