SIN
Astoria, London

Like a few other clubs in the capital, Sin has spent the last few months fumbling around in a jittery sort of manner in a search for some kind of direction. With hardcore clubbers turning in increasing numbers to unlicensed warehouse jams and clubs like Musika and Land Of Oz, which retain the wildness of the acid days, Sin has become more of a weekender's haven.

But this was a return to form for the faithful. Selections from seminal house DJs Jazzy M, Mark Moore and Paul Oakenfold wrapped around performances from A Guy Called Gerald and Baby Ford always indicated that points were there for the proving. Such as the inevitable realisation that people are becoming immune to repeated and ever more ridiculous attempts to create and manipulate new dance crazes (sic), of which, of course, ska-house is the most laughable. And more importantly, that British dance music has thrown off the shackles of the dour-faced purists to claim its own space.

Watching A Guy Called Gerald is, in truth, about as entertaining as watching a motor mechanic tinkering with an old Cortina. Everything's in the sound. Freestyle keyboards vie for attention with a chap up front who's main job appears to be rambling over the top. 'Voodoo Ray' sends the floor into a collective frenzy.

If they love Gerald, they're bemused by Baby Ford. Baby Ford's keyword is irreverence. They pack the stage with people and instruments not apparently performing any meaningful task, such as the
strumming of un-connected guitars. A chaotic 'Children Of The Revolution' owes as much to the Sex Pistols as it does to Techno or even the T Rex original. Baby Ford are clearly not of this planet and they're going to be bigger than 'Elvis is alive and living on Mars' stories.

Phil Cheeseman