I've seen Shadow three times before. Usually he's out to have fun, play around, frolic, enjoy. This is the first time I've seen him put to work.

The whole DJ Shadow and Cut Chemist Hard Sell show commences with a five minute instructional video, illuminating handy facts about the 7 inch format and making sure no chump is left uncertain as to what's about to go off. The visuals are snappy, arousing cheers and piquing tension. And in case we still weren't certain Shadow appears with Cut and spends another five minutes deep in exposition. Cameras are ramped up everywhere in the rigging and plugged into the jumbo screen. Everyone wants to see this, every little dexterous flick, flip and trick. In fact its hard not to find yourself getting caught between freaking a groove on and craning to get the best possible glimpse, and I know I'm not the only one as a field of camera phones are stretch up out of the melee like luminous sunflowers.

They may be the best of friends, but it feels like an unmitigated battle as they alternate with blinding, intimidating dexterity. I have to give the edge to Cut, although Shadow does a good job of covering for Cut as he throws, literally throws, a 7" onto a turntable and for once misses. Back and forth, it'll feel like "oh man - that's so dope"; followed by "oh my God, that was even doper" (we still say "dope" in this distant part of the woods, and aim to continue). If they're not battling the hell out of each other they're certainly raising each other's game. There's barely a moment of inactivity for the first ten or so minutes as if they're not scratching, they're diving into boxes, cuing, or setting up they're own loops with intricately placed strips of tape.

Not everyone dug it. An immense, drunken, Joni Mitchell singing Irish woman I taxied home complained that "DJ Shadow sucked cock". It has to be said that a lot of the music was weird. Weeeeeeeird; with drones, bizarre sound F/X, way-out-there juxtapositions (enchanting tablas, Indian vocals and snippets of We Will Rock You) the seemingly random (on paper at least) arrangements of would-be instruments were the actual music to be played in a traditional sense. It's not so much mainlining the spirit of Grandmaster Flash, more the Residents. You crazy California kids. This really is Shadow at his visionary best. A recent(ish) Pitchfork review compared another act to Shadow, then apologised for being too "middle-brow". Josh Davis shouldn't be criticised for achieving popular recognition. Tonight's display confirms him as a true scientist. Some of its a fucker to dance to, but the unfurling soup of pleasure is a wonderful, warped delight.

There a splurge of novelty numbers, a psychedelic soul infused Stairway to Heaven that brews up a storm wiht the ravers, a country song about playing Pac-man and a chirpy little ditty sung by a confused robot in love with a girl called Charlene which the entire crowd is encouraged to karioke along to with a ball bouncing over on-screen lyrics. Occassionally it feels like the novelties wear off quickly. But it's a fast paced set. You don't like what's playing now? The next revelation will be along in a couple of minutes. The only gripe is no Jurassic or Shadow material; not a note.

The Irish woman also accusses him of wallowing in self-adoration (not exactly in those words). That's consistent with prior encounters. Previously I've seen Shadow get the audiance to cheer each album in his back catalogue. Tonight he gets to trumpet his vinyl collection. "Apache on 45; e-bay that one". Moreover, with both of them onstage they have plenty of opportunities to holler "give it up one more time for...(their partner)". They can't keep their paws off their egos.

Nothing however, could be adequate preparaion for what transpires next. Cut emerges with his back to the audiance, arms pointing to all corners of the venue like a ravey air hostess. "This one's for the headbangers", he promises. Turning around he reveals a mini turntable straped around his neck, a 7" loaded vertically, which he procedes scratch Metallica out of. "Landmine; taken my arms, taken my sight", may not sound like party lyrics, but the place is tearing itself apart. Shadow straps one on himself and procedes to pulverise Beastie Boys into the mix. It's a good thing this is their closer because there's no way they're going to top it.

I've seen Shadow three times before and If this wasn't the best time I've seen him, it's certainly the most impressive.

Transcribed by Reverend Chris