Among these new tracks were ones that became staples of Mills’ sets in the decades after, including “The Bells” and “i9.” Yet the lasting impact of Live At The Liquid Room comes from the kinetic energy powering it. The unorthodox DJ setup coupled with the experiment of playing originals alongside existing cuts from other artists resulted in a set where Mills moves constantly, always tinkering with a part of his gear or tossing records onto the floor as he preps something else, as the ground offered more space than the table around him.
“I basically had a library of music with me, and when I’d duck down to get something, I’d cut myself off from the audience, which would allow me to have some privacy to go through the records and pull things out,” he remembers. “I had a kind of escape.”
It’s the rougher moments (and outright mistakes) alongside the tactile touches of analog hiss or the shouts of the crowd that give the mix its punch, capturing the intensity of Mills’ set and the overall enthusiasm from punters during the emergence of techno.
While the recording retained this rawness, the scope of Live At The Liquid Room’s ambitions required all involved to play it safe in other ways. Mills says they actually recorded over two nights in October 1995, giving themselves a back-up set in case things didn’t work out. From there, he took the best parts and prepped them for CD release.
Not all of the original aims came through, though. The surround-sound experience ended up being nixed by Sony, with Mills just creating the mix in stereo (with crowd sounds still intact). The label also opted to only use a bit of footage to promote “i9,” with hours more pushed aside. Luckily, Mills’s brother held on to the footage in storage and pulled it out to create a new documentary for the mix’s 30th anniversary. That film is not out yet, but is airing before Mills performs on the current tour.
