New Years Eve 25 100 Club
Strings are inside the clock and callous hands play with the arrows of time. At the 100 Club on Oxford Street, Far From sets up the NYE celebration of 2025 with a dinner of burning sound and movement. We don’t let the plate cool; steam moves through our bodies and out into the winter night
Fred Perry X Far From X Babydoll Deadbeat
Upon arrival, I am bewitched by Babydoll Deadbeat. Angelic enchantresses lead me into a temptingly soft world. The band’s fierce core speaks from under the vocalist’s baby blue eyeshadow, as she prays for us to get fucked up. The phenomenon of a New Year’s outfit lies on floors and hangs limp on girls’ wardrobes in empty bedrooms. On this celebration, everyone seems to have forgotten their sparkling accessories and I can rest my eyes
Oli Noble, frontman of Uncle Junior. ‘Fighter Jets and Sunsets’
Uncle Junior steps on stage with a gleeful intimacy, and anyone who tries to play the game of pretence, their round is brief. Players diminish in number swiftly, slipping out of their observatory positions in the club’s corners, unable to resist. The still beer-holders forget to guard their eyes – these spill first into the moving mass, followed by their bodies, some raised up by firm hands
Fred Perry X Far From X Bathing Suits
Vocalist of Bathing Suits’ head does-not-stop-dancing, long after their set is over. Freyja’s skin-coloured bodysuit is accentuated by the band, dressed in black Fred Perry shirts. Their set is liquid, and the synth erupts into my mouth, making me drunk. Such a night is hard to digest for the likes of Oxford Street
Fred Perry X Far From X UNIVERSTY
University whirls outside of time and their drummer lands somewhere in the fourth dimension; the room follows. Good luck rendering this sweaty scene in high resolution. Try sanitizing this landscape: far from finite, far from still, far from something to be saved or protected. This crowd does not need rescue in a dish of New Year’s promises of healing, for we have already eaten
Photos / Collages by Carlos Fell Alvares
The moment is upon us, I am surprised someone remembered to check the time. Powerplant’s vocalist Theo Zhykaryev uncorks a champagne bottle, unleashing the different tones of the foamy communal roar, a brief rest for the instruments. Hands and beer-dipped hair blend – a community kiss. At 00:00 I ask what people thought; answers range between ‘a lot was changing’, ‘I have friends in this world’, and ‘my insides have heated up and I can see them sizzling on the stage’
As our blushing faces yearn for new beginnings, Powerplant delivers. A motorcar with wings, Theo, the long-haired bearded captain in a leather hat and the engine in the drummer’s relentless arms. Embrace our bodies, take us on a heated ride in the guitar-synth spaceship
Where do we go from now? I guess we will hear when our ears stop ringing in the morning. Follow the red of the 100 Club sign in a ‘worn-in but vibrant’ fashion, as someone puts it. The city erects and crowds grow wider from the club’s basement. And in this light, flashing with warm sound, unfamiliar faces have the eyes and smiles of our friends
An angry array of leather and fur hangs out under the stairs leading to the club’s entrance, waiting for their owners. I hear patience is being tested, for we are still dancing.
Words by Sofia Ishoy
