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The Neptunes live in a big house, a very big house, in the country. No wonder: they are the hip hop production guns for hire, as everyone from Jay-Z to Britney will attest – Steve Yates visits them on their Virginia Plain and encounters two reserved, reluctant superstars. ‘‘I watched myself have an ego, and that can’t happen again,” says Pharrell Williams...

Words: Steve Yates. Photos: Jake Curtis “I’m trying to keep from doing anything that looks like MTV Cribs,” says Pharrell Williams, explaining his reluctance to be snapped with his Neptunes compadre, Chad Hugo, next to the giant statue of the eponymous Roman god of the sea that stands proudly in his back garden. “Things that are expensive have such a negative connotation and I don’t wanna get grouped into that.”

He needn’t have worried. Although Pharrell is rich – very rich – and spends accordingly, his crib is a world away from MTV’s tacky trawl through the palaces of ostentation. There are no crystal chandeliers, rented or otherwise, the expensive cars that litter his garage and driveway are symbols of taste rather than showiness (according to our photographer, who seems to know about these things) and even the porn comes in the form of expensive art books.

Regardless, we’re strictly forbidden from snapping the interior (other than a few action shots of Pharrell on his skate ramp) or the cars. “Where we live, what we drive and what we wear isn’t really relevant,” insists Pharrell, in flagrant violation of hip hop ethics. “It doesn’t define you. It’s a by-product of your taste and somewhat of your mentality. Material items have no meaning. They get made and either become trashed or crashed, or they go on to become antiques, outlive all of us.

“I think reservation is a little more intriguing,” he continues. This doesn’t just denote a restraint rare in hip hop’s culture of conspicuous consumption, it’s also symptomatic of the ‘push me, pull you’ relationship Pharrell has with his own fame. This is a man who confesses he used to beg the artists he produced to appear in their videos but can’t stand looking at pictures of himself; who has severe reservations about his own voice but sings on virtually every record he makes (including taking lead for the first time outside of N.E.R.D. on the new single, ‘Frontin’’); who has been linked with a string of celebrity girlfriends (Beyoncé, Jade ‘Mick’s daughter’ Jagger) but longs for Chad’s wife-and-twokids domesticity.

“I am a playboy because I have nothing else to be,” he confesses. “I go around with a lot of different girls but I’d love to have the inspiration to come home – now I just go home because it’s where I live. I wanna family, I wanna wife.” This is a man who has it all but doesn’t want to talk about it. “Everybody brags about what they got, but if you owned the Earth on Monday what is there to talk about on Tuesday?”

Owning the Earth – at least that part of it marked out by hip hop, R’n’B and, sometimes, pop – is something The Neptunes are coming ever closer to. More popular than Timbaland, more productive than Dr. Dre, they are currently the most important producers on the planet bar none.

Established stars like Jay-Z, Snoop, Busta and Beyoncé use them to stay on top, journeymen rappers like Clipse go to number one on their coat -tails and pop megastars like Britney and Justin Timberlake turn to them when they want to shed their teenybop skin. But, despite worldwide sales falling not far short of every other cover star in this journal’s ten year history combined, they’re still credible enough to appear on the cover of an underground magazine like Jockey Slut.

In part this is due to their genre-bending N.E.R.D. sideline – a cavalcade of hip hop, metal, soul, psychedelic rock and jazz – in part, the changes they (in tandem with Timbaland, an old cohort of Pharrell’s in his high school band, Surrounded By Idiots) have wrought, rescuing R’n’B from its nightmare of jheri-curled bump’n’grind and guiding hip hop out of the sampling cul-de-sac with their gnarly, abrasive keyboards.

“Keyboards are the way for me,” Pharrell enthuses, “you can make them loose and messy.”

And yet they can still make a massive pop LP with boy band escapee Timberlake. “Music is music, and right now pop is playing what’s cool,” explains Pharrell of their decision to write and produce half of ‘Justified’. “Sometimes it plays bullshit, but right now it’s playing what’s cool. We don’t really worry too much about guidelines, we walk on the boundaries of bravery and admiration.”

Having established themselves as the production guns for hire, The Neptunes now step forth as label directors with the inaugural Star Trak compilation, ‘The Neptunes Pres... Clones’. Although it’s effectively their fifth LP – following N.E.R.D., Clipse’s ‘Lord Willin’’ and a brace for R’n’B/rock crackerjack, Kelis – it’s the first to feature The Neptunes name in headlights, completing their transition from behind the boards genii to fully-fledged stars.

“You’ve gotta make your mark on this life, let people know who you are and how you feel and what you think is relevant to this world and that’s all we’re doing with this album,” says Pharrell, by typically oblique way of elaboration.

Chad Hugo, goofy comic-book kid to Williams’ space cadet, is slightly more expansive. Slightly.

“There’s much more freedom when you put shit out yourselves. In America everything is packaged up – if you want a Big Mac you get a Big Mac, you want a Whopper you get a Whopper. Record labels ask you what kind of car you’re gonna put in the video, what about the sexy chick, because the standard has been drawn. But we don’t give a shit about that stuff, we just wanna make music.”

Although the line-up speaks both of their pulling power and favours returned – Jigga, Usher, Busta and a recently freed Ol’ Dirty Bastard, whose caustic hyper-persona The Neptunes corralled sufficiently to give him his only bona fide pop hit with ‘Got Your Money’ –‘...Clones’ emphasises their own stable: Clipse, FAM-LAY, the splendidly-named Roscoe P Coldchain, N.E.R.D. and their Spymob backing band, Kelis duetting with hubby-to-be, Nas, and their newest signing, dancehall’s re -appearing star, Super Cat.

Chad and Pharrell take pains to point out that the ‘Clones’ title isn’t a warning shot at their numerous biters. Nor is it an ironic recognition that no one duplicates The Neptunes so much as The Neptunes themselves, although Chad acknowledges that their snare sound – that pin-sharp Ali jab-and-shuffle – has served its purpose. “It did establish an identity, but we are going to move away from that because we don’t want people to think we’re standing still.”

Accusations that all Neptunes beats sound the same are nonsense anyway. Just turn an ear to the bareback thud of ‘Grindin’’, the flamenco strum of Timberlake’s ‘Like I Love You’, the dancehall-meets-Bollywood maelstrom of Kardinall Offishall’s ‘Belly Dancer’ or the techno pile-up of Ludacris’ ‘Southern Hospitality’. For every generic ‘Beautiful’ there’s a bolt-from-the-blue ‘From tha Chuuuch to tha Palace’.

It’s this ability to couple versatility with commerciality that keeps the work coming in despite a rumoured six-figure production fee (some whispered as much as $200,000 for Jay-Z’s recent ‘Excuse Me Miss’) and made the Grammys look hopelessly out of touch when they failed to nominate them for Best Producers gong. In truth it wasn’t the Recording Academy’s fault – BMG and Virgin assumed each other would file the necessary papers – but that didn’t stop Pharrell directing a very public and very bitter outburst against them, later retracted.

“We were mad, I talked big shit on MTV,” remembers a penitent Williams. “I watched myself have an ego and that can’t happen again. The biggest thing I learned is that I have to practise humility even when I feel something is due to me.”

“I usually don’t say too much,” he continues, ‘‘that’s why I don’t like doing interviews.” This statement is proving painfully true. Having flown a very grateful Jockey Slut out to their Virginia Beach home, The Neptunes are inexplicably awkward subjects. Chad rolls up an hour late, Pharrell disappears for the first 20 minutes and, returning, asks if we’re nearly done yet. With Kelis’ third LP and N.E.R.D.’s second both due this year we wanted the lowdown on the lot, but they won’t be drawn except to say that the former includes a track called ‘Milkshake’ which “will take over the world”, while the latter will be “live from the ground up”, unlike its predecessor, ‘In Search Of...’, which was released with programmed beats, then re-recorded (not to its advantage) with full backing band. (“We felt it could be more organic,” says Pharrell of that decision. “Live implies living.”)

To make matters worse, when together Chad defers to Pharrell who makes frequent recourse to cosmic hyperbole in his answers. For instance, on the subject of the Clones LP: “It’s us pointing the finger at us; us against ourselves, man against spirit, spirit against flesh, life against religion, religion against love, love against man, that’s all it is.” More nothing than everything.

With the conversation interrupted so the photographer can exploit some respite from the rain, such momentum as we have is lost and the interview is terminated with barely half of our questions answered. Lest this appear to be another case of Hip Hoppers With Attitude, it should be noted that both men are courteous; they're just intensely uncomfortable with media demands on their celebrity. "We're lucky that someone is even interested," Pharrell says. "We could be musicians with ambitions and aspirations, standing on the corner completely broke, unable to get enough money even to make a call to our family, let alone take care of them. I'm thankful, but at the same time, I hate to read what I say in magazines and I hate the way I look."

Pharrell offers to continue the interview by telephone the next day. Fearing a ruse, but powerless to do otherwise, Jockey Slut agrees and is delighted to be proven wrong when, while awaiting the connection home Pharrell comes on the line. With hundreds of miles between us, and without the inconvenience of strangers invading his home, he is much more forthcoming, beginning with an apology for the previous day. "I need people around me to point out the things I have to do," he says, possibly still smarting from his press officer's rap across the knuckles. "Mystique is almost everything to me, it keeps the curiosity up, keeps the imagination going. I don't see myself as Michael Jackson or Elvis where you wanna know everything about me. I'm just not that interesting, I'll never make music of their magnitude so I have to maintain the mystique."

N.E.R.D.'s next LP may be off-limits, but both stress that The Neptunes means more to them, that mass appeal tickles them where cult indulgence can't. You sense it's about more than just the money - it's how they are.

“Neptunes is us as crayons to colour other people's worlds," explains Pharrell. "N.E.R.D. is our own colouring book. N.E.R.D. is a diary, it was written for ourselves, Neptunes is for everybody.”

And when he says 'everybody' he means it. The Neptunes are hopelessly head-over-heels in love with music and want everyone to feel the same way – the polar opposites of the Jay-Z/50 Cent “music is just a hustle” shtick. “I want people to hear our music and have babies, to have a good day at work, to take people through different emotions of universal mentality. Things a madman would think, things Mother Theresa would think, things a normal person would think and bring Technicolor emotions to everybody's lives. I don't care how mad you are, you still wanna have a good day. We wanna celebrate crazy opposites and perpetuate that common thread."

Touching on The Neptunes origins for the first time, Pharrell says he and Chad bonded because they were unafraid to explore; while everyone else in their 'bandcraft' (music class) was concerned with technique, they “wanted to know everything about the songs on the radio. It was sheer curiosity, a love for the craft. Most people in that class have probably never even been to the West Coast, let alone London. Schools in the US don't raise people to aspire to travel – in Europe you're raised to learn about other cultures. That can still be the salvation of this world. Here they think the biggest thing you can do is Hollywood. That's bullshit. The biggest thing you can do is off the planet".

Right now it gets no bigger than Planet Neptune.

Some come for urinals, others bid for menu boards. Others, more ambitious, wanted nothing less than the dancefloor. Richard Hector-Jones attends the auction of The Haçienda and watches, teary-eyed, as every nut and bolt is sold...

Words: Richard Hector-Jones. Photo: Simon King. Raver: Scott Carroll

“Welcome to an event which, without fear of contradiction, is totally unique,” announces a besuited gentleman representing Crosby Homes, purchaser of The Haçienda building from a makeshift stage.

There then follows the plans developers have to convert the old Haç site into flats, a speech that concludes thus: “When we re-open the site as apartments next year, once again you will be able to dance to your favourite music, only this time in the luxury of your own flat.”

Boos of disdain shake the cluttered warehouse in Manchester’s city centre, whereupon it becomes apparent to all present that when it comes to The Haçienda and Factory’s legacy, even at the end of 2000, emotions still run deep.

Everyone from the building’s past is in attendance. Tony Wilson, New Order’s Peter Hook, Mike Pickering, Graeme Park, Dave Haslam. No wonder: for sale today at the (charityfunding) Haçienda auction are basically the nuts and bolts of the building. There’s dancefloor, urinals, bricks, radiators, balcony railings, menu boards, a piece of concrete with ‘Hooky Salford ‘94’ etched onto it, chimney pots (!?), the cash register, even the bleeding DJ booth.

“I’d like to add The Haçienda mirror ball to the event if I may,” announces Peter Hook into the auctioneer’s mic midway through his guest appearance announcing lots. “It’s clogging up my garage and the mirrors are so small it’s impossible to do a line off them.”

To the action. A set of five Victorian radiators goes for £30. Antique radiators go for a packet. But really, there are only a few items of key interest here. The dancefloor, the DJ booth itself and perhaps the steel dancefloor girders. Rumour is that Cream is bidding for the DJ booth. Peter Hook mutters something about scousers, over, and his dead body.

Jockey Slut steps in to bid for some dancefloor. A beautifully mounted piece of history, four foot by four foot. It’d make the perfect coffee table, we think guiltily, though with the amount of dropped Es ground into it you could probably do ‘twenty to life’ for possession alone. The bids start at £30. Bargain. Then suddenly it’s at £175. At £200 it’s gone in a flash. Who got it? Oops, we did.

Later a security guard brings lot 21 out to our car. ‘You twat’ is written all over his face.

Finally the warehouse doors are opened to reveal, over the far side of the road, the whole Haç DJ booth now residing on the back of a lorry. The crowd gathers round, the bidding starts at £500, and then nothing

Perhaps the world’s not that bothered. More likely, everyone has seen the booth standing there 30ft high off the ground and thought: ‘Nice idea, but where the fuck am I supposed to put it?’ Who knows? But one thing’s for sure, no one’s biting except the Mancs. Then Peter Hook notes a bid for £600 towards the back. The bid, it turns out, is fictitious, but Manchester is back with £700. Eventually Hook reveals he made up the other bidder, but by this time some muppet by the name of Bobby Langley (a Haç resident himself) has shelled out £1,100. No one seems to mind Hook’s underhand tactics. It is, after all, a charity event.

The whole event has an air of melancholy. But by the same token, it’s rather touching because, for all the attendant mourners here today, this is the final send-off for perhaps Manchester’s finest contribution to music. Tony Wilson, Mike Pickering and Hooky are spinning with requests for signed stuff. Bricks and floor are popular with those who’ve brought marker pens. I bet that never crossed their minds when Madonna, New Order, Lee Perry, The Smiths, Sasha, Joy Division, Primal Scream, Happy Mondays, Mantronix, Funkadelic, Blur, David Morales, The Stone Roses and Paul Oakenfold were out the back waiting to get paid for their epochdefining performances.

“The Haçienda must be built,” Tony Wilson once said famously. And so by the same token must it be destroyed. Now it’s well and truly in bits. That seems like a pretty good way to leave it.

He didn’t invent trip hop, can take or leave donuts and prefers Dairylea to Bovril or Marmite. He is Nightmares On Wax, aka George Evelyn, the all-night garage regular and skunk-funk connoisseur...

Words: Steve Yates. Photos: Pav Modelski

Few have stayed the distance quite like Nightmares On Wax. From the early days of (don’t call it) bleep to the (don’t call it) trip hop classic, ‘Smoker’s Delight’, to the ‘pastoral’ pleasures of his new album ‘Mind Elevation’, George Evelyn has been a fixture of the British dance scene. We collared him, still jet-lagged and bleary-eyed (no, he’s given that up) from a recent tour of Australia, at his home in the countryside just outside of Leeds and quizzed him on the past, present and future of NOW, the disintegration of the local football team and the history of his haircut.

“I had an afro, a right microphone, and if I didn’t have the aerodynamics I have now then I’d have one still. I remember getting a skiffle – just short back and sides – haircut for my sister’s wedding in ‘78. Then obviously going through the jazz-funk era you got your hair permed – I don’t know anyone who didn’t. The capital for perms was Huddersfield. If you saw a black guy with a perm you knew he was from Huddersfield; even today you still see a few with the wet look and stuff. I started receding when I was 22, but head-spins were my speciality in the breakdancing days and I used to use cardboard instead of lino. That burnt a hole on top and that’s how it started to go. I grew locks in ‘87 and had them till ‘94. I knew I was receding but nobody else did.”

“I was brought up on the sound system, the reggae background. I was too young to be involved in it, but that was my first real experience of music. The essence of that needs to be brought to people today. I didn’t realise it at the time but the first people I studied were Scientist and King Tubby. I’m digging deep into my memories, and I’m quite excited about the whole LSK (vocalist on ‘70s 80s’) thing as well. His album’s almost done now and this is the real him – a lot of people are gonna be surprised when they hear it.”

“Kevin Harper, aka Boy Wonder, is just now writing an album. Watch this space, he will be back because he is the man of many basslines and melodies. He’s had a few social issues but he’s got his hunger back now.”

‘“Will I Am’ is pushing stuff forward. It’s not straight-up hip hop, it’s more like what Quincy Jones touched upon with ‘Back on the Block’, using a lot of soul and live musicianship. Jill Scott, Jaguar Wright have been buzzing me. That Philadelphia thing, you go back through history, all the best soul musicians came from Philly. I like that kind of orchestrated production; emotionally it speaks volumes. Timbaland excites me more than The Neptunes. The Neptunes make some great party tunes, but I don’t know about their longevity.”

“I’II party with the best of them. If you want to invite me to a party we’ll see who goes to bed first. I’m just selective. I could have gone for that pay cheque, especially four or five years ago, but I wouldn’t have been completely honest with myself. There’ve been things I’ve been asked to do, like Nelly Furtado, where it’s gone on to be massive, but I didn’t feel right about it. I’ve just done an Ian Brown remix, but that had more to it. If something’s been sent to me for name’s sake then I’m not into it.”

“I’ve got a really boring answer to that, which is no. When your dreams are a complete mish-mash I always think there are complications in your life. When you’re more focused then they become a lot clearer, more symbolic. But no recurring ones, so I don’t know if I’m doing something right or wrong.”

"‘Cause you lot don’t have lungs and I do, and I like to breathe. Look how I live – I couldn’t live in London like this. I know who’s right. I want to live somewhere else at some point, but it won’t be in England, it’ll be somewhere warmer where the quality of life is better.”

Mystic Marv, The Miasma “The day I can do that is the day I’ve reached ultimate awareness, and I ain’t there yet. I think that’s a knowit-all question and I definitely don’t know it all. Once you think that, you’ve failed.”

“For anyone who checks my résumé (laughs) I was the first person to say I didn’t agree with it. I always have this conspiracy theory that someone thinks of a name one week and the majors put out a compilation of it the next.”

“Never say never. I have been toying with the idea but I’m one of those people who goes into the studio and sees what happens, so it’s obviously not been in there. I still listen to house. We always made other stuff anyway, that’s why ‘Word of Science’ was the way it was. It’s just that the house tracks got released as singles.”

“Neither. I don’t eat pigs or beef, so no Bovril. Marmite’s yeast, but it’s love it or hate it and I don’t love it. I’ll tell you what I had on my toast yesterday: spreadable Dairylea. I’ve got a baby daughter so I’ve got an excuse.”

“I was in Australia for that match, but I’ll tell you, there’s not one player who’s blossomed under Venables. How can you not play Dacourt or Viduka? The people on big wages, the ones they can sell for big money, unsettle them and make them leave. That’s the plan, it’s obvious. If I didn’t have a season ticket I wouldn’t be going. O’Leary fucked up with the book, but he was sacked ‘cause of the Rio Ferdinand sale. That’s a fact.”

“I didn’t know they had, but it’s obvious people will say anything to sell records. How many controversial things can we say or do? It’s so boring.”

“That whole bleep thing, we were never involved in it. We were the second signing on Warp, we didn’t go there as part of some bleep package. You can look at Unique 3, A Guy Called Gerald and us, what you’ll see is electro, ‘cause we’re all from the same b-boy background. I would argue that all day long.”

“He was part of my life changing and I was part of his. I feel for his family ‘cause he was a beautiful soul. We had a lot to share but I must stress that he’s only a thought away.”

“The thing I like about ‘Passin’ Me By’ is that when it came out everyone referred to us. We sampled it (Quincy Jones’ ‘Summer In The City’) first (hearty laugh). The ‘Smoker’s Delight’ gives me most pleasure as final product, but the first one has the history, ‘cause when I first found that track in ‘86, I said: ‘One day I’m going to sample that tune’.”

“I knew they’d come up trumps. I’d sent them the demo and Posdnuos phoned me up and even went into depth about what style I was looking for, which was some old school, rapping forever kind of thing. He could’ve just said: ‘Yeah, yeah, let’s hook up in the studio and we’ll do it there.’ But he turned up, had it all written, and was still prepared to change things. We spent 14 hours in the studio and it’s an experience I’ll never forget ‘cause to me they’re like the John Coltranes of rap.”

“Tozz 180, who MCed that track had the rhyme kicking around. It’s about making it and doing it but not taking it seriously. It’s like: ‘I’m gonna make this money, but I’m gonna spend it.’ I don’t like real donuts unless I’ve got the munchies. But no, I’m not a money man. It’s nice, but it’s not the be-alland -end-all.”

“A progressive step. It’s not a problem in parts of Germany, Spain. It’s just getting the idea of it being a drug out of people’s heads. Soon as they hear that word, ‘drug’, people have an idea of what it leads to, but it’s their attitudes that need to change.”

“George Benson, for his contribution to music. Brought up listening to him by my dad. Definitely not George Bush, he’s the one I dislike the most. I could say another great George but he played for the scum so I won’t.”

Words: John Burgess, Jim Butler and Steve Yates

To keep the legal eagles at bay, we should point out that Mr Smooth (who we suspect is a God-fearing Christian – after all, aren’t all Americans?) didn’t compose this under the influence and probably never intended it to be enjoyed that way. Nor do you have to be on one to enjoy it. You barely even need ears – it’s so good we get goose bumps just looking at the cover. Gospel is the primary external influence here, as Joe invites us all to change the world just by holding hands. And there’s the rub. No record encapsulated the feelgood properties inherent in great house and great ecstasy like ‘Promised Land’. And as that spirit was manifested by the sudden desire to make lifelong friends out of total strangers this stands tall as the ultimate huggy house anthem, even more so than Ce Ce Rogers’ ‘Someday’. ‘You and I will walk the land/And as one, and as one, we’ll take our stand/And the angels from above/ Fall down and spread their wings like doves.’ Yes, yes, Lord, take me. And yes, thank you, we will have another. SY

What came first, the record or the pill? We can’t really remember, but Stardust and Mitsubishis are as inextricably linked as chicken and eggs. Both lush and edgy, Bangalter and DJ Falcon’s classic harked back to the Good Ol’ Days by uniting in delight everyone from cool kids to glitzwhores to cheesemongers, even if they were now dancing in different venues. The House Nation winked knowingly as Benjamin Diamond sang ‘music sounds better with you’. Taking his cue, they stuck out their tongues, inserted a small white pill decorated with the three-pronged logo of the Japanese motoring company, took a gulp of water and danced all night. SY

Just as you probably need to have experienced opium to get the full benefit of Coleridge’s ‘Kubla Khan’, you can’t understand ‘Hardcore Uproar’ without having heard it on E. In fact, many who did still swear it’s utter bobbins. Wild pianos, the ‘Assault On Precinct 13’ theme, a bleepy keyboard ideal for drawing invisible lines in front of your face and, of course, the gurning nutter who keeps going ‘hah-ang-ang-ang’. ‘Real’ heads said it weren’t ‘proper’, but Together didn’t care. The cheering crowd noises on the intro (another touch of genius) showed who they were aiming it at – the rave kids wanting a choon in tune with the irresistible energy of their dancing companions. SY

Not all E tunes have to be lessons in fluffy, blissed-out huggyness. When New Yorker Beltram’s ‘Energy Flash’ first appeared in 1991 it was like a bolt from the blue. All malevolent beats, unrelenting sub bass and the most mental use of a 303 to date, it heralded a turn towards a darker, more caustic, path for techno and many of its devotees, but that didn’t prevent it being something of an E anthem. Insular rather than tactile, the fizzing, repeated mantra of ‘ecstasy, ecstasy’ lent the track a hypnotic, brooding quality that left many lost in the grip of a feverish frenzy exacerbated by those little tablets. JBt

Shoom has acquired the mythical status the 100 Club had during punk. Capacity: bugger all. Number of people who claim to have been: hundreds of thousands. One person we feel sure wasn’t lying is Jon Marsh, who overnight transformed his goingnowhere goth combo into the original 3am eternal dance band courtesy of this record. The sun could have been in a field near the M25 or, more likely, above an Ibizan beach, but one thing’s for sure – it wasn’t a natural high that kept him up till dawn. SY

Remember how DJs used to boast of ‘taking you on a journey’, which, in practice, meant starting slow and building up to fast? There was more sense of adventure packed into Holmer’s odyssey, a record that touched on so many genres it’s practically a one-track set. By 1993 Balearic had become a bad joke,

synonymous with shit records played badly under the cloak of openmindedness. This is how it should have been done. Never giving in to trance abandon, it keeps returning to the piano sample, a beautiful snippet of romantic melancholy. This is the spirit of Cafe Del Mar, a 15-minute Ibizan holiday without leaving the comforts of your own couch. SY

‘Peace’ (East West) ‘YEEEEEAAAAHH!! YEAH! YEAH! YEAH!’ You knew straight away from the intro that you weren’t listening to (a) The Smiths or (b) anything on R&S. ‘Peace’ was a monster and also an ultimate end-of-nighter. All the elements that could instigate arms aloft, mass hugging and knees to buckle were all here: the ‘wouldn’t life be grand if we didn’t have wars an’ shit’ lyrics (‘Peace in the valley, peace in the city, peace in your soul’); the diva hollering her lungs out (known in the North as a ‘screamup’); and pianos. Loads and loads of pianos. It was the perfect record for 1991 when folk took to playing inflatable guitars, shaking tambourines and dancing on bars. Why? They were peaced out of their tiny minds. The Chemical Brothers were huge fans of the scream-up and at their Glint parties in 2002 segued ‘Peace’ with ‘Star Guitar’. Talking of which... JB

At the beginning of 2001 Tom'n'Ed – even their Christian names lend themselves to narc speak – began road-testing various works in progress. By far, the cut that caused the most dancefloor carnage was ‘Star Guitar’. Kicking off with what sounded like a cut-up air raid siren (always an ecstasy winner) raining down upon the exalted throng, it glided effortlessly into the swooshing breakdown whereupon all in attendance made like aeroplanes and basked in the glory of the track’s warm, reflective glow and its singularly unambiguous signature refrain of ‘You should feel like I feel/You should take what I take’. And there you have it; nostalgic, tinged with melancholy and soaked in joyous celebration – a proper recipe for a night on the Mick Mills. JBt

They’re all grown up now and making ‘Sensible Rock’ as Doves, but is it entirely coincidental that this lot changed their name to match the most popular pill of the era? Not judging by this proto-rave monster, recorded two years before they hit the heights with ‘Ain’t No Love...’. Full of fierce drums, (teeth) grinding keyboards and even a bit of a bleep rubbing shoulders with the nice smiley soothing bit in the middle. The vocal sample everyone remembers is lifted from Kubrick’s ‘2001: A Space Odyssey’ (and if that’s not a drug giveaway my name’s Ebeneezer Goode). ‘My God, it’s full of stars,’ they said, gazing up in wonder. It would be boys, it’s the night sky. And while we’re at it the sea’s full of water and fields are full of grass. It’s, like, amaaazing. SY

Ecstasy famously convinced previously floor-shy white kids that they could dance. It may even have convinced Shaun Ryder that he could sing (no, surely no drug could be that powerful). Having invented indie dance the year before with ‘Wrote For Luck’, the Mondays invited Oakenfold back to repeat the trick with their first proper hit. Oakey brought with him one Andrew Weatherall, who was probably responsible for the heavy bass and deathly slow tempo. The title was sped up to a squeak and sampled all over the place. At the time (late '89) the Mondays were at the height of their infamy and seemingly invulnerable. Unfortunately, this was before smack proved their undoing. SY