Some nights carry a certain weight before they even begin, and Saturday 4th April at Mr Shaw’s House was one…
By K Futur LOCALThere are nights where you walk into a venue knowing exactly what you’re going to get. And then there are nights like this-where you step through the doors of Dubrek Studios with no expectations other than a vague hope for something weird, hypnotic and loud. On Thursday 2nd April, Dubrek delivered exactly that-and then some.
Dubrek has built a reputation as one of Derby’s most forward-thinking grassroots venues, consistently championing boundary-pushing artists and leftfield sounds. “Dubrek Presents Sly & The Family Drone with support from Pablo Hate” was no exception. If anything, it was a masterclass in how live music can transcend performance and become something far more immersive, visceral and unforgettable.
A Room Set for Something Different
Before a single note had been played, it was clear this wasn’t going to be a standard gig. Walking into the space, the first thing that hit wasn’t sound-but layout.
Two drum kits. Percussion scattered everywhere. Grooveboxes. Samplers. Microphones. All piled together-not on a stage-but in the centre of the room.
At first glance, it looked like a band running late, gear half-unloaded and waiting to be arranged. But no-this was the setup. Intentional. Chaotic. Intriguing.
Before the music had even started, the tone was set: this was going to be different. And that’s exactly why people had turned up in numbers. A strong crowd packed into Dubrek, curious and ready to be pulled into whatever was about to unfold.
Pablo Hate: Dark Electronics with a Pulse
Support came from Pablo Hate-a name some may recognise from the local scene under different guises, including his work around Kumite wrestling. But tonight, there were no distractions. This was Pablo Hate in full form.
Armed with a Roland MC-101 Groovebox, looper, delay pedals, and a Russian Big Muff, the setup was minimal. The sound, however, was anything but.
What followed was a barrage of dark, aggressive drum and bass infused with techno textures-low-end frequencies that you felt more than heard, layered with eerie synth work and sharp, relentless drum patterns. It was hypnotic, but not in a passive sense. This was music that pulled you in and shook you around.
There was something raw about it. Not just someone pressing buttons on a groovebox, but a performer completely locked into every sound being created. The occasional bursts of shouting and vocal chaos cut through the mix, adding to the unpredictability.
This wasn’t just a set-it was an expression. A physical, emotional release channelled through machines.
And the room responded. Heads nodding turned into full-body movement. The energy built steadily, setting the perfect foundation for what was to come.
Sly & The Family Drone: The Eye of the Storm
Then came Sly and the Family Drone.
Or rather-they didn’t “take the stage”. Because there wasn’t one.
Instead, they took position in the centre of the room, surrounding themselves with their arsenal: dual drum kits, layers of percussion, samplers, microphones-and a saxophone cutting through it all. The crowd was encouraged to gather around them, closing in, forming a circle.
From the outset, it was clear: this wasn’t a gig. This was an experience.
What followed is difficult to categorise in any conventional sense. Neo-jazz? Experimental? Improvised noise? Psychedelic soundscape? It was all of these-and none of them at the same time.
The musicians faced each other, locked in a constant, unspoken communication. There was a synergy that felt almost telepathic. Sounds emerged from all directions-drums struck, skins pressed and bent to create textures, rhythms building and collapsing in unpredictable waves.
At times, it was subtle-atmospheric, almost meditative. Then suddenly, it would erupt.
Thunderous percussion. Sustained cymbal crashes. Distorted, screaming noise layered over intricate rhythms. It felt like standing in the middle of a storm-because that’s exactly what they created. They became the eye of it, and we, the audience, were pulled into its centre.
And yet, despite the intensity, there was something strangely calming about it.
It shouldn’t have been. It was loud. It was chaotic. It was overwhelming.
But it was also mesmerising.
The performance shifted constantly-moments of jazz fluidity gave way to almost carnival-like rhythms, then veered into something that felt closer to heavy metal in its sheer force. The question wasn’t just what you were hearing-but how to respond.
Do you dance?
Do you mosh?
Do you just stand there, completely transfixed?
For most of us, it was the latter.
Immersion Over Performance
What made this night stand out wasn’t just the music-it was the format.
By placing themselves in the centre of the room, Sly & The Family Drone removed the barrier between artist and audience entirely. There was no stage, no separation, no hierarchy.
You weren’t watching from a distance-you were inside it.
As the crowd tightened around them, the experience became fully immersive. You could feel the vibrations through the floor, through your chest, through your head. Every hit, every pulse, every shift in intensity became something physical.
This is where Dubrek excels-creating spaces where music isn’t just heard, but felt.
Final Thoughts: Controlled Chaos at Its Finest
This was one of those nights that sticks with you.
Going in blind made it even better. No expectations. No preconceptions. Just a willingness to experience something different.
And what we got was a masterclass in controlled chaos.
From Pablo Hate’s dark, pulsating electronic assault to Sly & The Family Drone’s immersive, genre-defying sonic storm, this was live music at its most experimental-and its most engaging.
Not everyone will get it. Not everyone is supposed to.
But for those who do, nights like this are exactly why venues like Dubrek Studios are so important to the cultural fabric of Derby.
If you ever get the chance to see Sly and the Family Drone live-take it.
Just don’t expect to leave unchanged.
