FreQ Nasty at Galatos

By REBECCA BARRY

They say you can tell the size of a man's set by his hair. On Friday night FreQ Nasty - whose dreadlocks take up more of the stage than his decks - played one of superclub proportions.

The London-based Kiwi journeyed through a good few hours of throbbing breakbeat that veered between his own material and some rather more obvious club tunes.

When he took over from the peppy Timmy Schumacher, the music became as natty as that mane. Ragga rhymes fused with a garage kick didn't quite set the dancefloor alight, but with an enthusiastic floppy-elbowed wave came the promise of a more accessible sonic attack.

From there Nasty got nasty, serving up his trademark driving breaks and forceful bass, reminiscent at times of the tough robo-funk of Daft Punk. His new album got a workout, and a detour through the back catalogue revealed that incendiary gem Boomin' Back Atcha.

Like any good host, he stayed at the helm grabbing at switches, twirling dials and having as good a time as those on the floor. The excitement in the room increased with the decibels.

Occasionally though, it grew too intense.

Express-train percussion slamming into huge basslines while piercing synths scream blue murder over the top is an exhausted technique unavoidably associated with trance, and one that plagued the all-important build-up between tracks. More contrasting shifts in the tunes might have served the same purpose but without the cheese factor.

Likewise, some of the repertoire seemed like a club-night hits parade. There was Eminem, Scribe - brownie points for the New Zealand touch but deducted again for such an obvious choice - and Black Sabbath's War Pigs, a fail-safe classic. He also dropped club anthems that have been doing the rounds for so long they've gone from crowd-pleasers to fillers.

But those are but quibbles over what was otherwise a pleasantly skew-whiff night of hard-edged breaks.