If you didn’t make it to Skream’s six-hour set at Phonox on Saturday and have spent the last two days grieving, tap play on the track above, slip your feet into my metaphorical (crusty as-f*ck) Buffalos and give the middle finger to fomo as you re-experience it first hand with me…
We’re in Brixton, walking through some very sober streets, people going about their day, grabbing a Greggs, ‘avin a gander *pauses to pinch the ‘Skream Open To Close At Phonox’ promotional poster off a wall* a few strides later we’re stood in a queue, having IDs checked and being swept into the darkened red-lit room where Skream will be playing behind the decks for the next six sweet hours.
Our eyes adjust, there’s maybe 20 people dancing in the hazy darkness, but nobody notices us enter, they’re already sucked into Skream’s world, working his musical wizardry behind the decks. Before we let ourselves sink into the sound and find a cosy corner in front of the decks, coats need to be checked, so we head to the cloakroom, shedding our layers, feeling lighter and ready to dance.
Quick toilet stop, *spots a Broke sticker we plastered there probably during ‘Paranoid London”s set last year*, the cubicle door bangs open, hands washed, and we’re on our way back up the stairs, following the trail of sound to the Broke-dubbed DJ Daddy, Skream, teasing us into the crowd, edging us to the brink of ecstasy before giving my brain the rush of dopamine it’d been begging for with a drop.
Dance, banging beat drop, more bodies movie into the place, Phonox is packing out and just in time for Skream to come into his own, unleashing the sinful mixes that mark a peak moment in his set. Sunnies are on, purple lights flash in slo-mo across the space before slipping us into a cosy darkness as the BPM descends. A foggy phone check confirms a couple of hours have passed, ciggie time, a guy has taken a fancy to Iz, and he’s coming with, *puff puff* and back inside.
Skream’s in full swing now, ciggie between his teeth, the beats are feral, drops frenzied, everyone’s locked in, lights behind the deck throb alongside the bass, strobing our vision. We move from worshipping at the front of the decks to a raised platform further back for a better look at the master at work before mentally diving back into Skream’s sounds, time doesn’t exist in this space and then…
We’re outside back on Brixton’s streets, being handed our jackets by security, hopping off the tube a couple stops later due to sudden desperation for a wee, we stepped off at what we thought was Green Park but turned out to be Victoria, paced it to the nearest toilet. Back into the underground, *typical tube screeching sounds* and we land home in Bermondsey thirty minutes later trying to decipher why we got kicked out, how the f*ck Iz has a behind-the-decks video on her phone and wondering if mystery man will ever track her down and fill in the blanks for us, but regardless, what a banging night out.
Photography- Skream’s Insta (shout us if you’re the photographer)