It had been a long time since I had been to Home: for a while its Saturday night lineup hadn’t been to my taste and Friday night’s Sublime was something more tailored to the younger crowd of enthusiastic clubbers. But the tantalizing promise of something new had drawn me in, so I set off to investigate its new Saturday night Famous.

After a rather long lineup to get in, we marched straight into the main room. Home, returned to its former glory, was packed to the rafters with well-dressed revelers, already in full flight to the warm and refreshingly non-clichéd sounds of Carl Kennedy. After quickly discovering that Luke Fair was not playing that weekend as I had been led to believe (that’s next Saturday night), my friends and I made our way to the room featuring the Sweetchilli DJ crew, a fabulous little hole-in the-wall where intelligent tech was pounding enticingly through the crystal-clear sound system. At the helm was Carlos Zarate, whose crisp beats encouraged me to reconsider my belief that minimal influences are too slow for the dancefloor. The crowd was also receptive, with Carlos seamlessly working his way through an upfront and dancefloor-ready program.

Next was Sweetchilli mainstay Robbie Lowe who upped the ante with a similarly impressive display of technical mastery, showcasing tunes dominated by a mindblowingly fat lower end and generating a hypnotic groove, making it near impossible to leave the dancefloor. Robbie’s set oozed class and garnered much whooping and clapping from what could very well be the coolest and keenest bunch of punters on a Saturday night, giving the room more the feel of a kick-ass house party instead of the reality that it’s adjunct to the biggest commercial club night in town.

By 3.30am the crowd had if anything increased, perhaps enhanced by mainroom refugees searching for a taste of something different. By the time Ben Dunlop took over the decks the dancefloor was still full and he didn’t disappoint, revving the vibe up a notch yet still, as a friend reported with unabashed awe, “having the balls” to drop Trentemoller’s stunningly deep Moan. It’s testament to the magnificent crowd and the party itself that it was undoubtedly the tune of the night.

As we left the mainroom was still heaving, with the mezzanine packed with observers grinning at the party below. The Dirty South mix of Chris Lake’s Changes swelled the still very eager crowd and we danced, in spite of loving the original much more. I reflected on the fleetingness of the clubbing scene: how mighty nightclubs can wilt and be reborn, new parties can be instant hits or fade quickly into distant memory, genres dominate and then quickly become passé. But somehow, some things stay the same: good friends, a keen dancefloor, great music and institutions like Sweetchilli.