The weekend is your catwalk. You don your best designer all-over print suit, polish your Armani loafers, grab a bottle of bubbly and head for the dancefloor. It’s a London thing - you’re loving it, loving it, loving it. And with a little bit of luck you’ll go home with some garage girls.
While recently you’ve become preoccupied with tie-dye vests, snap backs and shuffling, you’ve got an effortlessly cool heritage that no one can deny. Four-to-the-floor beats, piano riffs and soulful vocals are your religion, Frankie, Terry and Levan are your holy trinity and the dancefloor is your church. To you it’s not just music, it’s a spiritual thing.
You’ve little time for hype and an aversion to vocals. You like your music to be efficient, industrial and brutal in its intensity. You like pounding drums, sinister synths and brooding bass. You lose whole weekends in the caverns of Berghain and you love it.
You feed off emotion. You live for the peaks and troughs of life. You’re ecstatic through the highs and the lows. You need vocals, melodies, euphoric synths and lazers – lots of lazers. You might have lost your hippy routes and cut off your dreads after uni, but you’re still a card carrying member of the Trance Family.
You like things dark and dirty. Hats and Hoods are your shirts and ties, a disused warehouse is your office. With a deep-seeded aversion to daylight, you prowl the urban jungle by night looking for traces of kicks and snares, MCs and skanking.
You’re more afterparty than preparty. More chill out than rave out. Whether it’s poolside, fireside or lying on your side, you and you’re horizontal homies love nothing more than dressing down, turning up and kicking back with some blissful beats.