Rise of The Super Furry Animals. Ric Rawlins

appearances on the turntables, it was only a matter of time until Cian started to make his own dance music, making his earliest recordings onto DAT tapes. As Cian explains today, it was a time of experimentation and creation.

      ‘I had this teacher who’d say something like “Ideas are a penny apiece, it’s how you execute them that makes them special.” Which was frustrating at the time because I thought all my ideas were worth something, and it seemed like he brought you right down: anyone can have an idea! But it influenced me from that point on, not to get hung up on an idea – the next one would always be better, and if you get a good one and execute it well … that’s where the magic is.’

      By the time Cian had started to apply this magic to samplers and synths, his older brother was going out and dancing to them.

      One night in June 1994, Bunf, Guto, Rhys, Daf and Gruff – who was down from Manchester for the weekend – partied at Cardiff’s Hippo Club until 2am, then jumped into Bunf’s Ford Fiesta and set the coordinates for the heart of a rave. In those pre-satnav times, their journey into the countryside was a challenge in itself: first they drove out to the outskirts of Merthyr, then they sped up the dual carriageway before finally pulling up in a floodlit Asda car park, along with thirty or so mysterious vehicles.

      Daf wound down the window and spotted a tall, dreadlocked man shouting at the cars like some kind of crazed traffic controller.

      ‘That’s him, that’s the man,’ he said. ‘He’s the one telling people how to get there. HEY! YOU! WHERE ARE WE HEADING?’

      ‘South exit, follow the convoy!’ shouted the dreadlocks, prompting Bunf to rev up the engine and fall in line.

      Several miles later, they were zooming through a wide stretch of moonlit countryside, spiralling in and out of the cover of forest. There was just one problem: it was becoming increasingly difficult to tell which cars to follow: the trail of ravers was running cold, diluted with regular traffic. Stuck for a solution, the car pulled over and Gruff got out to have a listen. At first, there was only open sky, cricket chirps and wind. But then:

      OOM OOM OOM

      OOM OOM OOM

      OOM OOM OOM

      The sound of muffled drums rolled towards them, then rolled back again. ‘Festival wind!’ thought Gruff. Rhys came out to offer a second opinion, and they both stood there a while, surveying the ambience. ‘It appears to be coming from the direction of the trees!’ announced Rhys in a Shakespearean accent.