The location is absolutely insane. The light of the early evening sun is peaking through the big church widow, sprinkling the crowd with its playful rays, each taking a new form with the help of the colourful glass. The wood with carved-out figures covers the walls, adding depth to the room. On the right, arches of exposed brick give a place to rest in the shadows away from the crowd. On the left, tall stone arches open a passage to a calmer side of the room, one for conversations and drinks. Under the window, a DJ deck creates a pure sound that fills the room with daring vibrations.

The music is experimental yet pure. Switching from melodic, almost ethereal soundscapes to deep, strong techno. I am unsure if I should dance or have a seizure; all I know is that I want to stand here, dancing, convulsing, doing whatever the sound commands me to do. Surrounded by people who all move at their own pace, deeply appreciating the quality of a good set, I feel the rave culture thriving under the watchful eye of Fetchish and Asid.

I think a lot about unique experiences of listening to music, especially music that stands out in its morphed sound and unexpected switches. It appears in different forms to different people. Standing in the middle of the Crowned Bass crowd, those thoughts come flooding back. I look out and see each person building their individual relationship with the sound. I focus on my own. What is this strong mix of light and heavy, this loud avalanche of melodies trying to tell me? This experience is quiet in its loudness. It leaves you alone with your thoughts, simultaneously reuniting you with the purity of sound. Sound can be made into anything; it is both the canvas and the brush; sometimes, it’s even the painter. In the midst of chasing cultural soundscapes and trendy sets, we often forget what it’s like to be alone with sound in a form that transposes and changes, sending waves through the room.

My eyes turn to Zlata, who, just like others, is enjoying the music with a full chest. I think about how much better events are when the organisers really believe in what they do and really love the music they put out. The passion of this careful curation creates electricity. It’s contagious. It makes people show up because that quiet loudness of sound is rare.

Caught in my thoughts and typing up notes and impressions on my phone, I look up and notice the sun is gone. It is now dark. The music carried me into the night. I haven’t even noticed. Outside seems so far away, and the walls of The Old Church are an inner-dimensional travel portal powered by the DJ playing us into the sunset.

We are in the middle of getting drinks, and I get a text from my boyfriend asking how the night is going.

“This is on acid in Berlin techno, but we’re in a church in London,” I respond.

We are ready for a smoke break, so we head outside. There is a crowd of people chatting in all corners of a small garden surrounding the church. As much of a community outside as there is inside. I am happy to report that the art of having a cig between drinks and dances is very much alive. We lost track of time chatting, and twenty minutes have passed. Okay, it’s time to head back.

We came in, and the vibe switched. It feels like we missed a couple of stops on the inter-dimensional Old Church transport. We arrive at the unfiltered sounds of rock music performed live. From techno to rock music, what a change. This is why I love events like this; you never know what to expect, but whatever it is, you know it will bring a new memory, a new experience.

I write in my notes app: This. Is. Unique.

The rock music, sung with passion, is like an exposed nerve pulsing with expression. It penetrates my heart and awakens that rock-loving side of me I thought was gone after years of requests to change the song whenever my favourites of that genre would come on my speaker. It’s still alive, and on that night, it was thriving. I stand, listen and move, almost hypnotised.

This setting and this mood allow for pure communication. Everyone is here for the same thing, and striking up a casual conversation or making a comment seems almost natural. Me and my friend stand in the bathroom line, and a discussion starts. We talk to a couple of people in line about the music. I joke that the rock part of the evening brought me back to my teen years listening to ’70s and ’90s rock on repeat. They laugh and say ‘Same’.

We come out of the bathroom, and the music is back to techno. Fast-paced techno that pushes our body into movement.

From then on, we dance, listen to the sound, take no breaks and just move until our limbs are exhausted, and I begin to suspect my feet are bleeding. They weren’t. But they were severely bruised on all sides. Anticipating a crash out, we agree to grab a car.

We come outside for one final smoke, tracking our car as it moves closer toward us. I take one final look at The Old Church. An amazing event. A multi-dimensional journey of sound. A good night with Fetchish and Asid.

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