Boutique, C'est Chic

In 2007, on the music geek-infested forum of DJhistory.com, an emergent promoter seemed to be struggling with an issue: What, he puzzled, can we call "this disco, boogie, cosmic, space, balearic, electro-funk, re-edits type vibe", which was becoming more and more popular with the young kids in the underground clubs of the northern English city he lived in?

The post provoked a discussion on the perils of defining a scene. On one hand, argues Greg, "it's quite a good thing that there isn't a name", knowing that often, definition means either the death of a scene, or a fate worse than death - it becomes mainstream. On the other, though, "this hardly helps things grow".

Any discerning and vaguely alternative clubber in Glasgow will have stumbled into at least one night recently which fits the above description, give or take a few genres. Huntleys & Palmers at Stereo, Slabs Of The Tabernacle at the Twisted Wheel (now relocated to Universal) or Wrong Island at Nice 'n' Sleazies. The disco-italo-electro-psychedelic vibe is certainly hot right now. But it's true, they seem to escape any kind of categorisation. Slabs, for example, is a little more defined, "broadly speaking it's a techno night at heart", says promoter Joel Shaw. Others simply flounder when you ask them their music policy, focusing on what they wouldn't play, rather than what they would, "Let's just say, I'd never play something I didn't like at all", says Thomson, founder of Huntleys & Palmers Audio Club. Teamy, one half of Wrong Island, just wants to play anything he considers good music, full stop, as long as it makes for a better club experience. “I still only use vinyl, except for the odd thing that isn't out yet. Music sounds better in a club, played off a nicely mastered piece of vinyl through a proper system and to a crowd of dancing people.”

And yet, they all seem to...click. Perhaps it's the seemingly relaxed attitude of the promoters, with often obscure or self-indulgent bookings, these nights refuse to book on a pull-a-crowd basis. Or maybe it's the focus on sharing music, whether that's via the Slabs monthly podcasts, or the mixtapes which Thomson hands out. It could be the fact that every night started out as a party for their mates. "I used to make CDs for my friends and the club nights seemed to be an extension of that. I was always that person and still am now, but to a larger extent." The quote is Thomson's, but it could have been from any of their mouths.

Perhaps, instead of creating some new term for this scene, some hideous hybrid of genres to lump them together, we could compare them to another social activity, which won't confine the nights or herald their predictability: boutique clothes shopping?

There's something in this. As with any credible boutique, they tend to escape definition by constantly changing, eschewing any attempt at gripping onto one style, or genre, for too long. Try to shove any of these nights under a tag at your peril - each promoter instinctively, seemingly out of necessity, makes it his business to ensure that you know they're not just about disco. That they're not just about any kind of music. They firmly believe that 'good music is good music', as stated on the Huntleys & Palmers website, and they all play whatever they feel like on the night, selected from their enviably huge, genuinely eclectic record collections. Yes, you cannot escape the Optimo comparisons. But, muses Andy McColgan, keen promoter of a series of fledgling party nights, and station manager at underground music haven Radio Magnetic, "we are all Optimo's children".

Images of Twitch and Wilkes in earth-mother pose aside, it's true. This policy of having no music policy is by no means unique. But on the Optimo website, the Glasgow gurus are, as ever, already one step ahead, aware that "not following a formula becomes a formula in itself."

The key, most likely, is to realise that even eclecticism is a formula, in the same way that the boutique clothes shop, popping up seemingly unconnected and de-contextualised, is still intrinsically linked to its sisters. All the nights offer a slightly different twist, yet all are offering the same type of product explains Thomson.

"It is hard to be an alternative if you're the same as everybody else. But, before I started my nights, I was hanging out with the Numbers mob, and they thought I was this weird guy who listened to bands and wears brogues. To guys who listened to bands, I was this weird guy who went to Numbers. So, as much as I knew all these fellow promoters, there was a difference in the style of music we were putting out."

Like the boutique clothes shop, despite the seeming attitude of spontaneity and ease with which they pop up, "the spirit of making it up as you go along is alive and well, let's put it that way", says Teamy - the nights also seem to involve a business mind of some sort at the core. "Putting on a club night seemed a logical progression", Teamy continues, "especially as I'd learned loads about club promotion through working at Optimo for about five years".

It's this mix of know-how and spontaneity which seems to generate the nights' success, transforming them from small time parties for mates to more established, and respected, brands.

When I ask Thomson why he is going to London to put on a night of some exciting yet unknown names, he says "If I put them on here, no-one would come and see them. My hope is to build up a relationship with the acts, and step it up gradually. In October, I'm going to put on a night taking over the whole of Stereo and hopefully that means some of these acts can get a chance to play."

Here's where the analogy seems to fall apart. Whereas the boutique often seems to deliberately deter a wide custom, valuing one-off pieces and remaining relatively unknown above anything else, these nights aren't about that. Each one is actively promoted. Why? Thomson has to think about it, before concluding: "The main point of a night being busy is so people can have a better time".

However, this tight group of music fanatics seem to genuinely lack the sense of cut-throat rivalry which accompanies the promotion of bigger, more institutional nights. If there weren't so many of them, they'd most likely get a steadier, fuller crowd. Do they not feel a little frustrated by the amount of choice out there for the intrepid Glaswegian clubber?

"That argument takes away from the diversity of the acts they have playing," McColgan argues. "Because they are all booking according to their personal taste, if only one of them existed, certain acts might not be seen in Glasgow. Maybe you would find that the one night would end up eventually booking them all, but I doubt it."

"What’s amazing is how different the nights that you’re talking about are. It would not be unimaginable for three more good nights to start up, which are similar enough to be linked to them, but different enough to all exist separately. Can you imagine? It’d be awful! What would you go to?"