I have to admit the prospect of seeing God actually DJ is daunting at first, trembling at best. Being a prog fan from way back (ok, as far back as my entree to dance music, circa 1997) the very concept of seeing and hearing Sasha and John Digweed together seemed, for years, like a far-flung fantasy. Often their names were muttered, like aural masturbation, by other music writers who’d seen them at their residency in New York City’s Twilo, on their tours of the United States, or at Renaissance, where it all began. But me, all I got was Northern Exposure—and from that alone, I knew I’d come as close to hearing what it’d be like to hear God DJ. This was who Faithless were on about—and the CD got caned.

So it was with a lot of excitement that we turned up to Sydney dance staple Home on Friday for what was unofficially billed as a once-in-a-lifetime experience. The pair had reunited for the first time, we heard, in five years, and were playing 10 parties in 10 cities. We walked in with nary a queue straight into a room already heaving to a gutsy warm-up by local prog purveyor Ben Korbel. Korbel was on fire while we checked in our jumpers and joined the six-deep hoard lining up for the bar. It was an experience repeated several times that night. For a sold out gig we were surprised so few bar staff were on hand to deal with demand.

The crowd was varied. Old school ‘all your base belong to us’ draped clubbers who, like me, knew the pair through their CDs mingled with confused-looking Subbies regulars wondering where Nik Fish and Voodoo were that night. We took a quick detour through the place—front room had standard house, silver room breaks and harder tunes upstairs—only to find the terrace bar just as packed, so we legged it back down. God was on the wheels in 15 minutes.

Starting out, Digweed took a more minimal tip than we expected. At first we thought it was Sasha—more from the mop of hair the DJ sported and the Airddrawndagger sparse beats than anything else—so we were surprised when a muscled, focussed-looking Sasha took over. They didn’t look too much at the crowd—who cheered at seemingly every minute twist the music was taking at this stage, so I felt like I was mingling in a crowd of the converted. And what a crowd it was. It was standing room only and elbows at half a pace as everyone struggled to find friends, find a sweet sound spot and angle themselves for some airconditioning. The minimal beats continued—both were obviously warming up—so I made a leg to the bathroom and bar before getting back into place.

Then I heard it. Pryda – Frankfurt. Chaos. The room—every packed inch of it—erupted in joy. Feet moved, pulses raced and Sasha had taken control again. The air lightened considerably while the bass rumbled through everyone and hands, hopes and cheers rang out. Beautiful melodies melded with gut-destroying bass, ticky high ends meshed with electroesque bleeps and techno tinged clashes, and prog’s distinctive subliminal staccato blasted through everyone on the floor. I didn’t care where I was on the floor at that point—I was just glad to be there.

All the while, to me anyway, Sasha seemed to be teasing us with Xpander, a track I’ve loved for years when I was introduced to it early in my dance music education. He’d play the lead in, which suited the increasing darkness of the tracks he was playing, then level off and play something else. I was taken aback when he played a remix of a track I thought I’d hear at a Mad Racket more than here—the orgasmic Lil’ Louis’ French Kiss—and was impressed. Whoever said prog automatically meant ‘plod’ had no idea what they were saying.

Digweed kicked in again and the floor seemed to pick up a pace. By now they’d established a routine—with styles quite divergent but working nonetheless. Sasha played more on the progressive trance tip, but still eschewing his own older tracks, while Digweed played more atmospheric, glitchy and with a techno-tip. We took this chance to grab a drink and visit the bathrooms again. Much of the club was empty—though the bars were still six-people deep—with the vast majority packed onto the main floor and overlooking mezzanine. It was a good half hour before we returned to where we’d been.

By now, the entire floor was on a journey, and so were we. One of the beauties of a progressive gig is the way you can dip into and out of it—the way you can chill to the music and really get into it. The difference here—aside from the divergent musical styles—was the expert way they worked it. The way they slammed the EQs, the way they fed back loops and worked effects. Sasha was using a Mac on stage and Digweed similarly dug into his case of CDs. Again, their differences highlighted their sameness—all for our aural pleasure.

The night ended in a way I hadn’t expected. For a start, it ended pretty much on time (secretly, I’d been hoping it’d go on until 8am or more like the old days) with Ben Korbel playing on after 6am, and Sasha never played Xpander. Not that it really mattered mind you—my arms were sore from doing their time in the air, my head felt smashed from the sound and my feet were sore, but satisfied. It felt like a religious experience, and judging by the looks on the faces of those around me—particularly the old school punters—it seemed like it was.

God had DJed tonight, and damn I was glad to be there for it.