Like a grey moth emerging from the dull cereal box in my cupboard, Saturday saw me unfurling my wings and flying off in search of flavoursome delights. What better place to descend upon than Heat, where two boys who had spent much time creatively lounging about poolside in Subiaco were preparing to unleash their wares for an excitable crowd? We arrived in time for Dazz K’s set, which was, according to my notes, a lounging, languorous London-style affair with a cruisy MC. (I must point out, at this juncture, that I decided in a moment of drunken bravado to etch my notes in shorthand – after three lessons I was convinced I could read it back … apologies for any weird turns of phrase!).

Er … let’s see … funky to listen to … oh, I give up. Good job, Dazz – all I can say is that within minutes of arriving my friends and I were trying our best to spark up the dance floor! It was the usual scenario for Heat though – the sultry air of the balmy night kept drawing people outside, where the music took on a happy thrum and crowds of people milled about chatting and spruiking. Inside, the usual suspects laced the perimeter of the room, shivering their feet and shoulders and waiting for the vibe to get closer.

Somewhere amid these jumbly delights, Tipper took to the stage with a scratchy approach and some deliciously slow minimal breaks expermentia and abstract beats. Smooth and intricate, Tipper captured the imagination of the thinking crowd and left the rest scratching their heads. Clever layering of his own carefully crafted samples over a variety of down beat and perky sounds and grinding bass meant this vaguely hip-hop alike and decidedly funky set was seared into the brain for a long while afterwards.

Next to hit the stage was Skool of Thought, who launched into his set with the hard and funky sounds of the Freestylers Boom Blast that sent crowds of people scrambling for the dancefloor. This was followed by some nasty-ass basslines, abstract, off-kilter beats and creeped-out vocals. (Excuse me while I try to remember even more, casting around in this addled brain …). Look, suffice to say, for the first gig I had been to in a while, it more than served its purpose – we got sweaty, we got nasty, we lost ourselves on the dance floor for a while. There were arguments afterwards about who reigned supreme – some friends held out for Tipper’s more experimental bleepings, while others like myself preferred the assaulting sounds of School of Thought.

Still, in the wee hours of the morning, a tall dreaded guy I had earlier been chatting to at the bar accosted me as I was about to walk outside for another breather. “Man, Tipper’s set was the best thing I’ve heard in ages – the best I’ve ever been to,” he said. “But people just didn’t get it – they just didn’t get it – I don’t understand…” And he walked off before I could say anything, shaking his head sadly as the ground continued to hum underneath my sore, tired feet. An accolade? You could call it that.