A discerning crew assembles, jostling for a good posi in the subterranean vault. This gig is not for posers. All assemble not to see and be seen, but to listen – a plethora of talent is on offer.

The midnight soundtrack is supplied thanks to Dave Pham. An unacceptable level of audience din makes it difficult to focus on the tunes. At one point I identify what could be a twisted tweak of Plastic Dreams.

I hanker for the audio levels to be raised to eleven as Pat Stormont makes his live debut. Music of this complexity needs to be absorbed for full appreciation. Unfortunately the throng’s chatter is amplified in this space and resembles lunchtime rush-hour at a busy cafeteria. The electronic genre as background noise has a tendency towards monotony. One louder, please!

Three decks and sampling units are to be skilfully navigated by Dallas Raft. The possibility of layering nine records at once implies a need to sacrifice sonic clarity for showmanship. The temptation could be for Monsieur Raft to provide a demonstration, but he remains afloat. Though he covers a lot of ground physically his sound remains slick and funked up. There is a definite rise in enthusiasm levels and those assembled take a break from their stories of recent conquests to worship the dancefloor. Or maybe I’ve finally found the sweet spot.

Raft’s set capsizes and grinds to a complete halt. Classically-trained Glaswegian wunderkind Alex Smoke is ready to ignite. Healthy applause resounds to fill the silence; it seems plenty of those in attendance have inhaled Smoke before.

Introductory cranks sound like short-circuiting fuses but are eminently danceable. His MP3J-ing demands the utmost concentration. From track one the joint is responsive. Smoke shuffles from left to right, allowing himself an indulgent grin as the punters cheer and express their recognition of favourite cuts. No smoke machines are necessary as a cloud of cigarette smoke hovers atmospherically within the inner recesses. A neighbour in the audience stretches up and makes contact with the ceiling. This venue is intimate vertically as well as horizontally.

Smoke’s music resonates with wistful longing. Our imaginations grasp at fleeting memories; we ponder what might have been. We reminisce and ultimately, we feel. That’s right, it’s a spiritual thing! Injections of raw emotion elevate his masterful compositions and we are taken on an irresistible journey. I’m suddenly jealous of Rainbow Serpent ticket-holders – an outdoor party would combust to these sounds! Let’s hope the CFA were on hand to extinguish any bushfires he created in Beaufort.