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It all started at Jimmy's house. Sure there were the clubs like the Beacham, the Firestone and Simons, but it really started for us at Jimmy's house when we lived in Orlando. Through summers and winters and then summers again. The house took on a life of its own in all of its suburban cookie cutter glory - blinding white walls, electric green carpet, a 14 foot trampoline that occupied most of the living room plus his 8 siamese cats. Jimmy's house was more of a club with couches and kitchen than anything else, a do it yourself bar with closets and bedrooms. The main room was the record room upstairs, there was a futon couch in there but it didn't last very long.
So there were always two speakers, two turntables, an amp and a mixer in the record room, not to mention loads of records and an assortment of friends always lying around. From Friday and Saturday till Monday or Tuesday morning things went on like this with the majority of the people just filtering through, the weekenders. When we were all sufficiently shell-shocked by Tuesday we would begin the search for our keys, cars and the shoes we had on so many days before.
We all agree that we will never forget any of it but I don't think any of us really remember that much of it as it was. Get any of us talking about it and there are always two or three stories we all seem to remember but the rest has drifted back into the haze from where it came. There were always various accidents people had jumping from the second story inside balcony onto the trampoline that was in the living room. Eventually we had to move the trampoline to the back yard where it became one of the best places to lay around. Even Pope John Digweed III took a little part in the madness if you can believe that, we have it on videotape, locked safely in a vault somewhere. Mostly we remember the music, not particular songs but the unending flow of tunes from that room, the seemingly endless flow of friends and guests through the house.
The neighborhood became a party complex with houses next door and down the street dedicated to the cause. Eventually almost every house in that cul-de-sac became vacant and up for rent or sale, they simply couldn't take it anymore. The police came and went and tried and gave up and tried again. Jimmy was threatened with arrest so many times for noise complaints he would have to leave sometimes so we could turn the music down and keep the cops at bay for a few hours longer. The would-be list of famous, notorious and nameless people that made their way to and through that house is too long and treacherous to even contemplate creating. To this day we run into old friends and people we barely know that tell detailed stories about Jimmy's house and meeting us that neither Jimmy nor myself ever seem to remember. Each of these people have their own stories to try to piece together as well, but they always seem to remember something unspeakable about us. We were all so young and careless and carefree, the house was filled with the unending possibilities of freedom and exuberance.
As for the music, what can be said? I could go on and on about how it was everything and that was the whole reason we were there and all that, but that's not entirely true. We were there for each other and the endless hordes of friends and passers-by that wandered in and out throughout the main years while it was at its strongest. We were there for the party, the one that seemed as if it would never end, and it hasn't yet. It was a combination of the music and the people and the drinks and the trampoline in the living room. Now it's also for a combination of tracks on the album you're holding in your hand. Not that this album is any retrospective of what happened there but it is the direct result of what went on musically. The result of years and years of Sundays that should have been Saturdays, and Tuesdays that should have probably never been at all. I haven't heard it yet but I already know. I've been through it a thousand times before. It will start with all the best intentions and before any of us know what's going on it will be a mad race to something, a race to many things at once and then some long mad twisted journey home.
Sean Cusick (NYC), Bedrock II sleevenotes, Compiled and Mixed by Jimmy Van M, 2001.
So there were always two speakers, two turntables, an amp and a mixer in the record room, not to mention loads of records and an assortment of friends always lying around. From Friday and Saturday till Monday or Tuesday morning things went on like this with the majority of the people just filtering through, the weekenders. When we were all sufficiently shell-shocked by Tuesday we would begin the search for our keys, cars and the shoes we had on so many days before.
We all agree that we will never forget any of it but I don't think any of us really remember that much of it as it was. Get any of us talking about it and there are always two or three stories we all seem to remember but the rest has drifted back into the haze from where it came. There were always various accidents people had jumping from the second story inside balcony onto the trampoline that was in the living room. Eventually we had to move the trampoline to the back yard where it became one of the best places to lay around. Even Pope John Digweed III took a little part in the madness if you can believe that, we have it on videotape, locked safely in a vault somewhere. Mostly we remember the music, not particular songs but the unending flow of tunes from that room, the seemingly endless flow of friends and guests through the house.
The neighborhood became a party complex with houses next door and down the street dedicated to the cause. Eventually almost every house in that cul-de-sac became vacant and up for rent or sale, they simply couldn't take it anymore. The police came and went and tried and gave up and tried again. Jimmy was threatened with arrest so many times for noise complaints he would have to leave sometimes so we could turn the music down and keep the cops at bay for a few hours longer. The would-be list of famous, notorious and nameless people that made their way to and through that house is too long and treacherous to even contemplate creating. To this day we run into old friends and people we barely know that tell detailed stories about Jimmy's house and meeting us that neither Jimmy nor myself ever seem to remember. Each of these people have their own stories to try to piece together as well, but they always seem to remember something unspeakable about us. We were all so young and careless and carefree, the house was filled with the unending possibilities of freedom and exuberance.
As for the music, what can be said? I could go on and on about how it was everything and that was the whole reason we were there and all that, but that's not entirely true. We were there for each other and the endless hordes of friends and passers-by that wandered in and out throughout the main years while it was at its strongest. We were there for the party, the one that seemed as if it would never end, and it hasn't yet. It was a combination of the music and the people and the drinks and the trampoline in the living room. Now it's also for a combination of tracks on the album you're holding in your hand. Not that this album is any retrospective of what happened there but it is the direct result of what went on musically. The result of years and years of Sundays that should have been Saturdays, and Tuesdays that should have probably never been at all. I haven't heard it yet but I already know. I've been through it a thousand times before. It will start with all the best intentions and before any of us know what's going on it will be a mad race to something, a race to many things at once and then some long mad twisted journey home.
Sean Cusick (NYC), Bedrock II sleevenotes, Compiled and Mixed by Jimmy Van M, 2001.
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