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Being renowned for one of the big boys in the chartered party throwers game, Bugged Out has been hosting the finest names in dance music for over two decades. Born at Sankeys Soap in Manchester back in 1994 (when I unfortunately was still in the womb) Paul Benney and Johno Burgess directed a night under the name of Jockey Slut. The infamous evenings gained high status all over the UK very quickly. Derrick May described the parties to be “as fucked up as Detroit, man! I like it!”
After twenty years of success via Liverpool, London, Ibiza and Bogna Regis, we were lucky enough to join in with the 20th birthday blowout.
On arrival, I quickly spotted the three types of clubbers taking up around 80 percent of the capacity. With the recent demolition of Wigan Pier, it was clear to see that Southport attracted some of its intrepid ravers to the weekend. You could certainly catch them in any chalet party, clad in tracksuits, bucket hats and Nike 95s shooting the best eccies the North West has ever seen. Not sure how accurate these claims were though at a mere £5 a go.
Another was the new house heads that loved David Guetta last year, straight out of sixth form and straight onto Route 94’s new download link with some fancy footwork to coincide. They tended to congregate around the middle of the dance floor, filming and teaching their shuffling expertise to other ravers. If you’re not sure if you spotted them, their threads were straight from Wavey Garms and their New Balance smelt box fresh.
After looking around the rest of the venue I can across the third type of Bugged Out raver. Luckily we enjoyed some much needed company of a few Scouse elites, who seemed to be more concerned about the football in the restaurant and Aqua Couture’s new Bodycon dress than the musical goings on. Though proper dialogue was tough, as the ladies and gents were limited to a three-word vocabulary of boss, la and g’wed. I can say this about all of the weekend though, and I was fortunate enough to party with some great people, and laugh until I could laugh no more. First on my Friday list was Room 2, very comparable to WHP’s Room 2, showcasing a cornucopia of UK talent. Friday night hosted Bugged Out active affiliates Erol Alkan and Andrew Weatherall, who went back-to-back with Daniel Avery. Being part of the Bugged Out family pretty much since the beginning of the 20 year extravaganza, the atmosphere in the room before both sets was nothing but euphoric. It does help that Weatherall is the baddest 50-year-old you’ve ever seen, though. I also got chance to catch Eglo and Apron Records master Funkineven down in Room 3, who selected a bountiful amount of quixotic records that made my crush on him that little bit worse – can the guy get any dreamier than his 2013 APRON04 12”?
Saturday came around far too quickly and so did my headache. Not sure if I’m going deaf or the sound just wasn’t great in Room 1, though I’m sure I wasn’t the only one who enjoyed listening to the shrieking cries cackling out from half the cast of Desperate Scousewive’s as they dropped their lip-gloss onto the dance floor. Ten Walls was possibly the pinnacle of Room 1’s weekend selections and thankfully, the elusive Mario Basanov conquered all said shrieks with his cosmic, transcendent house jams. All hail Paul Benney and Johno Burgess. What a pleasure it was to finally hear his highly acclaimed “Requiem” at the seaside resort.
The epitome of my Saturday night was, of course, Room 3. Just off the side of the Pontins restaurant (where tables and chairs were free for all to relax on in whatever inebriated state one found themselves in) was the miniscule, squeaky deck-like floor perfect for busting a leg or two-step. Bugged Out couldn’t be defined better by its tagline of “It’s Just A Big Disco.” DJ EZ provided the best collection of garage bangers and “dutty riddims” from the likes of DJ Q, Wookie and Todd Edwards that made you shout “woi” back 2003. My gun finger made far too many appearances. An American girl I met this weekend said that garage was never a thing in America; DJ EZ, you did Tottenham and the rest of the UK proud.
Another highlight of Saturday was a chalet party curated by Mixmag. As soon as I turned up to the well over capacity 4 sleeper I started to question why, for starters, I was still awake at 11 a.m., and secondly, why Sports Direct was styling the whole of the Merseyside, and lastly, why a 40-year-old female that had clearly had a lifelong love with speed was telling me to ‘join the mosh.’ It’s a shame I couldn’t quite make it in for Jackmasters intimate set, Twitter soon informed of the goings on, and I was stood outside, so at least I can pretend I was there.
It got to Sunday and I felt it was time to go home. But with no signal on site all weekend I though it best to stay, as the risks of ending up in the Irish Sea were far too high. The Sunday of the weekender was always expected to be an erratic one. Mine started with a boy walking into the chalet proclaiming ‘Wow, I’m so blessed. I’ve just bought 30 boxes of Nos for £80, where’s your cracker!’ He then decided to nick off with our last leccy card and left no canisters to replace it, which definitely reiterated the fact we were residing in Southport.
We trawled around the Pontins site all Sunday not really knowing what to do with ourselves, questioning whether we should go home or not. Thankfully, good friends at home answered all our prayers and by 10pm were joining with the escapades.
We headed to Room 1 about 12am, Skream back-to-back with Eats Everything, however, didn’t really do it for me. Doesn’t anyone else miss his dubstep, drum and bass and jungle days? I’d take a night at the West Indian Centre or DMZ any day over the pretty standard minimal techno, average Luther Vandross set-ender, or even a remix of The Smiths (yawn).
You can witness a Boddika set pretty much every weekend in the North, but I wasn’t going to shrug of another chance to see the Swamp 81, Skudge and SunkLo. His set was as expected, but definitely refreshing – as by the Sunday I was a little bit sick of hearing big room house.
After busting some discotheque back in chalet I managed to find some energy to I headed back to Room 2 for Dave Clarke, possibly by best decision of the weekend. The Baron of Techno delivered some hard hitting, aggressive, unforgiving tracks, and we all certainly had fun when he threw Marcel Dettman’s remix of Moderat’s “Bad Kingdom” into the dance. It definitely wasn’t for the light hearted, Clarke could have been re-knighed by me for sure, what a king.
With sunken hearts we returned to our chalet block, via the trampolines just escaping a bollocking from security (sorry, not sorry). Another oddity I succumbed to at bugged out was wondering into anyone’s chalet, just to have a look about. Karma then came back to bite me at around 10am Monday morning when a Jesus look a like rose from the dead and entered chalet 203 at around with one of his three wise men promising not only wine from his chalice but a ‘ketamine dream into another dimension’. Shame his Bristolian accent showed the fact he was just a 28 year old hippy still living in a student gaff, still trying to throw the best squat rave.
Surreal doesn’t even cover my time at Bugged Out. I never want to see a Vaporizer, Nos balloon or pair of fake Wayfarers again. But it’s not every weekend you’re privileged to be in such a small capacity venue with the Dancing Misanthrope and the majority of current techno and house heroes drinking £2.30 pints. 7th – 10th of March was the love child of everything that’s great with UK electronic music festivals and everything that’s not. Thank you from my crew and me: it was totally Buggin’. See you next year x
Listen to Bugged Out on Pulse Radio.
