Heart of

the Bass

Edinburgh-based writer, Kevin Williamson, the man behind Canongate Books’ Rebel Inc. imprint discovered club culture five years ago. ‘Heart Of The Bass’ is his tribute to the dance scene. We bring you

an exclusive extract from his Disco Biscuits short story.

ut hey! credit to the guy. He gets us to the cottage alive. in one piece even. and wow! the place is jumping. Yesss! We all cheer up considerably. kiss Tom Wilson’s cheesy bounce goodbye and stumble out of the Escort stretching our cramped legs. Roberto sings. What's the story. Hibees glory! and we all laugh. Little things like that say. Don’t worry. the evening’s gonna turn outjust fine. Maybe . . .

A girl comes over to greet us wearing nowt but a Zulu mask and a pair of fluorescent yellow beach shorts. Groovy groovy people! she shrieks. Where are you all from?

Portafuckinbelly! yelps Roberto. in Capital City Scotland! obviously in the mood for some inter-city jest.

Cool. says the Groovy Girl. Anybody needing anydung?

Aye. says Streamer. I’m needing a pish and this cottage looks a right fucking urinal if you ask me. In despair Susie covers her face with her hands. She’s seen it all before. The Groovy Girl turns abruptly and goes back into the hosue. stopping momentarily outside the door to shake her large breasts which incidentally are painted into red. white and blue circles like targets at a guy staggering out to be sick.

Nice party. reckons Streamer. his face lit up like the Blackpool Illuminations.

Inside the cottage. which is all decked out like a club. me and Roberto score some Snowball ()()s which nearly an hour later are doing fuck all. The girls on the other hand have swallowed a black dot each that they’ve scored from one of the DJs. They wander about contentedly. muttering to themselves about how romantic it is to be in the countryside away from it all.

Never mind. I says to Roberto. trying to shake off Streamer. at least the sounds are the biz. Nice and hard. Just the way WE LIKE IT. WE LIKE IT! The two of tts are singing like hyenas at animal closing time. There’s some mad things happening all around us and I’m wishing this E would kick in. I reckon we’ve been sold a dud. I say to Roberto. What d’ya reckon?

Looks like it. You tip fora trip? he asks. It’ll be better than fuck all and since we’re here for the duration . . .

Alarm bells. Me and trips just don’t go. But like he says. we’re here for the duration. What the hell. We wander through to pay the DJ a VISII.

Five minutes later we’re about to settle down in the kitchen with a jay. having necked the

black dots. when the biggest fucking rush comes rolling over me and I feel my legs buckle and I think. aw shit. The ecky had been lying dormant. burning away on a slow fuse. and I think of that insurance ad on the tele where the husband starts singing. ‘there may be trouble ahead . . .'

I could see some synchronized swimming coming from Roberto’s direction. He must’ve been hearing the same song as me. Altogether now. he grins. in an hour or two when the dot kicks in we’re gonna be FUCKED.

Susie leads me out into the garden away from the craziness which is beginning to do my head in. Wow. she says. look at the sky.

There are no clouds but the stars are something else. They’re all joined by silver filaments creating this amazing spider’s web effect. It’s beautiful. Awesome. We just stand there on the shore of the loch holding hands like a couple of. well. star-struck lovers I suppose. I tell her how much I love her and we kiss. And hug. And kiss.

Behind us in the cottage the DJs are really getting wired into some crazy jungle sounds. The drum’n’bass vibe is floating gently across the water towards the mountains on the other side of the loch. People are staggering around saying cosmic shit and this guy stands beside us complaining about how you never get really big Yorkie bars anymore. Thttr no fir truckers any


mair. he says. thur fir fuckin’ taxi drivers. And we’re both cracking up like it was funny or something.

I says. When I was a kid we never got anything to eat apart from totties. Monday to Friday we had boiled totties for our tea. On Saturdays we went to my uncle’s chip shop and we got a bag of chips for a treat. And then on Sunday. for our Sunday dinner. you know what we got?

What. he says. A Yorkie?

Naw. Fuckin roast totties. man.

The three of us get them acid giggles that start to hurt after a while but are almost impossible to stop.

You know what? I says. trying to get my breath back. I never even tasted pasta or rice till I was eighteen and left home. I comes down to Edinburgh. right. from the Highlands like. and discovers fast food shops. Unbelievable. man. All them new foodstuffs. So 1 phones home all excited to tell the old dear about the city. and know what I says? I says. Ma. you’ll never guess what kinda food they’ve got down here? She says. What’s that son? And I says. Baked totties. Ma. they’ve got fuckin’ baked totties down here!

The Yorkie guy goes. Get tae fuck man. that’s just total pish. but he’s got the giggles bad. Susie’s trying to swig from a beer to try and put a brake on the laughter but she just ends up spraying the beer all over the place. Aw fuck, I says. this is just fuckin’ mental. lets get back into the heart of the bass.

Disco Biscuits is published by Sceptre at £6.99. Kevin Williamson 's first book Drugs And The Party Line is being published by Rebel Inc. in April. '


TencopieseachoftheDiscoBisotitsbookandOD are up for grabs. Sample the words of writers includ'ng Irvine Welsh, Kev'n Wiliamson, Alan Warner and Jeff Noon against the sounds of leftfield, Underworld, Goldie, 808 State and more. See Competitions, page 96.


Kevin Williamson: getting back Into the heart of the bass

The List 24 Jan-6 Feb I997 13