International DJ and underground music icon, WES BAGGALEY speaks to me about his early influences, the tenderness within techno and what could be next for rave culture.
For a DJ with a passion for mixing on vinyl, it seemed only fair to write my initial draft for this piece by hand. There is something to be said for manual labour when making art.
To be honest, I’ve sat on this interview for a few too many months perhaps a little insecure as to how to write this piece. WES BAGGALEY was only the fifth artist I had interviewed. An international DJ, radio host and all round icon within the under-ground techno scene, he revealed layers of intimacy which I had not expected.
To be honest, this is probably one of my favourite interviews.
Records are scattered everywhere. Dance Mania, Casual Records and Just Tracks are a few labels Wes highlights as his inspirations. Surrounded by his collection of physical music which spills across three rooms, Wes’ gaze is piercing through my screen. His ‘tash just as sharp. It’s his broad Wigan accent which eases me, his familiar northern lilt comforting. He tells me, “I’m nervous for this!” and I laugh because I am too.
Rooted in Manchester’s 90’s rave scene, Wes understands rave culture in all of its vulnerability. Having seen all sides of a once gritty and underground movement, Wes sits at the core of techno music. House and techno music are enriched with queer culture, something I worry is all too easily dismissed nowadays.
Wes, however, continually brings this to the forefront of each of his sets.
From wild sets in world famous LGBT nightclubs to fixing his drag at the gym, Wes lays down is legacy as an unforgettable name within the industry.
I have a record I bought when I was 12/13 which I still play. I’ve got records I’ve had since I was 2 years old
Wes is an artist threaded with sentimentality, “I have a record I bought when I was 12/13 which I still play. I’ve got records I’ve had since I was 2 years old,” he shares, pulling out record after record to show me the inner secrets of his expansive collection. Considering Wes’ brash and “rude” mixing style I am unsurprised to find a lot of punk music there. “When I were little me aunty moved out,” he explains, side tracking to tell me about his family members before continuing, “My nan let me keep [her records]. She moved out in 1979 and I was only 2 or 3 and I still have, best thing ever, my aunty was a bit of a punk so she left me…. where the bloody hell are they…” The records turn out to be tucked away safely somewhere else, Wes plans to find them but we forget to loop back to this point as the conversation swells.
Wes continues to riffle through his collection still explaining, “I think it were [punk music] that got me into techno in a way. Techno is very heavily influenced by that industrial stuff from the late 70’s early 80’s. Techno is a sort of a bit of a DIY thing like punk.”
Often techno is regarded as soulless due to its industrial sound scape, yet Wes weaves a tenderness into this electronic punk rebellion through his unwavering care for music. It is a rare and special thing for someone to share the exact copy of music they have grown with over the years. These records are painted with places and people. Memories and anecdotes pour out of Wes as he talks me through his collection.
As we settle into our interview Wes continues to rummage through records, spin on his chair and press buttons on his silent decks, thoughts just pouring out of him into words. “I’ve got ADHD,” he interrupts himself, “so I get bored. If I’m DJing I want to be doing something, I don’t want to listen to a record all the way to the end.” This explains Wes’ choppy style of burning through records during mixes. His sets are bursting with energy and movement, just as Wes leaps from different thoughts as he speaks. “I’m quite shy, but I love being centre of attention,” he tells me, with a glint in his eye and a full bodied laugh.
Wes began DJing in gay bars in Manchester where he “just blagged gigs” for a while until he eventually landed a gig at Glastonbury. These spaces for LGBT people are invaluable and Wes continues to pour his energy back into this community. They are the spaces which built house and techno music. If we neglect to honour the memory of the queer people, especially the black communities who birthed these genres, the electronic music industry will become a hollowed shell of what it could be.
For me the whole thing with [electronic music] is going to a place and going wild. When I’m performing, I don’t even think people should be looking at me people should just be dancing and having a good time and connecting to the music
While I was at university you couldn’t move for DJs. It was like every fucker had a set of decks balanced on their kitchen counter, myself included. Of course, this is the essence of electronic music; to create a party in any space, brining everyone together to share music and have a laugh. But I worry with electronic music becoming increasingly more prominent in mainstream music the roots can be too easily forgotten. “There’s DJs who’s image is more important than the music,” Wes explains and I nod in understanding.
Sometimes you have to laugh at the slick headliner DJs playing on elevated stages, confetti cannons exploding as they predictably drop a, lets be honest, average bassline to a crowd too busy trying to find their jaws to notice anyway.
The point is; house and techno were created to share spaces. Not to command them. Electronic music doesn’t operate in the same way as other genres because it can’t work in a performer/crowd situation. It has to be community of oneness. Both DJ and crowd merging together in shared experience of release.
It doesn’t need to be glossy and expensive. It needs to be rooted in integrity. “When I’m performing, I don’t even think people should be looking at me,” Wes shares, “people should just be dancing and having a good time and connecting to the music. For me the whole thing with [electronic music] is going to a place and going wild.”
This is the beauty of rave culture. It is a space where egos come to die, where people can shape shift their way into new possibilities. Behind this, are the thousands of stories from queer and black people who gave their lives for freedom. This is the epicentre of rave culture and their legacy has to be honoured, celebrated and preserved.
As our explosive chat comes to and end, I am sweating a little with adrenaline. I wonder what lies in store for rave culture, where this next chapter may take us. “I think we might go back to basics which is not a bad thing. I think it’ll be a good time for smaller DJs and promoters,” Wes prophesises. He calls his dog Walter in for a quick hello and as we say our goodbye’s, I am left feeling hopeful. Maybe this is a time for reconnection and reparation on a wider scale. Maybe this is a time to focus on the soul still shining out of electronic music. And maybe, just maybe, this is a time for us to properly heal as a music community.
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Catch Wes Baggaley 10-11am every Wednesday on Rinse FM
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