Full Circle: From Handsworth Roots to Metalheadz at the Hare & Hounds
Updated: 3 days ago
The foundation shifted, the signal re-established, and my lower back is currently reminding me that I am no longer 16 years old.
I’ve been laying low on the blog front for a while, but over the last few weeks, a series of completely uncanny events pulled a thread connecting 1993 straight into 2026.
The Last-Minute Call (Break Thru at Hare & Hounds)
It started on a Saturday. I had zero plans to play anywhere—I was just enjoying a rare "me day," messaging back and forth with Blindside to see who was going to Break Thru at the Hare & Hounds. It was a Metalheadz Blue Note special, which is bucket-list territory for anyone who grew up on this sound. Back when I started DJing as a 16-year-old, I used to dream about getting that spontaneous, last-minute call to jump on the decks at a proper rave.
Then my phone buzzed: Do you fancy playing a set tonight?
Naturally, 16-year-old me won the argument, and off I went.
Walking up to the Hare & Hounds alone for the first time in ages, the sub-bass was already rattling the brickwork in the queue. Inside, Hindsight was warming up the room proper. Reconnecting with MC PM was a treat—though Blindside dryly pointed out that someone really should have warned the sound engineer about the absolute raw horsepower of PM’s vocal cords before he touched the mic.
Playing b2b with Blindside always turns into a high-stakes chess match. His track selection forces you to think three moves ahead or get left behind. We’d messaged beforehand about the vibe—Metalheadz old and new, Blue Note classics, pure jungle - not the obvious ones though! Dan closed out with a brand-new unreleased monster from Anile that practically stripped the paint off the walls, and we dropped Peshay’s The Nocturnal (Back On The Firm)—laughing about how Peshay is literally back on the firm in 2026, popping up on line-ups everywhere like he never left.
"40 Years I've
Known Your Dad"
At one point, sitting on the stage behind the decks, I watched Scottie introduce a young lad to J Majik. Scottie turned to J and said, "This is my son. Thought I’d show him what it’s like when I go to work."
J took one look at Scottie’s son, grinned, and said: "I've known your dad 40 years."
If that doesn't put your knees into perspective, nothing will. But standing there at a Blue Note night, it hit me how wild this scene is. We’re in the middle of a massive new jungle renaissance right now, but the whole house is built on a foundation laid by these exact heads four decades ago.
Speaking of Anile tearing the place down, keep an eye out for him at the next Breakthru.
That night wasn't just a great rave—it completely altered how I think about track selection.
Watching J Majik deliver an absolute masterclass, I noticed how effortlessly he manipulated tempo. He started around 168 BPM, climbed to 172, and then pulled it back down. More importantly, he challenged my own internal genre snobbery. He teased Digital’s Phantom Force and dropped J Majik & Wickaman’s Old Headz alongside an unreleased new remix of Your Sound. In my head, those tracks sit strictly in the "D&B" box rather than "Jungle"—but hearing him stitch them together blew that rigid distinction out the window. It’s not about genres; it’s just music that belongs together.
A few days later, with those thoughts consolidated, I sat down and recorded Friday Night Spinners Mix #13.
I let the mix kick off deep and clinical around 172–174 BPM with bits like Onemind's Pullup, Mark System's On An Island, and Break's Sticky Situation. But taking a leaf out of J's book, I deliberately yanked the tempo back down into the mid-160s pocket—dropping straight into Peshay’s The Nocturnal, Doc Scott’s VIP Drums, Dillinja’s Jah Know Ya Big, and Madcap’s Good Old Dayz.
When you pull the pitch back, the groove gets room to flex. The sub-bass gets thicker, the drums get heavier, and it hits the floor with a weight that modern high-speed steppers just can't match.
Tracklist Highlights:
Onemind – Pullup
Alix Perez ft. Skeptical – Room 667
Break – Sticky Situation
Peshay – The Nocturnal (Back On The Firm)
Doc Scott – VIP Drums
Dillinja – Jah Know Ya Big
DJ Seduction – Can You Feel It ('94 Revival Mix)
Lost Hours & The Anti-Vocal Era
Reflecting on how much my approach to DJing has broadened made me think back to where my head used to be.
Recently, Jake dragged me onto his Hunger for the Hustle podcast to trace back how it all started for me, reminiscing about the parties he ran from 2008 to 2014 that we used to work on together. We recorded Part 1, but realized within 20 minutes that we were going to need a Part 2—we were barely warmed up.
Right after we finished, Jake dug into his hard drives and pulled out a recording of a set I played for his Lost Hour Loft Party back in 2011. Listening to it now reveals a massive contrast to how I play today. 2011 me was ruthless: locked strictly between 174–176 BPM, packed with dark rolling D&B (Alix Perez, Icicle, Sabre, Jubei, Skeptical), and—most importantly—zero vocals. Not a single lyric or singer in sight. Back then, my sole mission was pure high energy—giving the crowd zero excuse to take a fag break. It worked for that room, but looking back highlights just how rigid my boundaries used to be compared to now.
The Uncanny Coincidence: Handsworth & My Dad's Legacy
What happened next was pure cosmic timing.
Just a few days after recording with Jake—where we'd spent hours digging into my origins—my dad called me out of nowhere. He explained that journalist and photographer Derek Bishton had re-connected with him to re-record an interview about his old record shop, because an earlier audio tape had somehow been lost.
As my dad started outlining some of his old stories over the phone, I had to stop him in his tracks. I told him about the podcast I’d literally just recorded with Jake about my early days. We both sat there stunned—realising we were independently doing the exact same thing at the exact same time: documenting our origins.
Then came the real kicker.
Derek’s original landmark Handsworth photography project—the very work that captured the heart of that community and brought them together—was shot in September 1979.
The exact month and year I was born.
Fast forward to September 2026, and here I am sitting in a room with the two of them, reflecting on how that same neighbourhood shaped my entire musical DNA through the '93 hardcore-to-jungle explosion. You can check out some of Derek Bishton's archive work featured on the BBC to get a sense of that era.
Sitting in that room listening to them swap stories about their scene, Handsworth and the cultural melting pot it is and Brian Harris Records (which later became Aquarius Records), the parallels were undeniable. Between early 1993 and summer 1994, I was growing up in Handsworth, completely obsessed with tape packs from Top Buzz, Mickey Finn, Bukem, Randall, and Frost, watching Hardcore mutate into Jungle. My dad had operated right at the centre of the reggae and soul scene until he sold the shop in 1992.
It was like watching a relay race where I didn't even realise I'd taken the baton. The moment his chapter in Handsworth ended in '92, mine began in '93. But that’s a deep vault of stories for another time... (consider that a subtle preview of what's to come on the blog soon).
Listen & Explore
The Verdict:
Culture isn't disposable, and it definitely isn't linear. Whether it's J Majik reminding Scottie's son that they've been doing this for 40 years, cringing at a vocal-free 2011 loft mix, or yanking the tempo back to let a 1994 sub-bass roll in 2026—the chain stays intact. We don't just play this music; we're just keeping the meter running for the next lot.
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