There was something incongruous about seeing Basement Jaxx in a venue best known for regularly playing host to the likes of Scotland’s national orchestra and the roots and trad music of the Celtic Connections festival. Admittedly a chunk of seating had been removed to create a dancefloor down the front, but a sweaty club it is not, and waiting for the arrival of one of the UK’s preeminent dance acts while gazing around at rows of seats still felt strange.
Perhaps it was simply an acknowledgment of the passing of time, given Felix Buxton and Simon Ratcliffe have been doing this for over three decades now. Buxton, however, retains the impish cheerfulness and vibrancy of youth, eagerly hopping around the stage set – which placed the duo in a central hole, with a sloping structure around them and room for drums and percussion off in the wings. Ratcliffe, for his part, tended to depart offstage whenever he needed to move between sections of a set-up that brought to mind a science fiction setting.
That theme ran through other aspects of the night, from costumes of the rest of the band taking on a retro-futurist look, like a Mayan cult transported to the far future, to videos that flashed images of floating pyramids and outer space as a backdrop. There was also a dancer who wandered on while costumed like a triffid during “Raindrops”, one of the few offerings in the 90 minute set that could be considered sedate, with a dreamy pace.
The majority, however, seemed determined to belie the somewhat formal surroundings by creating a continual party to put a grin on even the most cynical face. A brassy “Good Luck” was belted out to open things, and by the time the infectious and hedonistic vibe of “Do Your Thing” had kicked in a few songs later the majority of the crowd were on their feet and dancing with abandon.
A variety of dancers and backing singers were pulling shapes too, while also managing the nifty trick of keeping their feet steady on the giant slope of a stage throughout the night, whether on the smoothly choreographed pop of “Jus One Kiss” or a thumping, muscular “Romeo” that made terrific use of the rhythm section. The verve from the group, with constant trumpet, guitar and sheer rhythm, showed that spending most of the past decade focused on DJing work has not dulled the duo’s skills as a live act.
Yet amidst the run of bangers, which included the funk-soaked groove of a euphoric “Red Alert” and a throbbing “Take Me Back To Your House”, there was also a pleasing sense of both fun and quirky daftness. The relentless club-friendly “Techno Pumper” concluded by sliding into Zardok the Priest (or the Champions League theme as many would recognise it) while classic set-closer “Where’s Your Head At” saw several folk costumed as apes clamber about onstage.
It occasionally flagged in places, with the Eurovision does Buck Rogers in the 25th Century tone of “Escape” never quite meshing together, but the sheer sense of enjoyment carried the gig through any slower moments, right through to the upbeat samba style conclusion of “Bambina”. Age be damned, this was some party.
