Sauce

The contingent that formed was intrigued about the return of this enchanting DJ. Syrup has become more selective than an exclusive brethren picnic when it comes to headline gigs on a weekend (pardon the comparison). But it was good to see that Bexta would still be guaranteed her right to unleash on the Hobart crowd.

As we arrived, Smoky-Jo made his presence known, strutting the club while the support acts were throwing down heavy hard dance tracks. The rest of the crew relished corner positions – some only surviving through Space Invaders as we waited for Bexta’s next Mixological journey. Time flew by, as the gaps of air between some very excited people filled with even more people in fluoro. A tap on the shoulder from Smoky-Jo, and the moment had arrived.

Disoriented by lights and sound, we soon found ourselves hovering in front of the only sane person left in the club. This just happened to be Bexta. Composed and not concerned by the panting masses in front of her, Bexta worked through a range of heavy tracks with deep punchy bass lines that had Miguel gyrating like a turkey and me shuddering in disgust at his disturbing frivolities.

Pulling a worthy crowd for some deliverance, Bexta left us all a bit numb by the end of the night. The crew were satisfied and impressed at a range of styles that were mixed superbly in a blatant and heavy attempt to have us all jumping like fools. Smoky-Jo clapped twice drawing the night to a close as we wandered home without hearing, but a swag of good memories instead.

FELIX BLACKLER