A*dam’s Skillz Leave Clubbers Over the Moon

Narrow your eyes to halfway and cock your head. Put your hands in front of your chest, palms down. Now nod slightly, move your hands away from your body and say “smooth” all at the same time: that’s how I’d describe the onset of A*Skillz’s set at the Moon Bar if I were a television journalist. Almost like the first kiss of long-resisted sex with the ex: familiar and comforting, with a feeling of being able to give in totally. When Adam Mills (aka A*Skillz) hit the decks a general moan of pleasure, albeit perhaps not audible, reverberated around the room: he emphasised the beats and also brought out the melody, and immediately cut the tempo to create an authoritative, almost sparse “Okay everybody. Limber up. Here we go,” feel that gripped the dancefloor and sent it into a spin of anticipation.

And it was no false promise: A*Skillz delivered totally on his warm-up form and left the floor just as crowded at the end of his two-hour set as it had been at the beginning, quite a feat for a weekday. We were like readers who can’t put their books down, or cigarette smokers who will quit next Monday: eager to sit down from exhaustion, constantly promising our tortured legs and aching backs that we’d take a break soon, but mesmerised, addicted, tempted by irresistible beats that chained us to the dancefloor.

But first the support: DJs Xian and Shift-T put on a phat set of beats that in fact induced a few whispers (overheard and, I must admit, believed by this reviewer) that A*Skillz was already playing (which Christian will, I hope, take as compliment). The set was choppier than A*Skillz’s, which provided an excellent contrast and whipped the crowd up to a crest of excitement by the time Mills hit the decks. DJ Xian admitted afterwards to anxiety about the eclecticism of his set, as he’d thrown in tracks from nu-skool breaks to party breaks and from house disco to old skool rap; some gems were That Elvis Track (Sol Brothers); Herby Hancock’s Rock It; and Run DMC’s old-skool rapping on Mary Mary. Also noted was the classic but over-used kitsch track Superstition, revisited later in the night by A*Skillz to the disadvantage of both parties.

Back to the man himself: “I chopped it up a little,” he commented afterwards, “but kept it real, kept a good sound”. Mills is one of the foremost figures at the wheel of the recent DJ mash-up trend: Eminem with Missy Elliot and AC/DC, cool disco tunes cut and acapellaed with groove, breaks and hip hop. “I mostly use my own bootleg re-edits,” Adam explained, “and other stuff from some of London’s best producers”. So what is it that makes his style so recognisable, so vividly different? He considers. “A while ago I used to play hip hop and other old tracks, but I found that when I did gigs, someone would always play the track I wanted to play. So now I really use my own version of everything I drop to avoid having my set sound like someone else’s – about ninety per cent of what I play is stuff I’ve mixed myself.” Plagued by curious peers? He laughs. “I don’t let anyone have any of it – I keep it to my chest.”

Faced by such (undeniably sensible) selfishness, I draw him out for some current favourites by other artists – it seems he is currently in (guarded) preoccupied possession of two exclusive Plump DJs tracks that have captured his attention (Spit Roast and Get Kinky, for those with intimate connections with the Plump Ones, Lee and Andy). He also plugs DJ Shadow’s Organ Donor and tracks by mates Utah Saints. It was interesting to note that Mills dropped his middle-name tune Tricka Technology – and sent us all insane – very early on in the set: this provokes speculation about his possibly trying to get the now-aged signature tune out of the way so we could all move on, and suggests that respect and tact might preclude my asking about the track. Later tunes that caught this reviewer’s attention were also the Plumps’ new SoulVibrates and their fuel-injected remix of Blackstreet’s No Diggity.

One current gripe of this reviewer is the recent tendency of UK breakbeat acts to unashamedly play AC/DC in a country that has heard all it ever wants to hear of the 70’s rockers – my understanding is that such tunes are regularly played and well received in thousands of pool-playing, beer-swilling, arse-grabbing pubs across the state, which leaves me questioning DJs’ assumptions that AC/DC fans will be hiding among the breakers at Moon Bar. The joke has, in my view, worn thin, and I am no longer able to regard it as kitsch or to be, in this most recent wave, surprised by it. I ask Adam about this and cite Stanton Warriors’ dropping of Thunderstruck to back up my case. True to form, he looks stunned at their having pilfered his idea. “Well,” he muses, “a lot of rock is becoming quite cool, but it has to be remixed to be incorporated into breaks sets. I played a bootleg of AC/DC’s Highway to Hell early on and another AC/DC track a little later…”.

I slide Pet Controversial Issue Two into conversation. Freestlyers’ Push Up – fluke or signal of mainstream assimilation? “Push Up?” he considers. “I think that track just has a commercial side to it. Lots of breaks DJs are quite radio-friendly, because their tracks have nice melodies. Any breakbeat with a hooky melody has a chance of success, but it’s mostly about the bass lines.”

How did we rate? “I was playing with the response, and people seemed to react really well – every time I dropped a new track they just went mental. It’s a nice club, a nice size – much more intimate than last time I played here, at Summafieldayze.”

Some credit where due: the event was organised by production company Upgrade Breaks, which works behind the scenes to coax international dance outfits to grant our humble city a weeknight rather than just passing us by. The format of the night was an unexpected reversal of the general breaks-progressing-to-hip-hop idea and was very well received by clubbers.

And a conclusion for the ladies (particularly those who attended and were rewarded with a glimpse of the surprisingly-good-looking Mills) – on behalf of us all (“every girl in Brisbane and up and down the East coast”), I asked him to marry me. After a half-second or so of bewilderment, he catches my grin. “Sorry,” he laughs. “You’re two weeks late.” Damn.