Saturday night - the peak of the week. Charlie Fairhead furrowing his brow as he stitches up the latest Holby bomb victims; pretending to have just got engaged to blag free chips; forgetting to ask her name before the first snog; and, of course, liquidation.

A couple of years back, Liquidation Birthdays (they have one every 12
months, happily in November) were blasts of amazement they'd made it through another year. But now - as they prepare to light the sixth candle on November 13th - it's hard to imagine the weekend without its mix of sweat-drenched indie pogos and glacial cyberbeats.

Six years of history, and, inevitably, fact, fancy and fib have blurred, trampled underfoot during a Stooges track. A vision of a dancefloor for the people who could never fit in at the then-new Cream; driven by music that tickles feet, hearts and - oh yes - groinal areas. A name marrying ironic self-deprecation with a glance at the old ska classic Liquidator. A first home in the Love Boat ambience of Hardys. A last night ending in clanging alarms and dancing on fire engines. a rebirth in current home, Duke Street's Le Bateau. A second floor, adding Uptight's fracturing of beyond-Beatle's sixties to Licky's electronic-indie-kitsch brew. Guest visits from the cred-drenched likes of the Make Up, Arab Strap and Hayleys Cake. A spin-off record label in Invicta Hi-Fi.

Dr. John alone knows how they did it, but Danny and Jules (D-J, do you see?) have created something unique - a club that makes indie sexy; a space where former members of the La's rub along with (and sometimes up against) shiny happy students; a venue that regularly crams 600 people into its Great Gatsby meets Warhol interior, but still feels like just our little secret; an atmosphere where sets of young limbs entwine, as anywhere, but without ever feeling like a copping bar. Danny and Jules have the pleasure of watching others try and fail to recreate the formula, knowing the secret ingredient can't be faked - liquidation still is about playing the music they love, rather than making the money they need.

Food is promised for those wise or greedy enough to arrive early on the thirteenth to mark the start of the club's seventh year, and what Danny terms "the usual freebies" - Liquidation has a habit of showering sweeties on grateful club goers (you need to keep your sugar levels up when you're dancing away to the Charlatans then rushing upstairs to catch The Rolling Stones.) But there's an ever bigger treat in store. And, no, its not some clowns.

Clinton - him and him from Cornershop - will be dong a spell on the
turntables on birthday night, giving the Liquidation team a chance to mingle amongst the people whose weekends they regularly make special. Don't let anyone tell you there's no market in music that people care about.

But is Danny sure that the club can keep the edge that marks it out? He's quietly confident. His theory is that even when the mainstream seems to be catching up on Liquidation's blend of indie and leftfield, what marks the night out is the stuff it doesn't play. In short, Liquidation are unlikely to trade in their cute-but-disturbing Playmobil figure flyers for a picture of a Doc Marten with an Oasis logo painted on it.

Liquidation? its like Suede say: Whatever makes you happy. On a saturday night.

Simon Budgen

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