As darkness fell, I saw a green glow in my rear view mirror: conscious solar activity is reaching the peak of its 10 year cycle, I assumed I was seeing the aurora. Yet then I saw the lights of some kind of craft above me and realised my Volvo had started to fly just above the M56. I guess it's logical that aliens would leverage terrestrial infrastructure, so it's no coincidence my ride in a time machine commenced as I was driving past Manchester airport. I was conveniently abducted to the front rail in a vast room: it was dark, and there was so much smoke in the air my vision was indistinct. After a lenghty pause, thunderously deep beats and soul like vocals emanated from two shadowy figures on stage, who briefly introduced themselves as Disclosure from London; the time period was unclear.
Temporal mysteries were laid to rest when six casually dressed middle aged men and one young lady came on stage and started making music: those cunning aliens had taken me back to the heart of the 1980's. They said a few words in BBC English expressing the hope that 'they'd play some good music tonight'. Yet it was the lighting which initially attracted my attention: mesmerising, I wondered if it was in fact coming from that spaceship I'd seen earlier. But then I thought I was at a rave: there was dance music, and when I looked back from the front row, hundreds of apparently human bodies were moving synchronously and joyously. There was a feeling of being in a private world, yet having a shared experience. The sense of joy and release was palpable.
Yet, this dance music was mixed with pop: synth chords mixed with R&B influences and simple melodies. Perhaps most noticeable was Alexis Taylor's falsetto vocals, and his oversized spectacles. Then there was the guitar playing of Al Doyle, moving around stage, lost in his own world. There were songs from a future (2012) album called In Our Heads, loosely re-interpreted. Adding to the nebulous nature of time during this event, there was a feeling of improvisation. The wondrous thing is that I'm not sure even the band knew where they were going: they were luxuriating in the moment. These were seasoned performers, confident enough to go with the flow. A further surprise were the vocal harmonisations, which added beauty and humanity to this electro pop. Yet, it was dominated by heavy, hypnotic beats: a steel drum joined bongos on stage and everyone's body moved involuntarily in sympathy.
In the dimension I normally live in, I'd found Hotchip's music to be overly mechanical, and its pop sensibilities tiresome. This is music which only makes sense in a live context. Something remarkable happened on this journey: I was transported to a realm far removed from the hurt and pain of the present, and became completely immersed in another world. This was a party; orchestrated by a bunch of middle class guys, making music sounding somewhere between Cut Copy and Metronomy. The aliens had taken me to see another window on my own world: it was British to the core in its eccentricity, the band's motley, slightly shambolic appearance, and willingness to take creative risks.
At the end, after two hours, the stage was completely engulfed in smoke; Hot Chip disappeared from view, and I began a gradual reintegration to reality. Yet the experience of travelling back in time in a space ship remains in my memory, and whilst most will be sceptical, there will be those enlightened enough to be able to relate to this experience. I've learnt that there's much to be said for escapism: when the planets align correctly, there's nothing to match live music's ability for re-invigorating the soul.
