April 2003, Laurent Garnier was playing the Music Box, a mythical Manchester nightclub, packed with a capacity crowd of 600 people. He served up a rare, eclectic, and passionate DJ set that night, lining up classic rave anthems from the nineties and cutting edge electronica, vintage hiphop and techno gems from Detroit, disco hymns and reggae classics. Suddenly, Garnier cut the music off. A lone voice rang out criticising the war in Iraq. The second Gulf War was already under way; Blair's government had dragged England into a war that the people didn't want. A clamour began and burst into a scream when military drum rolls boomed out. It was "War" by Edwin Starr. At this moment, Manchester went crazy. I saw t-shirts flying through the air, gangsters dancing like lunatics, girls twisting their bodies outrageously and guys literally hanging out of the ceiling. This was not a club anymore, this was not even a DJ set, this was now a pagan temple in which everything was allowed; eccentric behaviour, loss of control, blissful smiles and improbable gestures. I remember looking at Laurent plunged in his record boxes looking for a last record, hesitating nervously between Farley Jack Master Funk "Love Can't Turn You Around" and Marshall Jefferson "Move Your Body". He chose his last record. It sounded like a riot was going to start when the record ended with a spluttering hiss.

That night in Manchester is my clearest memory of Laurent Garnier's art: generous, urgent and capable of miracles.

(David Brun Lambert)

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