'We're not beard-strokers!' Wigflex, Nottingham's 'rudeboy techno' night
When soulful singer-songwriter Yazmin Lacey first met Lukas Cole, AKA Lukas Wigflex, she told him his party didn’t sound appealing. “He’s like, ‘Yeah come down!’ And I told him I wasn’t really into that kind of music,” she says. “There’s not a lot of people I know running nights that would stand there at a house party and take that on the chin.”
Accepting a free ticket anyway, Lacey put her theory to the test, and lost. Still not always sold on techno, she’s now a Wigflex regular, lured on to the dancefloor by the open attitude and lack of black-clad affectation Nottingham’s most respected nocturnal session is known for.
“I think that’s how he sees the music in his head, something that brings everyone together,” Lacey says, explaining their encounter spawned a lasting friendship, with the pair even sharing studio space for a time. “I’ve had some of the best times at his stuff: ’nuff wigs, ’nuff glitters, costumes. I don’t go out like that to any other rave.”
Lacey-level loyalty has grown since the event’s conception in 2004, built on welcoming vibes, standout guests and astute residents such as Morris Cowan, Metske, Metaphi and Son of Phillip. Today it’s a reminder that Nottingham – where the infamous free party collective DIY formed, Craig Richards and Lee Burridge’s Tyrant parties ran, and legendary spot The Bomb once ruled – remains a bonafide, if often unsung, electronic hub.
“Rudeboy techno,” is how Cole describes the Wigflex sound that has developed. “It’s basically electro, garage, breakbeat, early grime bits – not really a genre. It’s melodic, it’s progressive. It’s wookie!” He has the pranged-out vocab of the true raver – when I ask him about his favourite tracks (see below), descriptors such as “swarper”, “schwanger” and “crunchmania” are bandied about.
He’s now introduced that sonic ethos to more people than ever with the first Wigflex City festival, seizing 14 Nottingham venues. It’s a huge undertaking he “staked everything on” without really planning what it would entail.
Attendees wander between James Holden and Call Super’s wide-angled ambient journeys, hurl fists skywards to upfront house from Honey Dijon, and tackle DJ Stingray and SPFDJ’s fullthrottle techno. Unsurprisingly, given Cole’s reputation for representing his hometown, roughly half the bill is local.
Wigflex resident Hizatron is one highlight: his mechanical yet warm bass-inflected tech gets bartenders stomping like punters, and smiles and hugs abound in the tiny loft. Cole himself closes a packed 1,000-capacity NGOne, morphing chunky two-step into darkroom electro mutants, resurfacing on unifying vocal bombs. The air is thick with sweat and respect as 6am arrives.
Installation artists have work in several venues. Spektra’s vertical-hung tubes are a standout, turning Brickworks into a minimalist lightshow. Regular collaborator Multimodal also excels, bouncing lasers from chandeliers and mirrors, making a surreally sophisticated soiree of Nottingham Contemporary’s concrete interior, ideal for Lacey’s grooves.
Eye candy was always a priority. “It was a Wednesday in a bar,” Cole says of the first parties he threw, more than 13 years ago, where dubstep, drum’n’bass and hip hop collided with more than music. “We’d have live visuals on the walls, a breakdancing crew at the front that used to battle each other, Mario Kart 64 and two-for-one pizzas. Then it moved to a place in town, Synergy, I think: a bar with a venue upstairs. Residents all night – we sold it out and grew from there.”
Nottingham has always been home, but Wigflex never settles, betraying Cole’s determination to keep it fresh. London excursions and wordof-mouth, semi-legal throwdowns have long partnered the proper club nights. The takeover involving models of weird creatures sitting in corridor windows like twisted red-light district temptresses is just one example.
“It’s a party, not an event,” Cole says, attempting to make sense of it all. “That’s the most important thing for me – the atmosphere in there. We’re lucky that over the years we’ve gathered this party crew that sort of follows us. Maybe it’s a Notts thing.
“There’s not loads of things to do here, so people come and have a drink and forget their troubles or whatever. Maybe the music we play helps – it’s not too serious. Everyone is a serious music head here, but they’re not beard-strokers. They are into their shit, but also just like to party.”
Twelve hours into Wigflex’s world, even upscaled to a festival, it’s easy to see what he means. In an often serious scene, informed heads don’t always share their water with wideeyed hedonists – here, they’re the same person.
Five key Wigflex tracks, chosen by Lukas Wigflex
Hizatron – Von Gloopenstein We can’t talk about the history of Wigflex without mentioning our robotic resident, the Hizatron. He’s come up with some belters over the years that have been played a lot up here in the city but I feel this one was the first to really do the rounds outside Notts. Nathan Fake – Fentiger
This has been battered by all the residents and me over the years and has all the ingredients for a flex banger. It starts off crunchmania and finishes with that hug-all-your-pals-onthe-dancefloor-at-5am moment. Minilogue – Elephants Parade Cheeky little swarper by Minilogue with the best breakdown ever, it’s been rinsed at parties, after parties. I played it on my Boiler Room and has hardly left the bag ever since Hiza and I first heard it at a festival in Hampshire in 2007. DJ Paleface – Lighter
It wouldn’t be a Wigflex without a couple of garage schwangers thrown in there at some point during the night, and this one’s sort of been an unofficial anthem of ours. That bassline always gets a huge reaction, but as soon as the vocal hits it’s game over.
Oni Ayhun – Oar-004-A
I could have gone a bit deeper and ended with something soothing that I’d play after hours but we’re not here to talk about my personal record collection, this is all about what Wigflex sounds like and what’s done well at our parties over the years and this absolute mind-bender from Oni Ayhun epitomises what we’re into up here. Progressive, squelchy and fucked up; we love it.