April 2003, Laurent Garnier was playing the Music Box, a mythical Manchester nightclub, packed with a capacity crowd of 600 people. He served up a rare, eclectic, and passionate DJ set that night, lining up classic rave anthems from the nineties and cutting edge electronica, vintage hip-hop and techno gems from Detroit, disco hymns and reggae classics. Suddenly, Garnier cut the music off. A lone voice rang out criticising the war in Iraq. The second Gulf War was already under way; Blair’s government had dragged England into a war that the people didn’t want. A clamour began and burst into a scream when military drum rolls boomed out. It was “War” by Edwin Starr.
At this moment, Manchester went crazy. I saw t-shirts flying through the air, gangsters dancing like lunatics, girls twisting their bodies outrageously and guys literally hanging out of the ceiling. This was not a club anymore, this was not even a DJ set, this was now a pagan temple in which everything was allowed; eccentric behaviour, loss of control, blissful smiles and improbable gestures. I remember looking at Laurent plunged in his record boxes looking for a last record, hesitating nervously between Farley Jack Master Funk “Love Can’t Turn You Around” and Marshall Jefferson “Move Your Body”. He chose his last record. It sounded like a riot was going to start when the record ended with a spluttering hiss.
That night in Manchester is my clearest memory of Laurent Garnier’s art: generous, urgent and capable of miracles.
At this moment, Manchester went crazy. I saw t-shirts flying through the air, gangsters dancing like lunatics, girls twisting their bodies outrageously and guys literally hanging out of the ceiling. This was not a club anymore, this was not even a DJ set, this was now a pagan temple in which everything was allowed; eccentric behaviour, loss of control, blissful smiles and improbable gestures. I remember looking at Laurent plunged in his record boxes looking for a last record, hesitating nervously between Farley Jack Master Funk “Love Can’t Turn You Around” and Marshall Jefferson “Move Your Body”. He chose his last record. It sounded like a riot was going to start when the record ended with a spluttering hiss.
That night in Manchester is my clearest memory of Laurent Garnier’s art: generous, urgent and capable of miracles.
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