It was around the late 90s when I first met Tony Marnoch, aka DJ Fat Tony. Don’t expect me to pinpoint an exact date; all I know is that I was clubbing in my mid to late teens using a fake ID to get into Trade, which at the time was the only place open in London after hours. The infamous weekly night took over Turnmills, a long-since closed subterranean venue in Farringdon, opening its doors every Sunday morning from 4:30 am. Barely out of the closet to myself let alone the wider world, on reflection I was probably too young and naive to be navigating what was without doubt one of the UK’s most hedonistic — and now legendary — queer clubs.
A genuinely mixed bag of LGBTQ+ people flocked to Trade week in week out. It had two dancefloors: the main one spinning hard-as-nails techno and house, while Trade Lite (the smaller, second room) pioneered a funkier, more vocal sound. The latter was Fat Tony’s playground and where I found myself most weekends. Almost ritualistically, I’d enter Turnmills, descend the stairs and turn left into Trade Lite and greet Tony with a kiss on each cheek in the DJ booth as he dropped the needle on that week’s newest tunes.
He was as much a showman as he was a master-mixer on the decks. Snorting bumps of whatever drug was offered to him or sniffing poppers while delivering a flawless set became part of the Fat Tony repertoire. His nonchalant excess was synonymous with his brand as one of the gay scene’s finest DJs, and he was part of a legion of boundary-pushing pioneers in queer British culture: Leigh Bowery, Boy George, Princess Julia, Steve Strange and too many others to mention. These innovators would become the figureheads
