Utter elation must fall just short of an orgasm in an adjectives scale of positivity. Both would naturally precede "holy" with, i suppose other biblical terminology dominating that top portion. So then what, i ask are we left with to proclaim of Greg Wilson's gracing of the Udio den? To make a narrative of the whole thing I might begin with myself grinning in the back of the taxi all the way home (except as we are reversing here, back to the club). I would then recall the absurdities of a stunning patchwork of bubblegum pop (its ricky's party and he can cry if he wants to) and thunderous acid house courtesy of Ricky's closing set. Then but two funks of a clock earlier we have Greg's last few songs -being an extremely extended and particularly echoey Aint no Mountain High Enough, Voodoo Ray, Todd Terje's beefed up I Want Your Love and The voice of Q. Maybe then some time would be taken indulging in a compare and contrast of the different facial reactions to my distributing of Haribbo about the dancing bodies. Time of course must be taken out in remembrance of the cosmic/hiphop warm up, of Ali's successful deflating of each of our successully inflated balloons, and before that my pre party toilet extravaganza of nerves, hormones, anticipation and of course their secretion.
jim
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