TL;DR: On January 1, John Digweed played for 11 hours (4am to 3pm) at Stereo Montreal (858 St Catherine St E., Montreal), turning it into a magic room where dancers found nirvana thanks to Stereo’s:
- World-class sound system that rattles bones, raises heart rates, and sets bodies afire.
- Respectful, music-savvy crowd with the stamina and supplements to dance all night long.
- Thoughtful policies that protect the vibe: no VIP sections, no alcohol sales, and no phones on the dancefloor.
- Lighting that deepens the mood rather than just enhancing it.
- Facilities that provide every creature comfort a dancer could ask for from great restrooms for vice-capades to ice-cold tap water and ample chill-out areas.
“This room is a magic room, but it’s really not about the room itself, it’s about the people in the room. It’s about the moments you share: the smiles, the looks, the music. It makes you feel like you’re one thing. And it makes you want to live forever. And you think, “why can’t we always live together like this?” — Dino Anthony Lanni, Martin Paul Doorly
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Pornographic pitstop story
We’d been dancing for over four hours when nature insisted on a water and restroom break. My body, accustomed to rhythmic movement, resisted the mechanical rigidity of walking. I felt like an alien, reassembling myself into human form after hours of fluid and ritualistic undulations in the belly of my interstellar rave transport. Stereo’s restrooms stood as a testament to the club’s commitment to comfort and cleanliness.
I learned a few things while standing in line and people watching. I knew the couple that had gone into the toilet stall immediately ahead of me and to my right were fucking, because they hadn’t been able to keep their hands off each other while in line — kissing and pawing sensuously in ecstacy-fueled foreplay that wasn’t entirely uncalled for, this being the kind of place where people let their inhibitions go.
A stall opened and they broke off their kiss to enter and lock the steel door behind them. Only a moment passed before the heels of his Nikes could be seen in the gap below the stall door, because he’d positioned his legs near the entrance of the stall in a wide-legged stance. Another short moment later, his pants were bunched around his ankles. He was facing the toilet bowl and his partner, presumably, was bracing herself against the far wall. His feet could be seen flexing rhythmically, his heels lifting slightly off the concrete and making a little splash on the wet bathroom floor every time they came down.
I must admit to some doubt. A corollary to Schrödinger’s famous thought experiment with the cat in a box says that if you seal two lustful adults in a toilet cubby and provide them with a tiny bit of psychoactive substance, you can’t really know if they really fucked unless you open the cubby, and I wasn’t about to do that. There’s a chance he was simply dancing while peeing while his partner stood to the side and smelled her house key. Stranger things have happened in those toilets, to be sure.
A different stall opened up and I slipped inside. During my multiple trips to the bathroom over my 11 well-hydrated hours inside Stereo, I’d seen couples and throuples in all gender configurations enter and leave the stalls together, these utilitarian concrete-and-stainless steel stalls apparently being the place where dancers came to do drugs and each other.
Surprisingly, the toilet was in good shape. Stereo’s dedicated and heroic janitorial staff keep the trash bins in the stalls emptied, the floors hosed down, and the soap dispensers filled. The seatless toilets were of course completely wet every time I visited through the night, so women who used them needed to do the hover squat, but the bathrooms never smelled nor overflowed with trash. You can tell a lot about a club from the state of the restrooms, and I start with this sketch to help illustrate that Stereo is a well cared-for, and well-maintained club where people are taken care of so that they can have a very good — perhaps even sinfully good — time.
Though my internet research encountered rumors of an easy drug trade in the restrooms, no one approached me—perhaps deterred by my aviator shades and dad bod, or perhaps because the bounce in my step and smile on my face already suggested I was operating at optimum altitude for dancefloor bliss.
Right. The dancefloor.
Leading this narrative with an account of the bathrooms is perverse when the real draw here is Stereo’s sprung wooden floor (there are actual springs beneath the floor!) surrounded by a four-point soundsystem that sounds so good, DJs sometimes take to reddit after they play there to talk about what a good time they had.
“They call it a ‘temple of sound’ and I totally see why. You feel a special vibe just walking into the place. It feels sacred. There’s an air of magic as soon as you step up those stairs and see the room for the first time. The sound system is so good that it makes me a better DJ. I’m more patient with transitions, more surgical with my EQing, and more confident to play tracks that wouldn’t work on a lesser system.” — Rinzen
It’s not just the floor, it’s not just the impressive — perhaps best I’ve ever heard — soundystem. It’s the darkness of the room, the disciplined use of fog and lighting effects, and the club’s policies that result in a dancefloor where magic happens.
One of my favorite policies is the fact that Stereo doesn’t sell alcohol. This allows the club to open at 1am and stay open well past the hour when clubs that sell alcohol must, by law, close for the night. Stereo has on occasion stayed open until 5pm. On the night that we attended, John Digweed played 11 hours, from 4am until 3pm.
The no-alcohol policy also results in crowd behavior that’s far more respectful and polite than you would find at a venue that does sell alcohol. People are able to dance these marathon-length DJ sessions because they’re using other stimulants to go the distance (typically LSD, Mushrooms, MDMA/Molly/Ecstacy/X, Ketamine). And yes, this crowd sometimes even uses the wild and somewhat dangerous party drug C8H10N4O2, popularly known by its street names of caffeine, Joe, espresso, or pumpkin spice latte, depending on adulterants the drug’s shady dealers add.
You might think I’m joking about caffeine use at the club, but a nice, hot espresso shot was the first thing I ordered at the bar after we entered after standing outside in freezing (33° F) temperatures for an hour due to a bottleneck at coat check.
Regarding Stereo Montreal’s no alcohol policy, owner Tommy Piscardeli said, “In alcohol clubs, music just becomes the background. Here, all you have is music; all you have is a dance floor. There is no VIP. You’re not judged on how much money you have like in a club. People are here for the music. They’re not sitting in a booth showing off with their bottles.”
I poured cold water into my espresso so that I could drink it faster, and soon after I could feel the drug snaking its tendrils through my nervous system. I’d gone caffeine free in anticipation of this night, and this was my first caffeine in three weeks. The come-up was glorious, a real “Red Bull Gives You Wings” kind of moment. I began bouncing on the balls of my feet. I grabbed my partner’s hand and we navigated a flight of stairs down from the bar that overlooks the dancefloor. Looking down at the floor, a large (maybe 5-foot diameter) disco ball dominates, hanging about nine feet over the center of the floor, sparkling like a thousand-faceted jewel in the darkness as it slowly spins above the crowd.
We popped in our ear protection and descended the stairs down to the dancefloor. The room was dark — as all good dancefloors are — with just enough light to help dancers avoid crashing into each other, but not so much light that anyone could easily perceive whose hands are where on whose bodies. The darkness was intimate, a blanket providing privacy. A unique split on the dancefloor—straights to the left, gays to the right—was pointed out by regulars but seemed more a general tendency than a strict rule. I knew I wanted to be at the center where those two groups mingled.
We made our way around the side of the floor towards the nearest towering speaker stack. It was 4:30am, and John Digweed had been on the decks for 30 minutes, following Ostrich, who had warmed up the floor prior to John’s arrival.
We were initially so far left that the horns on the closest speaker stack projected high-frequency sound over our heads. I could hear the mids and feel the bass as it compressed my chest, and I took a sonic bath for a few moments while taking my first tentative dance steps, my joints still stiff from the cold, my legs tight from standing in line for an hour, my guard up in this new and unfamiliar place.
Stereo’s capacity allows for about 1,000 dancers, but were immediately surprised to discover that it hadn’t been oversold. On our way in, we saw folks without tickets being turned away from the sold-out event, whereas most clubs maintain a line for people without tickets, so that they can continuously sell more tickets until the dancefloor is so packed nobody can move. This was our experience in Ibiza’s so-called super-clubs, where crass commercial motivations stomp on dancefloor vibes.
Stereo got the density exactly right — the dancefloor was packed from 4:30am to 7am, but it was never rammed to the point of discomfort. As the crowd naturally thinned over the course of the night, I soon had room to move and groove, and getting onto the dancefloor after water breaks proved easy. Antisocial behavior was, as a result, minimal. People were not bumping each other to get where they needed to go — they were dancing their way to their destinations.
As opposed to my recent, somewhat traumatic experience at Hi Ibiza, one of Spains biggest tourist traps, nobody at Stereo stepped on me deliberately, shoved me from behind, dove into my space and made themselves at home in it, pressed themselves against me in an effort to make me move out of the way, or hip-checked me. These were all behaviors we endured multiple times over the course of hours in the oversold clubs of Pacha and Hi Ibiza.
At Stereo, people are nice to each other even as they dance with energy and spirit. I was elbowed in the back once. It happened when a tiny 30-something woman in a pack of similar-aged women insisted on defending for herself a space that was larger than the average space that anybody else had at the floor’s most packed moment. Her taking of space was a math violation — far exceeding the allocation anyone else in the vicinity had around themselves, so I turned around, acknowledged her elbow and continued to dance exactly where I had been dancing. Her across-the-line assault didn’t move me or break my groove — it just hardened my resolve to stick it out in this location for another 10 minutes or so. I did attempt to move with her — matching her to-and-fro motions rather than opposing them, so that space between us stayed fairly constant, even as we both moved together. I hope she noticed my effort. I like to think that the lack of another elbow indicates she did.
After our warm up on the sidelines, I needed more than just bass and mids, so we moved to the center of the floor where the straights and the gays mingled under the disco ball. We made the disco ball our anchor for the next 10 or so hours, dipping out only occasionally for water breaks.
What Digweed played
In the line to get into Stereo Montreal, we befriended a crew from New York who had flown up to see Digweed. There were about 10 of them in line with us, all men and one woman, most of them in their early 30s. I learned that one of the crew who goes by the nickname BD had seen Digweed more than 50 times, comprising some 200 to 300 hours of time spent in the room with the master. He was the ringleader of the group, and this was his 15th trip to Stereo Montreal.
Thanks to BD and his crew, I was able to grab a number of track IDs. Before I share the big list, I’ll share my three favorites of the night:
Daunia Disko (Of Norway Version) — Cheema — This electro-funk tune features shouted vocals in an Italian dialect coming from the part of Italy that looks like the spur of the boot-shaped country — appropriate, because this song spurred us to dance with a feral, claws-out energy. Google Translate struggled with the dialect of the lyrics (something to do with water, wind, and night), but the vocals feel ritualistic, dark, and dangerous — like a prelude to one of us getting snatched off the dancefloor for blood sacrifice.
Cravings (feat. Love Letters) — Wallace — I recognized this track when Digweed first started mixing it in, because a few weeks prior, I was in Seattle on vacation when I heard this song for the first time, and I spent almost an entire day walking and driving around the city listening to it on repeat, beating my chest at times to stimulate the feeling of body-shaking bass that my rental car’s flimsy speakers could not muster. Of course I purchased the vinyl record that day as well, and it was sitting on my turntable at home when Digweed played it inside Stereo. The spoken-word vocals urgently interlaced with whispers, the spare arrangement, the subject of craving and lust — it reminded me of Madonna’s Justify My Love, and I knew I would need to dance to this song because of the way it moved me. I didn’t know at the time it would only be a few weeks before John Digweed would be playing it for me. Kismet!
Magic House – Dino Lenny, Jarvis Cocker — To quote the spoken word lyrics at the start of the song: “This room is a magic room, but it’s really not about the room itself, it’s about the people in the room. It’s about the moments you share: the smiles, the looks, the music. It makes you feel like you’re one thing. And it makes you want to live forever. And you think, “why can’t we always live together like this?”
If there’s a song that captures the essence of what we felt in Stereo Montreal, this is it. We were in a magic room, we were sharing smiles, looks, and music with other music heads, and then the chorus came in, and everyone sang along, “I was listening to house music all night long.” Surreal. This being my first time hearing the track, I took a moment to find my voice and join in. I later learned that Digweed had been playing this song frequently at his gigs in 2024, and the folks gathered there for his birthday marathon set knew this. They were ready for it.
And as we danced and sang along, we did indeed feel that we wanted to live forever, and we did wonder why we can’t always live together like this. It was a life-affirming moment.
BD and crew further identified the following list of songs played by Digweed:
- Needin’ U (2016 Mix A) — David Morales & The Face
- Brian’s Proper Dun One — Alan Fitzpatrick
- Regulator — Alfred Heinrichs
- Submerged (Four Candles Remix) — Anton Borin
- Catch You By Surprise (&Me Terrace Dub) — Art Department
- En Route (feat. Ian) — Bengoa
- Let’s Try Again — Bengoa
- Bodytalk — Bengoa
- Soul Brother (Superlover Remix) — Bombay Traffic
- Sometimes Changes Feels LIke Thunder — Christopher Molan
- Forbidden City (Khen Remix) — Davi
- Get the Feeling — DJ Alex J
- What’s Going On — DJ Deep
- Incorporeo — Djolee
- Meltdown — Folgar & Chumbita
- Pillowtalk — Four Candles
- Monoculture — Four Candles & Sean Harvey
- Perron (Wehbba Remix) — Marc Marzenit
- Serena — Jepe
- Impulse — Reverie
- Herb — Remcord
- Wax — Remcord
- The Sub Changed My Life — Remcord
- Far Away — Juliane Wolf
- Perron (Wehbba Remix) — Marc Marzenit
- People Say (Nic Fanciulli Remix) — Paulo Rocco
- Galactic Buds — Remcord
- Solar Detroit — Maceo Plex
- SOL — Pryda
- Fya (Nicolas Rada Remix) — Nicholas Van Orton
- I Miss You (Sentre Remix) — Of Norway
- Forbidden City (Khen Remix) — Davi
- See Through — Quivver
- Together We Stand (Charmbord Remix) — Myd & Chambord
- Voices of Bah — Secret Factory
- We Are Connected (Original Mix) — Jondi & Spesh
- Low Tide (Ezequiel Arias Remix) — Jamie Stevens & Zankee Gulati
- Always the Same Eyes (Andres Luque Remix) — Erre
- Holograph — Kamilo Sanclemente & Sebastian Valencia
- Emptyless — Kamilo Sanclemente & Sebastian Valencia
- Pretend — Kamilo Sanclemente & Sebastian Valencia
- Danny Tenaglia Presents George Vidal: Out from Obscurity — Danny Tenaglia & George Vidal
The way Digweed plays, we were often unsure when one song ended and another song had begun. Digweed weaves songs together for long periods of time — giving the room a sense of hallucinogenic time dilation and fevered madness had me doubting my senses.
BD explained, “the way John layers everything, it almost feels like he’s playing live at some points where he’s grabbing a baseline of one track in the midst of another, highs from another track, and he’s layering all three tracks, holding this tension, you know, for 10, 15, or even 30 minutes” before finally bringing the tension to a close.
During one moment when Digweed resolved a tension that had been building for 30 minutes, BD said that “it sounded as if the Montreal Canadiens just scored a championship-winning goal. The upstairs, the downstairs, the entire dance floor was completely losing their minds. It was nuts.”
Digweed maintained absolute focus on his decks — every time I looked at him, he was staring with intense concentration at his CJD-3000s and DB4 mixer. He’s not a DJ that dances, throws his hands in the air, or basks in crowd adulation. He doesn’t transmit his energy to the floor in that way — he instead focuses completely on the music and the mix and watches how the crowd of dancers reacts to it. Like a very attentive lover, he could tell when we needed release, when we would appreciate teasing and tension building, when we needed to shift positions and get into another position. The mind-body connection that exists between lovers exists between really great DJs and their dancers. It’s a union that brings so many bodies together, blurring boundaries between individuals and the collective.
Our relationship to him changed through the night. In the first third of the night, during the getting-to-know-you phase of the 11-hour set, when the floor was packed and folks still had residual alcohol in their systems from their New Year’s Eve partying, he didn’t rush into crowd-pleasing harmonic or lyrically interesting work. The first act felt dark, almost angry, Digweed conducting a priestly exorcism of the demons of 2024, letting us sweat out our resistance.
When we debriefed on it, BD remarked that Digweed, “had us down there for a little bit, like we were trying to get out of the pool, and he was holding us underwater for a little bit. It felt like the bass lines were almost like sitting on us, holding us down. It was dark, and when he finally let us out, I was like, ‘Oh, man, I can breathe again.'”
“Stereo is a place where the music just flows out of me,” Digweed told the press. “I’ve had so many incredible nights at Stereo and always look forward to returning.”
To get a clear sense of how this all sounds when mixed by the master himself, give Digweed Live In Stereo a listen on your platform of choice. It’s a remastered recording of his 10-hour set he played at Stereo Montreal in May 2024, and is the closest cousin to the 11-hour set he played on January 1, 2025.
In the maelstrom, underwater
In the middle of a good dancefloor, I feel like I’m standing in the middle of a sacred ritual. The soundsystem is typically tuned to sound best in the center of the room, and the energy of everyone else tends to meet in the center, as if there are ley lines connecting all the dancing hearts and the speaker stacks and the DJ decks. These lines of energy intersect under the disco ball. That’s why I like to anchor myself under the disco ball.
In the middle of a great dancefloor, enhanced by molecularly granted superpowers that connect me to the music and to the people, I feel all of the above, plus a heaping shovelful of chaos and tumult. I’m able to forget everything and abandon myself to the waves of sound and the occasional bumps from other bodies. I’m unmoored, a boat adrift in a storm at sea, my hull lifted by swells, slapped and slammed by waves. My body is at the mercy of the elements — flotsam in a roiling river, loose seaweed tumbling in breaking waves. This is the energy in the center of my favorite dancefloors, and Stereo is now one of them.
We spent about 10 hours in the center of the room and I have no idea how long any of the following flights of fancy lasted, but I’ll share some of them to give a sense of the headspace I found myself dancing in.
I felt like I was a salmon, swimming upstream against the roiling current. Occasionally, the music would present a groove that my body felt good in, and when I moved to that groove, I felt no struggle or effort — as if I could swim all day in place, gentle flicks of my tail enough to keep me stationary in a current of other bodies that were also moving upstream. The water flowed over, around, and through all of us.
Then, a bear came along. A great, big, coked-up lumberjack man — perhaps 6′ 4″ and 250 pounds — came splashing through our stream without first checking in on the local vibe. He was on some other molecule — not a chill one — and could not stay still. He moved around clumsily, dancing in place for a moment or two, then moving again before splashing about like a grizzly might. His movements didn’t feel aimed at us — he wasn’t really aware of our presence at all. He seemed to be looking for a nice Twinkie or other snack to eat. I would not be dislodged from my groove under the disco ball, so I let myself bounce off of him whenever he visited my section of the floor, and before long he was gone again.
I moved my body and contemplated the way rocks might block my progress as I fought to swim upstream to my spawning grounds. A fish knows that it cannot swim through a rock that has appeared in its path. There’s no frustration, only gratitude for the little eddy that forms next to the rock, offering respite and a chance to change movement patterns and move different muscles for a while. Whenever a new group formed an immovable boulder near me, I found ways to swim in their eddy, and since they too were moving to the beat, I looked for ways to time my movements with theirs. They were not aware of me, I was just another body in the stream.
As I practiced moving with others who were next to me but not with me, I found myself feeling a sense of peace and zen-like acceptance. I practiced not becoming too attached to my spot on the dancefloor, and therefore felt no suffering when someone came in and dislodged me from the place where I had been dancing. I welcomed them in and felt the way in which their presence changed the flow of energy in our little microclimate. I embraced the impermanence of their presence and of this particular combination of beats, lighting, and movement.
I looked up and saw hanging from the ceiling perhaps a dozen amniotic sacs, heavy with amber fluid and pink flesh. Inside these sacs infant beings pulsed with red light and kicked to the rhythm of the beat. Of course in the back of my mind I knew these lights to be red emergency lights hung in large glass bowls, but the illusion of life glowing within them, of a small being kicking rhythmically, was a fantasy I indulged in for perhaps an hour. I allowed myself to be in that cave hung with clusters of alien eggs. I allowed myself to hallucinate a many-legged spider mother that hugged the ceiling’s darkness and that occasionally moved closer to the dancefloor when the room darkened, blanketing us all in red-suffused, womb-like darkness.
Wrap-up & rating
So I’m trying out a scorecard for the first time here. A lot of this is subjective, not objective, and frankly it’s a bit silly to reduce a dancefloor to a number. At the same time, I think there’s value in breaking down the different components that make an experience successful (or not) so that we can discuss them in a way that helps us figure out which dancefloors are merely good vs. truly great.
Comments: On almost every measure John Digweed at Stereo Montreal is a 10.
10 — DJ (mixing, selection, connection): John Digweed played a masterful 11-hour set on his birthday. He could have celebrated his birthday anywhere in the world, and likely could have commanded higher fees elsewhere, but chose to spend a night at Stereo Montreal because he loves the system, the crowd, and the storied history of this legendary club that’s been his go-to spot for New Years since Output NYC closed down. I cannot find any excuse to rate the DJ anything other than a perfect 10. He’s a god on the decks. If you have a chance to see Digweed do a marathon set at Stereo, go.
10 — Soundsystem: I can’t imagine how to make the system at Stereo sound any better than it does. It was perfectly loud (99dB average exposure), perfectly tuned, and brilliant in the wide range of dance music played by Digweed. I wore 1of1custom earplugs with the “pro27” filters, and they were just enough to get me through the marathon session. We felt this system in our bones, on our skin and scalps, and in our souls.
08 — Lighting: Because Digweed’s isn’t touring with the Stereo Montreal lighting director, he doesn’t have time to collaboratively work out high-drama lighting moments. He can’t say, “ok, at this moment, I want the lights to really accentuate the emotional release, which I’ll have been building towards for 30 minutes.” The lighting director must simply feel the music and make the right call, improvising lights in reaction to the music. This results in lighting peaks and valleys that are sometimes at different energy levels than the music and that — over the course of a 11-hour set — feel a touch random. The room needed to be much, much darker at times. At its darkest, it was still a bit too bright for privacy — for example, during the Wallace song linked above, it would have been perfect for the room to be very dark. And the lighting lacked punch at peak energy moments — there were two or three moments where the music peaked but the lighting didn’t really follow the music’s lead. My gold standard here is Despacio’s lighting, managed by Arf & Yes, who do theatricality in synch with the music better than anywhere else I’ve experienced.
10 — People: Canadians are famously polite, but that doesn’t explain why, on this night, so many folks flying in from New York, California, and Europe were also able to come together in peace and unity. The explanation is that Stereo attracts a crowd of people who know and appreciate dance music. Everyone comes prepared to dance, and the energy of the dancefloor — even for an 11-hour marathon where people might reasonably pace themselves — was high all night long. Party drugs are in wide use, but nobody seemed to be sloppily or dangerously inebriated. The dancefloor was united, and vibes were immaculate thanks to the more mature, dance-happy clientele that Stereo attracts. By the end of the 11-hour set, it felt like 30% of the room were wearing Digweed in Stereo t-shirts — true fans who buy his music and merch, and who showed deep respect to his DJ work through the night.
Specific shout-outs to some of the people we met:
- the woman came up to us and said, “You guys look so happy together, so beautiful to see!”
- Jose, who told me at least three times that he loved me, and gave me a hug each time and who I later overheard telling someone, “he’s a ball of energy, I love him!”
- Clementine, Oliver, Anand, Brian, Mark, Justin, Armin — all of whom we met and danced with
08 — Layout / design: Stereo’s layout is almost perfect. Easy access to the restrooms, great stadium-style seating above the dancefloor with comfortably padded leather couches, a perfectly-sized, intimate dancefloor that fits about 800 people comfortably. Stereo’s one glaring flaw is the location of the DJ booth: it’s too central and too close to the dance floor, resulting in everyone on the floor orienting themselves to the booth. Legendary clubs of old used to hide the DJ booth or tuck it off to one side so that the dancefloor could take on a life of its own; Stereo’s DJ booth is so prominent that everyone faces it, resulting in fewer people knitting together as a community over the course of the evening because people aren’t facing each other. Again, Despacio triumphs here, with the DJ booth so well hidden that it takes concerted effort to find it. The location of the Stereo DJ booth used to be farther from the dancefloor until a post-fire renovation in 2008-2009 relocated the booth. That was a mistake and I hope that Stereo’s management will reconsider the DJ booth’s location in a future renovation. In terms of facilities, I can muster no complaints. Those ice-cold bathroom taps are a joy, the HVAC system keeps temperatures just right, the sprung wooden floor is a delight to dance on for hours and hours. It’s hard to find a fault on the facilities side, other than the bottleneck at coat check that resulted in an hour-long wait to get inside (and a 30-minute wait to leave at the end of the night).
10 — Policies: Stereo shines here with numerous policies chosen deliberately to augment and serve the dancefloor. No phones are allowed on the floor at Stereo, and this rule appears to be fairly strictly enforced. No alcohol sales keeps everyone friendly and in the right party mood. No VIP tables or bottle service means that the dancefloor is the heart of the experience, an egalitarian policy that helps everyone at the club feel like friends and equals.
Bottom line: get yourself to Stereo to experience an almost-perfect magic room where the dancefloor is the point. I’d recommend a Digweed performance there — he’s been playing every May (long weekend) and New Year’s Day these last few post-pandemic years.
In parting, I’ll leave you with John Digweed’s update he posted to Instagram after we’d all been kicked out of the space: