From the archive: Andrew Weatherall changes his tune

The last year he has also realised that he’s not as musically broad-minded as he once was. Endless instrumental trance and techno is a long way from the glory, anything-goes days of Balearic where he made his name. He was listening to heavier and heavier music, stumbling down a dark alley that eventually left him feeling depressed.

“I had to stop myself because after about six months it was getting ridiculous. If it wasn’t outrageously heavy, it sounded like shit. I was feeling low down and I had to take a week off and listen to some country, reggae and hip hop and it sorted my head out. Once you get into heavy stuff you’re forever looking for the next thing, it’s never heavy enough. | had a day of listening to old rock records and it felt like a weight off my shoulders. It was really weird.”

The Sabres Of Paradise studio is in the most decrepit housing estate you’ve ever seen, somewhere in the grey nowhereland around the edges of the capital. It’s an impossibly bleak setting. Walk around the back of the local supermarket, climb the stairs and you’ll find an ex-council flat with Sabres Of Paradise member Gary welcoming you at the door with a nervous smile. The tidy studio inside is packed with computer and sound equipment and a mixing desk the size of a family car.

Weatherall is hanging out, cracking jokes, smoking spliffs and making everyone a cup of tea. Gary and Jagz, the other two members of Sabres Of Paradise, beaver away, punching computers and fiddling with effects units around him. They are responsible for most of the essential technical and production work that goes into producing Sabres records.

Some reckon they don’t get enough credit, but it’s clear seeing them together just where the power lies. Weatherall makes suggestions that turn otherwise run-of-the-mill tracks into weird dub and trance head mashers. Weatherall claims that without him, the Sabres would go to Number One.

“Jagz is a top knob twiddler and Gary can bang out a tune at the drop of a hat. So they’re probably better off without me. They’ll come up with a very nice melody line and I will go ‘fuck off, it’s too cheesy’. They’d probably be raking it in if it wasn’t for me.”

This is false modesty and Weatherall knows it. He’s got the presence, the opinions, the ideas. Without Weatherall there would be no such thing as The Sabres Of Paradise. Without Weatherall British house music would be very different. He’s done more to aid its development than anyone. But his club isn’t that good, his LP was a disappointment, and his public image has begun to look ridiculous.

Weatherall needs a re-invention. Fortunately he is clever enough and creative enough to pull one off. His new approach, his new hip hop record are a step in the right direction. Or, as he himself puts it, “I go hell for leather until I make a complete twat of myself. Then stop.”

This feature was taken from the April 1994 issue of Mixmag