This feature is part of Goldie's guest-curated series in October, celebrating 30 years of Metalheadz and UK Black History Month.

Darren White, AKA dBridge, has always been a trailblazer. As a founding father of drum & bass, he has played a central role in the genre's diversification and rhythmic evolution. Whether playing halftime before it became the norm, or becoming an early adopter of CDJs with the legendary group Bad Company, he's never shied away from taking risks in order to push his artistry forward. With his genre-bending sets and ever-expanding adaptability, he's found both comfort and inspiration in his role as a DJ.

There was a time, though, when White didn't find DJing creatively fulfilling, and he's also often struggled to reconcile the DJ persona of dBridge with his identity as a producer. But that time has passed. Today, he's at the height of his powers, spinning with a glowing enthusiasm while still always looking to subvert, surprise and challenge his audience.

Over two consecutive weekends in London, I saw White DJ at two very different nights. At FOLD for Neighbourhood, he played spacey, Ilian Tape-style breakbeat techno with lush pads and thick atmospheres to a small yet transfixed room of eyes-shut fanatics. It felt like interstellar travel via sound. The following weekend, I visited a more spacious but equally packed Electric Brixton for HVYWGHT, where White went back-to-back with dubstep cult hero Youngsta. As tune after tune of bassbin-rattling 140 thundered from the speakers, I could barely make White out amid the sea of hands and lighters. Both sets had a perfect balance of depth and raw dance floor energy, crafted by the deft touch of someone who knows themselves—and the scene—inside out.

Five hours after the back-to-back, White and I caught up on a sunny morning outside The Photographer's Gallery in Central London. A keen photographer himself, he'd come to see the Daido Moriyama retrospective. Photography, he said, has helped him confront what he dubs a "bad memory." Then, in the most measured and transportive of ways, he proceeded to recount the minutiae of the past 30 years of his life as a music lover and DJ.

White in his Antwerp home studio.

In the smoking area yesterday at Electric Brixton I got chatting to a guy from where you grew up, Malvern. He described the town as "a bunch of hills and not much else." Accurate assessment?

For me it was so much more—it was an escape. I left home and an abusive mother when I was 11, then my auntie and uncle in Malvern took me in. So for me, coming from a cramped room in Crofton Park, South London, those "hills and not much else" were an open expanse of possibilities. It's quite rose tinted really, but I'd like to move back there one day. A lot of my growing up and early drug taking was done there. Which I guess is one of the pitfalls of growing up somewhere like Malvern. There was Castlemorton, the last great free rave in England, but there wasn't much going on, so either way you get into weed and acid and all sorts I guess, perhaps a bit too much. But I absolutely loved it.

So what made you come back to London?

Well, I got kicked out of my auntie and uncle's place. I used to come back and visit my dad. One time I came back with some weed and seeds, and stupidly planted one in the house on the windowsill. I left it there, went away, came back and it had grown considerably. My uncle and auntie knew what weed was. They grew up in the '60s, and they had their own son and daughter, so there was definitely a fear I'd end up having a detrimental influence on them.

So off I went back to London to live with my dad's sister. Through that I started to reconnect with my older brother, Steve Spacek. It was around the time jungle was only just becoming a thing. Hooking up with my brother was what brought me back here and started the musical journey. My mum was from Brixton, dad from Jamaica, both very musical places. It was a given.

Quite poetic that it was the literal act of planting a seed that got you started on your journey.

Wow, yeah. I guess I'd never thought of it like that. It was a bloody seed! It sent me on this journey. I guess in some ways it was probably inevitable—just the way my life has been. I guess looking back I'd like to think this is something I was always going to do, something creative. Back then I used to draw a lot. I was good at copying. I was a good tracer to be honest, but I could do it well. Coming up with an original idea was stressful at the time. I was able to express myself that way. But wow, the seed… that one action could possibly be what set me on that path.

As one of the forefathers of drum & bass, White has played a central role in the sound's rhythmic evolution and diversification.

For myself and some other readers, we were in diapers while you were filling clubs. Describe those Metalheadz Sundays at Blue Note. What was it like being at the epicentre of the birth of a culture?

It was such an exciting time. This was in the Future Forces era, early on, like '96 or '97. Already being a raver and going out to jungle parties, whether it was Equinox or Sunday Roasts. Then realising I wanted to be part of it, that I could someway contribute to it? That changed everything. As I cut my teeth on vinyl, Blue Note was starting to happen and I guess we were going down there and being influenced by it non-stop: Dillinja, Photek, Source Direct, Grooverider, Randall, all these guys playing this stuff and it was like: "I want to hear my music in here, I want to hear these DJs playing my tunes." I used to make an effort to go there and hear this stuff. We were all eager to get back into the studio, work out how they did what they did, and put our own twist on it.

From how I've heard you talk about those days it sounds like you lot caught a bug. Mad musical scientists obsessed with the craft and all of its trials, errors and uncharted territories. How much was the idea of making it a factor?

I never went into it with a mentality of "I'm gonna do this, and this is going to be my career, and I'm going to make money and pay my bills with it." It was just an "I want to be a part of this, I like how it makes me feel, I like the friends I'm making, the music I'm hearing." There were times me and Jason Maldini would sleep under the mixing desk. It was all about the music and nothing else.

The pressures to have a job weren't there either. Because I'd been in care, I was connected with social housing and had rent subsidised on the dole. I'd pull up every two weeks, they'd ask "What do you want to do for a living?" I'd say music without hesitating, they'd say "we don't have anything for you, off you go" and pay me the money. It's not like now where they're a lot more rigorous with it.

The first time I decided that this what I wanted to do was when the track "Dead By Dawn" got some recognition. I remember at the time there was a split in the scene—there always was to be fair. There was the jump-up sound, and there was the techstep sound. "Dead By Dawn" got played on both sides, and I loved that. I loved that Grooverider could play it and DJ Hype could play it.

"Already being a raver and going out to jungle parties, whether it was Equinox or Sunday Roasts, then realising I wanted to be part of it, that I could someway contribute to it? That changed everything."

Was there a particular gig that made you say "Ok, DJing is going to be a constant in my life?"

There's a few. The first time I ever DJ'd was me, Jason [Maldini] and Bailey in Trondheim in Norway. It was the first time I went away which was really exciting for me, getting put on a plane and getting paid to play. The main moment, though, was at The End. It was just so intense, as a club and that setup... I guess in some ways it was like Boiler Room before there was Boiler Room, because the booth was in the middle of the dance floor and everyone was around you. This huge sound system, monitors that just used to take your head off. Obviously we were mixing on vinyl and cutting on dubs, so we'd be praying, "Don't jump, don't jump, don't jump." It was always about the first mix. If that went well, then the rest of the night went well. You're in the zone and there's just flailing hands everywhere in your peripheral vision. I actually used to get this weird anxiety symptom. My mouth would fill up with saliva. Mad nerves, so scared. I was like "Wow this is a strange feeling, but I like it?" When you're playing your own music and seeing the response from the crowd like that… that's when I knew this is the path I wanted to be on.

What was your first DJing setup?

My first setup was actually a friend's, Tony Luckhurst, who recently passed. He was the one who had decks and used to collect records. We'd go round there, smoke weed and practice. From a DJ point of view, when CDJs started to come out, we as Bad Company were some of the first people to use them out. We would take them with us and get cussed out so badly. It was hilarious. "Wah, wah, but what about vinyl?" We used to take the CDJ—I think it was the 500, the square, the one you used to have to queue up and try to find the pitch—but we liked the more instantaneous nature of it.

So in terms of you guys getting cussed out—

[Laughs]

—Did that deter you? Did you ever nearly fall back into the traditional approach?

No. I know the trads will always say "Where's the vinyl? You're releasing records!" But it wasn't always easy to get down to Music House and cut a record. Also, there was always that fear of it skipping. If you go to a place and the decks aren't set up properly, it's chaos.

I remember we took the CDJs with us to New Zealand. Customs were like "Ok, what's in here then?" "Oh, it's a CDJ." They're like. "A what? Can you open it up please?" They'd open it up and the thing would be coated in crumbs of weed! We were blowing them away while opening it. We took that thing everywhere. It was a stubborn mentality of 'you'll see,' and we were proven right. As Bad Company that was something we were into—whether it was in terms of technology, using plugins, being in the box, we wanted to explore that side of things. With the CDJs, the tools were there, so why not use them?

And what's your current setup?

Still got my Technics, I still buy records, I still like to keep my eye in to make sure I can still mix rather than just relying on the maths of it. When it comes to decks I've got the XDJ-RX and the DDJ 200 mixer, the tiny one, so I can use it with rekordbox in my front room. It means I can practise while watching the kids.

Do you have rituals before a set?

I only have one really. It doesn't really involve the music—it's more my family. Before I get on a plane I'll tap the side of it twice, sit down in my seat and when we get prepared for takeoff I'll send my wife a message saying that I love her and the kids. It freaks me out if I don't get "I love you back" before we leave. I get a bit nervous. That's literally the only ritual I've had for years. Four emojis: A plane, a heart, the mother with two children (a boy and a girl), a kiss and a red X. I have to send those before I leave, so that, God forbid, anything happens, she knows.

It's been nearly 30 years since your first gig. What has the phrase "art of DJing" come to mean to you over the years and how has it changed over time?

I have a massive respect for the art of DJing. I came from the school of being a producer first and having the world of DJing open up to me. I grew up listening to DJs, not producer-DJs. Whether it was on Rush FM or going out and seeing DJ Randall and Grooverider, seeing the records that they were getting and collecting, how they were piecing them together and creating this vibe over the course of the night. I came to realise it's not as easy as just playing two tunes. There has to be a method behind the madness, there has to be reason and a vision.

Now we're seeing purely DJs returning and I think that's a really good thing. With drum & bass you felt forced to become a producer. Those two worlds influence each other and not always to the benefit of the artist and the output. If you're a producer-DJ you end up creating things to DJ and get a response and it forces things down a certain path. Now I feel like more of a DJ, as I've always been bad at playing my own music. For me it's never been an issue of needing to build something to play. I can just enjoy other people's music and piece it together. The production side of things is coming out in live performance, that's the arena I can express that side of myself in. Nowadays though, I'm enjoying this persona and the idea of being a DJ.

To DJ to people is so many things—you have such power in a way. Just the way it's all designed, the decks and the sound and everyone facing you, the level of control.

Like a politician's podium.

Yeah, although hopefully with more truth involved. I recognise and like the fact I'm in a position to play them things they might not have heard before. I remember in the mid-'00s, DJs were struggling to play the kind of music they were into. Even with the Autonomic era there was the struggle regarding if the crowd is going to get into it. But I always used to think, "Well, this promoter has booked me for a reason, they like what I do," and if you look at the rest of the night, in terms of the crowd, if this crowd really wants to hear a certain thing I'm pretty sure the DJ before and after me is going to give them exactly what they want, which affords me the luxury to do exactly what I want.

I get to enjoy the process and the moment you finally get out and play something after pondering it at home. I feel vindicated, I knew this would be sick. Telling the person their tune went off, I love all of that. DJing is something I really enjoy. I'm not sure how long I can see myself doing it for. There's that old thing we all say about how we get older and the audience stays the same age, and with every year that's becoming increasingly evident for me.

"When it comes to decks I've got the XDJ-RX and the DDJ 200 mixer, the tiny one, so I can use it with rekordbox in my front room. It means I can practise while watching the kids.".

Let's talk about Electric Brixton with Youngsta. How do you approach a back-to-back like that? What's the prep and communication like beforehand?

I feel as though I'm better at reacting and then trying to bridge between, so getting the other person to start helps to set the tone and direction. I always try to have a little chat beforehand and discuss where we're going to begin, how we're going to build up in tempo.

I've had a few back-to-backs this year. At Horst, with Donato Dozzy. We're from very different worlds. He had done some drum & bass stuff, so we had a Skype meeting beforehand. In my head I thought, "I have to be honest with you mate, if you want me to enter your world I don't think that's going to work." [Laughs] I told him to start and because I guess I have a wider understanding of the genre, I'd be able to react to what he played. It worked really well.

With Youngsta, we spoke before. "Are we going to do two for two? Three for three?" We settled on one for one—when you do two or three you get your little sections together and yes you might come up with these blinding mixes, but it feels a little less organic. If it's one for one you're reacting from the moment, you have to think quickly. For example last night, Youngsta stitched me up a couple times. He's there doing these sick long mixes and I said "Bruv, you've left me like 32 bars!" So I need to get something in quick. I think it worked.

I learn a lot out of back-to-backs, and there's less pressure—it's a shared experience. I've done loads of drum & bass ones, but I like that I can go from Donato to Ehua to Youngsta, and hold my own in each of those areas.

I've seen you twice in a week, and both sets evoked vastly different moods and energies. Is there an essence or energy you prefer?

Where I'm at now in my career involves both discovering and rediscovering what it is I'm into. I'm known—and will always be known for—drum & bass, but I've always felt like I'm more than that and haven't been able to express that for many reasons, either because I chose to or because of the agency I was with. I knew as my label Exit Records was developing that we were wanting to release different kinds of music, so I had this frustration when initially I could only DJ a small section of what my label's about and what I'm about. I had to do something about it. So I changed agencies to someone who could get me to the places I wanted to be in order to express myself.

Looking back though, even within the confines of drum & bass I was very adaptable. I was one of the small number of people who could get booked at Metalheadz, at Hospitality, at Therapy Sessions, at Swerve. I was able to move through them seamlessly. I guess the same thing is going on now but I'm choosing to do so at different tempos. My sets go from 120 BPM and I'll top out at 160. Occasionally I'll get up to drum & bass. I love trying to create that journey. Last week, at FOLD, I purposely chose to stick to that tempo and get to know the music I've got at that tempo. Yesterday with Youngsta, I knew it was a dubstep night and I don't always get to do that, but I also love that music. Keep in mind, I had the first release on Youngsta's label.

Some people live up to their name and in that regard I'm bridge by name, bridge by nature. I look at a night or a lineup and see where I am on it. If I know what sort of music that person's going to play I'm not going to go ham in a way that doesn't bring cohesion. I like to bridge those expanses and divides. I'm also enjoying my radio show, with that I'm able to express what I'm into musically, and it's nice being sent all that music, because for too long—especially with drum & bass—the dubplate culture started to get on my nerves.

"Some people live up to their name and in that regard I'm bridge by name, bridge by nature."

How so?

You couldn't get music out of someone unless you had something to exchange for it. The sharing economy was gone. People would tend to hold onto their music because they think it gives a promoter reason to book them. Maybe it's changed because I've been out of it for a while, but the anthem is gone, because everything is so instant and nobody is really sharing. How can a tune get big if nobody is really playing it?

Has the energy in the club changed over time? What are some of the things you've noticed comparing then and now?

I could look back on things with nostalgia and romanticise it all, but was it really like that? A lot of the time maybe it was just the drugs talking. The obvious one is that people were more in the moment as they didn't have their phones as a distraction. Ecstasy had an effect. When cocaine came in that had an effect—it was a lot more subdued and aggy. With ketamine now everyone's swaying. No matter what it is though, no one's going anywhere, they're still listening to it and experiencing it.

With what I play, I'm not overly concerned about getting a response. I think that was one of the problems drum & bass had: the feeling that one needs to get a response from the audience. I don't want to piss people off with this one, but the "oggy oggy oggy, oi oi oi," I hate that shit. The whole call and response thing. It's an instant red flag for me.

With Stu, AKA SP:MC, he's had to learn how things have changed in terms of trying to get a response out of a crowd. Saying "Make some noise!" Nah, don't force it, because if they don't make any noise then it's actually worse! [Laughs] I'd rather not know, as long as they're not leaving, all is well. Instead of getting murmurs in response, it's like, nah you've just made me feel shit for the rest of this set.

What was the last standout thing you learned, be it on a technical level or a general revelation?

The new lesson I'm learning is how I get from one point to another. There's quite a big tempo jump from 120 to 160 BPM—how do you do that without it sounding like madness? I'm getting good at that, working out the subtle pitch changes and piecing together the commonalities between the stuff that I'm into. It works as part of that journey. So I guess the last standout thing I learned was learning to not be so concerned—to trust myself and the fact that I can do this, play new sounds and genres while adapting.

Before you started Exit and while Bad Company was still a bookable name, you were making really good money but not having fun. There was unhappiness there as you tried to reinforce the creative fulfilment without undercutting the financial side of things. You wanted to reconcile dBridge the DJ with dBridge the producer. Where are you at with that?

I'm more at peace with it. I don't feel the need to have all of these monikers anymore. Even when I started with the live thing, it was dBridge presents Black Electric, and over the years that's disappeared and it's just dBridge live. People understand now that they're not sure what I'm going to play and they're OK with that. I can go into a place and tell if the audience would rather hear more drum & bass, but that doesn't mean they're going to get it.

Literally, people come up to me and ask, "What are you going to play?" and I say, "I don't know until I get on, mate." I feel lucky that I'm in that position now where people are still coming out to see me not having any idea what I'm going to play, but they're still willing to give me that hour of their time.

"I still buy records, I still like to keep my eye in to make sure I can still mix rather than just relying on the maths of it."

At Waterworks, a lot of people thought you were building towards a big drum & bass tune at the end. Some people were let down while others, as you said, loved the willingness to subvert and not play up to expectations.

Yeah exactly, especially with these cross-genre or multi-tempo areas, I notice I top out at around 160 BPM, and very occasionally I'll go into a 170 drum & bass area, but I'm quite happy not having to do that. That night at FOLD, just choosing to stick around 160, it was satisfying just knowing that I can do that. What I love about DJing is that there are just so many options open to me and I've cultivated a position where I'm allowed to do that and I recognise how lucky I am.

Something that always stuck with me: one time I gave Andy C a tune, and he said to me, "I love it geez, but I can't play it," and in my head I said, "What? You really like this tune but you can't play it?" But I understand that because he's cultivated a persona where he has to fulfil a certain requirement. This was years ago, and things might have changed for him, but at the time I always thought, "You're Andy C, you can play whatever the fuck you want!" Clearly, no he can't, and I guess I never really wanted that for myself. These weird little things have stuck with me and guided me. He'll know that that's not meant as shade—love you Andy.

"I feel lucky that I'm in that position now where people are still coming out to see me not having any idea what I'm going to play, but they're still willing to give me that hour of their time."

To wrap up, the first record deck you owned was a Fisher Price toy that played plastic 7-inches, with "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star" and other nursery rhymes on it.

Yeah. [Laughs]

I saw it and thought it was poetic—it reminded me of that video of a five-year-old Novak Djokovic getting his first tennis racket. Looking back, are there any spoilers or tidbits of advice you would give that kid with the Fisher Price decks?

From a life point of view, I think back then as a kid I had a lot to contend with—just with my upbringing and the life that I had. Being in children's homes and being fostered, I had abandonment issues. I'd just say, "Don't worry mate, it will be alright. Things will turn out OK." I do remember being quite a worried and scared child, so I'd maybe just reassure him that it's going to be OK.

Musically? Everything that was supposed to happen happened. I absorbed everything, and those things fed into me musically, all of those different influences. I'm a Gemini and I do have that duality, that yin and yang side to me. It allows me to be open to all of that music: reggae, pop, punk, shoegaze, hip-hop, the lot, and I've got something from all of it. So I think the Fisher Price record was a good place to start. What was after that again? It was the Disney classics. I think the first record I bought was "Electric Avenue" by Eddy Grant.

I'd tell my younger self all of these steps and that willingness to absorb have ended up influencing your musical flavours, so get that Fisher Price record, wind it up and keep on spinning that "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star."