From a student bedroom in Manchester to the dancefloors of Ibiza, from late-night production marathons to courtroom battles — the story of Explosive Records is one of grit, beats, and pure obsession. In this exclusive interview, founder Dave Wales opens up about the highs, the heartbreaks, and why, 27 years later, he’s bringing the label back to life.
In 1991, a 12-inch white label slipped into Manchester’s underground club scene. Released under the tongue-in-cheek alias Funky Monkey Records, it was raw, unpolished, and entirely self-made — the creation of three young producers crammed into a student bedroom in Fallowfield.
At the heart of it was Dave Wales, a Sheffield native with an ear for house grooves and a stubborn DIY streak. Alongside him were Nick Moss, a fellow Steel City export, and Nick Hussey, already a name on Manchester’s DJ circuit thanks to his work with Emotion and the classic track Touch Me.
“It was all trial and error back then,” Wales recalls. “We had no budget, no real equipment compared to studios today — just sheer enthusiasm and the belief we could make something people would dance to.”
The trio’s early sessions were marathon affairs: late nights in Wales’s bedroom setup bled into weekends in Moss’s garage, soaking up the sweat and grit of Britain’s early ’90s underground scene. The energy was addictive, and by 1993 they dropped a second white label under the name Mambo, doubling down on their vision.
Wales and Moss began dreaming bigger — a professional studio in Sheffield, built to nurture new talent. They pitched the idea to The Prince’s Trust, hoping to secure backing to help young artists release their own music. The Trust passed, but the momentum didn’t die. Hussey returned to producing in Manchester, and Wales found himself producing steel instead of vinyl at a local factory. Moss, meanwhile, linked with a local promoter, securing DJ slots and keeping their music alive on the circuit.
“We never stopped writing,” says Wales. “Even when life took us elsewhere, the plan was always to get that studio.”
Two years later, with savings slowly building, Wales quit the steelworks. A potential partner emerged in DJ Lee Waddington, who joined several sessions and helped lay down solid house grooves — but in the end, family commitments pulled him away.
The breakthrough came when Moss introduced college friend William Hague. Hague had no musical background but the means to invest. Business plans were drawn up, the company was registered, and Wales, Moss, and Hague became official partners.
Within six months, the dream took shape. The studio rose on the top floor of an empty house on Hague’s family farm in Bradfield, Sheffield. A large vocal booth, new mixing desks, synths, samplers, sequencers from Wales’s own collection, Moss’s Technics 1210s — and frequent pilgrimages to Carlsbro music store — made the place a producer’s playground.
It became a magnet for like-minded friends, local artists, DJs, and vocalists. Some nights the studio was hired out, with Wales producing for other Sheffield talent. At weekends, the team threw house parties around the city: Moss on the decks, Wales on drum machine, Hague manning the door and bar.
By 1995, they took their mission international — flying to Ibiza with fresh white labels and a plan to get them into the right hands. “We targeted the nights with the best DJs,” says Wales. One unforgettable evening saw them attempting to beat the queue at the legendary KU nightclub by scrambling through bushes with a flight case of vinyl. They were spotted — not by security, but by Simon Le Bon of Duran Duran, who ushered them past the line and into the club.
Inside, luck struck again. Boy George spotted them, heard their pitch, and took a copy of their record before climbing to the DJ booth. That night Kylie Minogue performed her 1993 Deconstruction album in front of 15,000 clubbers, rising from a stage set in the middle of a swimming pool. When Boy George took over, the sixth track he dropped was theirs. “Seeing that crowd bounce to our tune… it was everything,” says Wales.
They left for Space nightclub to catch Carl Cox and Sasha, handing out more vinyl. Although it didn’t make their sets that day, Cox later called to praise the track and eventually worked it into his shows. The rest of the Ibiza tour was a blur of clubs — Es Paradis, Pacha — and sunset sessions at Café del Mar and Café Mambo.
Back in Sheffield, the buzz was real. In August 1996 they released their first official EP, Up All Night — a collaboration with Sheffield group Mainline 451. Distribution was pure hustle: driving across the UK, selling to independent shops, often on sale-or-return terms. Wales remembers one London run with a friend, offloading nearly 1,000 copies in a day — including a sale to Goldie himself, who paid cash up front from behind the counter of his Camden store.
In April 1997 came their second EP, Directions. This time, distribution was handled by Birmingham’s Network Records, who covered pressing, printing, and logistics in exchange for a cut of profits. A third EP, XX-Large, followed later that year. But money was tight. No one had drawn a wage in months.
Tensions rose. “Hague was supposed to handle business,” says Wales, “but he’d turn up late, seemed disinterested. We talked about producing something more mainstream, even joked about a Christmas jungle track called ‘Jungle Bells’. But nothing came of it.”
Eventually, Hague accepted a job with his family’s firm. A heated meeting led to an agreement to split the partnership and divide the gear — but Wales says the others reneged, keeping everything. “All-out war,” he calls it. Friendships split, sides were taken, and Wales took them to court. “Court always favours two voices over one,” he reflects. He never saw Hague again.
One thing the court did grant him: sole ownership of the Explosive Records name. For 27 years, it lay dormant. In the meantime, Wales built a successful career in tech start-ups, earning multiple IPOs and buyouts — but never losing his love for music and vintage studio gear.
“I’ve accumulated a vast collection of old analogue gear in my studio. My Roland JD-800 — a beast from the 90s, almost 70 sliders for live sound design,” he says. “My Juno 106 is pure ’80s warmth, the Soundcraft Spirit Studio desk gives everything analogue warmth, and my Roland RD-700NX feels just like a grand piano. But the Ableton Push is the glue. I sample sequences of the analogue kit, then bring it all together in my DAW via the Push.”
Now, Wales is relaunching the label from Sheffield. “This isn’t about chasing the charts,” he says. “It’s about putting out music I love, telling the story, and leaving something behind. Life’s been tough lately — health issues hit me hard last year — but I'm resiliant, I’ve got a wonderful supportive wife, three kids, a dog, and much more time to be creative now the children are older.”
Asked for final words, he pauses. “Live life to the full, enjoy every moment — and most importantly, always be kind.”
Written by Jaxon Cole