Gosh! - Jive talking

Thu 27th Aug, 2009 in Features

It’s ticking towards midnight on a Saturday in Adelaide, and the city’s young moderns are considering their options. They’ve been out to dinner or the movies, propped against the bar at a central pub, or gotten steadily merrier at a house party. They may be winding their way back towards town after watching the footy, drinking in the latter part of a gig, or simply reclining at home. Of course it is far too early to call it a night, and so inevitably a question comes up: where to next? For a burgeoning crowd of revellers, the best answer to their hedonistic dilemma is Jive, the giant blue box on Hindley St that plays weekly host to DJ Craig Flanigan and his near-telepathic grasp of the most danceable indie tunes in existence.

In the six years since it was unveiled as the personal vision of proprietor Tam Boakes, Jive has steadily grown in standing as one of Adelaide’s most user-friendly live music venues, hosting a cavalcade of broadly alternative talents – from Cut Copy to The Panics – and proving its adeptness at handling shows ranging from the criminally under-attended to the stupendously sold-out. The funky interior and bright, vaguely psychedelic colours of the former theatre give it an aura quite unlike anything else in the city, while the intimate stage and upstairs balcony area offer rare views of an artist.

Good though it is as a haven for live performance, the time that the room really takes flight is at the aforementioned hour, when a youthful and exuberant crowd bursts through the red doors to drink, dance and generally make a racket in time with the beautifully mixed playlist of Flanigan. DJs are hardly a rare breed in the 21st century, yet there is definitely something unique in what he does, melding indie rock tunes together in a manner that keeps the party going for four and a half ecstatic hours with very little time for drawing breath. All the while a random selection of films plays on the big screen, providing a kaleidoscopic backdrop to all manner of dance floor hi-jinks. Interstate visitors to Jive have commented glowingly of the experience, moved even to say that there is nothing like this to be found in Sydney or Melbourne – high praise indeed for little old Adelaide.

Much as Flanigan and the venue appear made for each other, theirs is still a fairly young relationship. Gosh has been hosted by Jive for two years, having previously utilised the classically dingy basement milieu of Supermild. Flanigan has been DJ-ing in various guises around Adelaide since the early 1990s, building his spinning skills in what was one of the nation’s more vibrant dance undergrounds while at the same time keeping an ear to the indie pop that would evolve into his trademark. His experience of those two worlds was vital in the development of a technique that melds the unified experience of a dance DJ set with the more immediate pleasures of all things guitar, bass and drums.

“It was dance music that got me more into it from a performing point of view, but the thing with dance music is you create a mood and I try to do the same when I do the indie nights,” Flanigan tells FasterLouder.

“When you play music it’s not just ‘I like this song, I like this song or I like this song’, you create people’s mood, you fill them with euphoria, they dance, they get into it, you give them a little bit of a breather, you build it up again and you take them on a journey from one point to another.

“That’s what creates a good vibe, and what makes or breaks a club is the vibe. A lot of places don’t have a vibe.

“I wanted it to be a club where you walk in, you like the tunes, you might not know all the tunes but you like them, and the important thing is you want to be dancing with your friends and you don’t want to get off the dance floor. That’s basically how it’s meant to be, and the idea is you create the atmosphere.

“That’s where it helps from a dance perspective, I know that this song goes with this song, you don’t go with a really slow one and a really fast one, it builds and progresses … that helps to create the night.

“It’s not always easy and you never truly get the hang of it, because I get lots of requests, I get pages full of them, it’s ridiculous, but by the same token I’m there to entertain. Not to entertain myself but to entertain the crowd that’s there.”

Speaking of dance music like one might recall a first love, Flanigan laments the lack of vision in the 21st century world of electronica, and believes the sheer restlessness of indie will always make it more intriguing to his ears. He is less than enchanted with the electro-indie crossovers of the past 18 months, but will always be prepared to make the odd concession to the will of his crowd.

“To be honest that music (dance) hasn’t really progressed much, whereas indie stuff is always moving on and new, so for me indie is my favourite genre,” he says.

“It’s interesting the way it develops, because you’ve got this electro thing happening now, I’m not really a fan of it to be honest, I’m not a fan of the new Bloc Party album or a lot of the new stuff that’s more electronic focused, because you’re talking about artists who don’t really have an electronic background, so when they do it they’re basing it on what for them is dance music based on little experience.

“The genuine people doing techno and that sort of thing creatively have been and gone. Those guys are jumping on after the fact, and I’m not a fan and I generally don’t play it. I would’ve thought it would’ve passed by now but it hasn’t, what it does is bring some of the genuine dance culture into indie.”

As Flanigan developed his tastes and skills, Boakes was working studiously through the ranks of major record labels EMI and Universal, though always dreaming of the chance to open her own venue. The building that became Jive had been unloved for some years, either left empty or under the control of a succession of shady tenants, when she chose to try something different in late 2003. Working along the simple lines of what she wanted to see, in a venue that could appear awfully dank with the wrong colour scheme and décor, Boakes managed to create a space loved by bands and punters alike.

“I was looking for a venue and this was actually an empty building,” Boakes tells FasterLouder.

“I’d never been in it in my life until I came to have a look at it to rent it, and fortunately it had been shut for a long time and the landlord had a few shady people over the years. So he liked the look of my clean background and my youth. I was lucky I didn’t have to buy it and outlay a lot, it just took some character, design, painting and a lot of TLC.

”(The look) was just kinda me. This place has no windows and no light and when I walked in, the blue out the front, every square inch of it was that colour, and everything I could see was blue and I was going to vomit, so I very quickly went for really bright colours to liven it up.”
Flanigan and Boakes struck up their partnership after a pair of bad weeks for the former at Supermild, where the decision to arbitrarily close a heaving venue at 4am did not sit well with a DJ always conscious of his crowd.

“We had a couple of disagreements with management at the time, mainly due to the fact they were closing us down when we had a busy crowd, closing us early. It’s 4am, the place is pumping and we’re going to close,” says Flanigan.

“This is the crowd that supports the place and supports me – without my crowd I’m nothing. Once they start fucking with your crowd, so to speak, enough is enough. It was two weeks in a row and that’s what did it.

“I went to Tam, who I knew through a mate of mine, she manages their band (*The Trafalgars*), I went over to her the first time it happened and said ‘I’m looking to move, if it happens again I’ll let you know’ and it did happen again and we moved. And it’s got better, a lot better.

“Since I’ve been at Jive I haven’t looked back, the place is full. Double the capacity and it’s still full. And I was always worried about that because the atmosphere is what makes a night – if there’s 10 people in a club that fits 300 it’s not going to work.

“Supermild always had a too-crowded dancefloor, the sound was pretty average, but it was a groovy space. Jive is much better set-out dance wise, a big dance floor and the movie screen so I can play movies I like, which is fantastic. Much better DJ booth and decent sound, one of the best sound systems in any club in Adelaide, and management that’s receptive.”

So receptive, in fact, that Boakes often coaxes Saturday night bands to compress their sets if they appear likely to impinge on Gosh’s 11.30pm start time. Begrudgingly, they usually comply, allowing the doors to be opened and a unique atmosphere to be created in the space.

“I’ve a couple of friends from Sydney and Melbourne, and when they come here they always come back to Gosh, and love it. There is nothing like it in Australia. I’ve been to a lot of clubs in Sydney, Melbourne and Perth and found nothing like it,” says Flanigan.

“Very few places have the vibe, atmosphere and the indie pop – I’m not there to play weird B-sides, it’s not about me saying I’m cool, it’s about me keeping everyone happy.”

Key to the happiness is the openness of it all. There is next to no door list – only Flanigan’s girlfriend is given preferred entry on his account – and security are not directed to manipulate the door or only allow a certain crowd through the doors, as is the case at plenty of other locations.

“I don’t want it to be an elitist club, I want it to be for everyone,” Flanigan says. “I don’t care who you are, don’t care if you’re the world’s biggest bogan or the hippest dude in town, as long as you’re enjoying the music. I won’t even put my friends on the door list.

“I don’t like to create that elitism. It’s not a fashion parade, it’s not ‘how cool am I, I’m going to Gosh’, it’s never been like that and I don’t think Gosh has that reputation, and I don’t give a stuff whether the cool kids come or not.

“I don’t care if they come in their footy shorts and Crows jumper or what.”

Boakes remains immensely gratified to have found a DJ who plays the music she likes to a crowd that laps it up, even though the bar staff’s task could be termed thankless – a typical Saturday may start with a 4pm band sound-check and go through what is essentially two events and two crowds before wearily drawing to a close sometime around 5am amid a mess of used cups and an often comically sticky dance floor.

“It’s hard, especially when there’s bands before Gosh, and I’ve got to be here for soundcheck so it’s from 4pm until 4am,” she says.

“But that’s just me, I’ve always worked my butt off, now it’s just for me and not other people. I still get so much gratitude out of it, what am I going to do, work in an office for someone else and be unhappy or am I going to do this. At least it’s mine.”

As with any success, there are growing pains. Licencing fees for the use of music have been pushed to an exorbitant level, forcing the recent introduction of a $5 cover charge. More worryingly, odd outbursts of violence became frequent enough in the early part of 2009 for Boakes and Flanigan to agree to change the closing time from 5am to 4am, a decision that has helped curb some excesses but not all. Rowdy or idiotic behaviour on the floor is one of a handful of things capable of wiping the smile from Flanigan’s habitually grinning face, and he admits to pessimism about drugs.

“The main reason for (the time change) is at 4am most clubs close around town, and then people are just looking for the nearest place that’s open from 4am until 5am,” he says.
“So you just get people who are absolutely drunk off their nut, they come in, they cause trouble, and I don’t want my people having trouble, getting punched, assaulted or abused by some drunkard off the street who’s just dragged himself in at 4am.

“We have had a lot more violence than we’d like. Since new year’s we’ve had people we know get punched, hit, a few fights, not a lot but more than what I’m used to. So it’s disturbing and part of the reason why we pared it back. These people are very important to what I do and I don’t want them to get hurt.

“The drug problem is a big problem in any club, things like Ice aren’t helping matters at all. I’m not going to go on a big anti-drug spiel … but if it helps create violence, I get very disappointed when I see violence on the floor. I get let down, like seeing a family member get hurt.”

Boakes is similarly frustrated by incidents of stupidity, but reasons – not unfairly – that a certain troublemaking element lurking on Hindley St would never enter Jive anyway, simply for reasons of style (or lack thereof).

“We’ve always had it, generally the trouble is only one person, it’s not like you blame the one person. It just depends where they’ve been and what they’re used to and how they behave while they’re out. If you have a quick chat to them they’re usually okay,” she says.

“I tend to still think that generally that crowd (the jocks) don’t like it. They’re supposed to go somewhere with a scene. Most of the time we get people like that is when there’s a long line-up, which is bizarre to me, I’d rather not line-up to get in somewhere.

“There was a night where someone pulled a sink out of the wall in the toilets, fortunately that happened quite late, another night someone set off a fire extinguisher upstairs and from where I am at the bar, all I can see is smoke, and I thought the building was on fire.”

The pain of seeing anything untoward from his DJ booth is clearly enhanced by another secret to Flanigan’s keen ear and eye for the ideal indie pop tracks, whether they be the contemporary fare of Gosh or the 60s tunes spun once a month at Dig. He is professional to a fault, never drinking, nor imbibing anything else for that matter, as he powers through 4.5 hours of constant music – and requests from revellers who grow progressively more insistent and intoxicated.
“The thing with being a DJ is you’ve got to be professional, and none of this prima donna bullshit,” he says.

“If you come in to do a job, you do it professionally, so you don’t get drunk, you don’t take drugs, you don’t use a huge beer rider and give all your friends free beer – you don’t abuse your position. It’s a privilege to do what I’m doing.

“I’ve got a place I can play the music I love, I get paid to play the music that I love. What’s not to like?

“Sometimes I get a little frustrated by the amount of requests and people who keep coming up with the same request, but that’s a small, minor niggle.”

If that makes Flanigan the straight man in a room full of crazies, then all the better for the playlist, which is the single most important factor in building the crowd.

As Boakes puts it: “We started fortnightly and initially it was just his crowd and my crowd, and it grew to the point that people were rocking up on the off week and we made the decision to go weekly.

“We still get regulars for sure but a lot of randoms come, they walk in and see something different and ring their friends and say ‘my god, I’m at this place called Jive, and it’s good music!’
“Personally my taste is pretty much what Craig plays, I’ve always been a lover of the underdog and the independent scene, and I’d never do anything else, having mainstream DJs or dance or hip hop or anything.”

Both Flanigan and Boakes are fatalistic about how long the crowds will last, choosing to enjoy it now rather than ponder when it might peter out, as it eventually must.

“It’s just really busy at the moment which is great, usually winter is really quiet, so hopefully this is a sign people are going out and enjoying it again, considering the bad wrap Hindley St gets,” says Boakes.

“Other places you walk in and there’s a bit of aggro and a vibe of people staring, but Jive’s not that enticing to anyone who’s looking to come in and have a fight.

“You walk into Jive and it’s just fun.”

Gosh takes place at Jive every Saturday night (after the bands finish) from 11.30pm.