If you see the name Venetian Snares in print somewhere, you usually won’t have to look very far before you start seeing words like ‘God’ and ‘Legend’ being thrown about. Aaron Funk’s long standing commitment to putting out records and his dedication to experimenting with his sound has garnered him a huge deal of respect from critics and fans alike. Yet this wide eyed reverence from the Breakcore scene somehow doesn’t quite seem to fully translate into popular recognition, hence the size of the tonight’s venue. For an artist whose releases span well over a decade and whose online fan base is not only huge, but also loyal, the ground floor of Sound Control seems like an almost insulting venue.

Yet the meager size of the room tonight seems to enhance the performance rather than detract from it. With nothing in the way of stage lights and the whites of Aaron Funk’s eyes clearly visible to all present, the show harnesses a sense of raw energy that’s reinforced by the hefty speaker stacks that allow Venetian Snare’s cuts to be played at head spinning volumes.

From behind his thick matte of hair, Funk spins his way through a set that offers very little in the way of downtime, instead opting for the ‘I’m going to pound your head with non-stop blistering breaks until I’m done with you, and you’re going to fucking enjoy it’ approach. And it’s absolutely perfect. The crowd tonight might not be huge in number, but packed into this small room, they encompass the energy of a sprawling mass of pumped up fans. It feels as though an enclosed area as small as this shouldn’t even be able to withstand this much pressurised atmosphere. No one tonight has any hang ups about dancing, and thank fuck. Having to hold your nerve and stand cross armed at a gig like this for the sake of not being the odd one out would be nigh on impossible. For these punters, Venetian Snares being in town is a big deal and it’s a rare event that’s certainly not going to go uncelebrated.

There is nothing to interrupt the flow of this evening’s set, bar a few minor pauses when Funk’s DJ equipment decides to play up, but after employing the age old tactic of stuffing a jacket under each deck, normal service is speedily resumed. Well, I say normal service, but this is Venetian Snares after all, and it would only seem discourteous of him not to treat everyone here to at least one shattered ear drum. A final ten minutes of solid noise seals the deal, Funk’s knob twiddling and crossfading at this point in the night changes little else but the timbre of the thick, deafening sludge that oozes out of the stacks. For us, it is a momentous ending to a night of glorious hedonism, for the bar staff, it must have been absolute hell.

I'm Allan, I've had obsessive listening disorder since I was about 13 and now I write about music as a way of helping me cope with that.