It has been four months since my last soiree with The Monastery and to say that I am now dumbfounded would be a supreme understatement. The changes that have taken over the place are minimal, but they make all the difference. I had not particularly enjoyed my last Monastery experience, and was thus filled with some consternation that this experience may also leave me dejected. This was not to be the case at all.

I was cordially greeted by the door girls, their smiles firmly plastered across their very pretty faces as they encouraged me to enter the premises. I couldn’t help noticing the very cool dog tags around their neck either. So, I waltzed through the doors with the thoughts of Migel Migs uppermost on my mind. The feature DJ was enough to generate intense excitement within me, especially as the Master of Chilled House (I like it shaken not stirred thanks meester) is responsible for a great deal of my sex life. The décor of the Monastery had changed somewhat including the carpet being ripped up, leaving a smooth concrete floor. This gave the whole interior a warehouse feel though rather than making it seem bare or stripped, the Monastery now presented a deliciously wayward sense – as though one could be encouraged to do something naughty within the confines of the walls. The standard of the crowd had been raised considerably. Whilst the presence of many males dominated the room, there was an underlying passive vibe in the room – one that encouraged amusement but wasn’t overladen with masses of testosterone. As I wandered through the very attractive crowd, I immediately knew this would be a brilliant night. Operating as one does in the ‘nightclub circuit’ of Brisbane, one also becomes familiar with the faces that dominate this scene. And any time I see the head stylist from Oscar Oscar of Indooroopilly or the manager of Vanessa Hoe’s exclusive Always Habit, I know the night is a guaranteed winner. Seeing the familiar faces of other eminent DJs from around town such as Jimmy Ellis assures the credibility of the event too.

Freestyle was the Master of the Domain. From the music being released from the superior system, I knew Colin was really a black man under all that white skin. He discharged smooth beats subdivided by plenty of percussion augmented by wandering melodies and drifting harmonies. All stops were being pulled out for this night, for Freestyle was in his element: who else would consider blending synthetic computer-produced tones with the deeper resonating and detached tones of percussion? None but Freestyle can lay claim to such incredible musical concepts. He appeared to be focussing mainly on the Nu-Jazz genre, offsetting jazz chords on Rhodes and organs with snares as fillers against thin vocal lines. Deep soulful vocals grooved over broken beats whilst treated with chromatic runs. At times, Freestyle’s music sounded like Statler and Waldorf enhanced by Latin percussion: the whispering vocals and harmonies balanced by wonderful deviating rhythms. He also threw plenty of instrumental solos in there too – the tenor saxophone grooved over house beats; EVI (the electronic valve instrument aka the electronic trumpet) subdivided by compound latin rhythms; deep male vocals over jazz treated harmonies with snare rolls or poignant female vocal lines balanced by arpeggiated harmonic lines and lush hi-hats. It was all there, slowly enticing us into a NuJazz Consciousness.

The whole room erupted into cheers and whistling with arms raised or hands clapping to welcome the DJ for the night. Migel Migs strode towards the decks and people surged towards the front: some to soak in his fabulous aura, some to lay claim to their tiny piece of dance floor. And then, with plenty of disco house running through the awesome system, he unleashed his power upon us all. Migs washed what seemed like electric rain bouncing off the speakers through the whole room, cleansing the dance floor and re-energising our souls. This released the carefully built energy of Freestyle and forced the crowd to reposition themselves onto the vibe only he wanted us on. Then slowly, with subtle divisive beats permeating the room, Migel went about setting the dance floor on fire. Every instrument of the disco family was getting the chance for a solo improv., be it saxophone, EVI/trumpet, even trombone, steel drums, percussion, keys, guitar or bass, Migel gradually set free bursts of a 4 beat solo, pulled back on the instrument then tersely released the dominating instrument across a spectrum of warm chordal harmonies and colours. He was quite strict with the textures that he planted, not wanting his works of art to be too convoluted or torturous. The solo-ing instrument featured prominently, but they were offset by delicate harmonies and colours, the quality often strengthened with rhythmic electric guitar; while the ever present invariable beats and basslines prompted our hearts to throb accordingly. I noted he enjoyed altering between meters. At first, he would focus on the one, this would then shift to the backbeat and then modify the metres to composite rhythms. This served to keep the music constantly varying and mutating. As time wore on for his set, I noted that the BPMs were also slowly increasing. Migs wanted the crowd to be operating on his time – and we were oh so willing to cooperate.

Much of his music was incredible, stimulating the populace with cheers and whoops. Such was its construct, the splendour of his music swathed me in intense emotion. At one point, I was so carried away by the brilliance I could have sworn Migs was playing Billie Jean – backwards. When a percussion solo filtered through a keyboard patch and counterbalanced by strident bass lines reached my ears, I felt myself yet again caught up in the beauty of the moment. The voice of Migs’ music summoned me; it grooved so hard, the riffs etching their message onto my brain cells and the bountiful colours of harmony surrounded me, enveloping my senses.

Precisely at 2am, Migs released a beautiful moment – the sublime perfection of percussion warped into a thudding bass line. He then took us through an unforgettable journey through the deep dark side of the 80s, where Banarama’s bass lines reigned supreme and Tina Tuner’s sax lines dictated the soul. Against an electronic synthesis, Migs released a full horn section into the mix. His beats commanded your heart, inducing your body and soul to obey; while the horn lines flooded your brain cells with intense colours. This journey was then liberated into the brilliance of disco, with plenty of reverb on keys and distorted guitar. Migs certainly loved his phallic instruments - being the guitar and horns – but he kept their lines from being overwhelmed by the electronic coldness of the synthetic instruments. Migs swept in and out subtly; you would fade on the ebb of what seemed a low tide, until you realised, it was merely the onset of a Migel Migs Tsunami. He had been successfully building towards a manic climax for much of the night. By 2.45am, I was almost desperate for some much needed release. I wanted to revel in a major climax rather than small peaks that left me wanting, but Migs sadistically kept me at foreplay range and never quite consummated the act. 

Watching the scene before me, the crowd was superbly in tune with the music and the vibe. It was an incredible night. I was enticed by Freestyle’s contained softness and then pounded by Migel Migs’ musical magnificence, induced to a pinnacle of pent up sexual fury. Indeed, to breath the air of Migel Migs was to inhale the frenzied fusion of the mechanical and the sensual. May his music live forever – or at least while I’m sexually active.

Love and Kisses, Lady Lex