DJ Driller Jet Armstrong is as much an Adelaide institution as frog cakes, so hearts were heavy indeed when word got around that his famous nightclub was set to close. In a sweet interview with The Note, Driller opens up on how Sugar started, how Sugar very nearly ended and how the Gonzo Group came to the rescue.

‘Driller Jet Armstrong’. We’re presuming there’s a backstory here...

YAWN. Name is Driller Jet Armstrong. I changed it by deed poll in 1984 after watching The Killing Fields with Sia’s dad, the legend Phil Colson. ‘Armstrong’ was a great name until Lance fucked it. ‘Driller’ was straight out of the employment section in the daily rag, and ‘Jet’ came from an old James Dean film called Giant.

My old name? I could tell you but then I’d have to kill you – just like I killed him. And if it was good enough for Mum and Dad to call me Driller, it’s good enough for you. Here’s a tip – asking about someone’s old name is boring AF.

Who/what were your influences as a DJ?

My influences are all apparent in the music I play. You can hear it in my sets. From a very early age, I observed the effect music had on people who came to my parents’ house parties. It’s what music brings and what it does that naturally flows to a love of bands and artists – all rebels in their originality, in how they dress and the effect they have on our lives.

Every life has a soundtrack to it and there are often pivotal moments in our lives where we’re changed forever by an artist or a song. In terms of those artists who have changed my life there’s been a number. I could list a few in no particular order but I won’t. They’re my influences, get your own.

You opened Sugar in 2003. How did that come about? And what did you actually want Sugar to be?

We actually opened in December 2002. Seven people owned a piece of the pie back then. In the end there were just three standing: Benny [Modra], Eugene [Jet Armstrong] and me. I had 55% and was the benevolent dictator, so of course Sugar ended up being what I always wanted it to be. I actually wrote the mission statement for Sugar before the doors were even opened: ‘To provide an exclusive club venue for a discerning niche crowd looking for a late night up-market alternative to the West End, featuring a friendly and creatively comfortable environment to relax and celebrate with friends without fear or worry; with local, national and international disc jockeys and original art by local artists.’

And to that end I think it’s probably mission accomplished.

OK – so what did it become?

So much more than what I could ever have imagined. It was personally fulfilling on so many levels. Mixing with people aged 18 to, well, my age [65], hanging out with like- minded, interesting types, playing pool, talking shit on the stairs... For me it became this whole other world.

Everyone, it seems, has a ‘Sugar story’. Can you share some of your highlights? And feel free to name-drop here, we won’t judge...

You know the old saying – ‘what happens at Sugar stays at Sugar’.

One of my favourite Sugar stories was from the really early days of 2003 when ol’ mate decided to take his clothes off and swim across the Torrens. He ended up in the Botanical Gardens, crossed North Terrace, turned into Rundle Street and thought, ‘Where can I go?’ I was upstairs in Sugar playing a game of 8-ball with a friend, while Miss Kate was DJing for us; I was leaning over, lining up my shot when my buddy said, “Hey Drill, there’s a nude guy hugging the DJ!”

I looked up over my cue and said, “Don’t worry about it, that’s Winston. He comes here all the time.” And then sank the ball. Miss Kate and Winston were friends – we all were. It really was like an actual club in the truest sense of the word.

Oh, and that night I beat my mate 13 games in a row at 8-ball.

You’ve had a rough couple rough years which saw Sugar for sale for close to a year. Take us through it...

It started with Covid. That fucker was a real party pooper.

Then we couldn’t find anyone to insure us for less than $200,000 a year and it seemed we were snookered. In January of 2023, we put it on the market and sold it for $600k. The buyer was a local person, we signed the contract and I thought that was it. I started making plans to move to a tropical island, however red flags began popping up everywhere. One of them was ‘Sorry, Driller, the buyer’s gold has not arrived from Syria...’

By June, after months of bullshit texts, the buyer offered us five grand in uncut gemstones as collateral. Who does that?! He conned us for months. I spent a fortune paying the bills while we were closed. I was leaking like a sieve.

And so to the redeeming part of the story – Sugar lives! Who was your knight in shining armour?

On September 27, almost on a whim, I messaged Jon Di Pinto – co-owner of the Gonzo Group – and asked if he would like to meet for a chat in Sugar. That day, we sat in the club, just the two of us, and chatted for almost two hours. The light came in and here we are, on the precipice of a major rebirth.

Jon co-owns Cry Baby, Shotgun Willies and Memphis Slim’s. And I tell you, he’s redrawing this city’s nighttime economy.

The grand reopening is on December 1. What can we expect?

It’s the first day of summer and what a day it will be! We’ve got global phenomenon American DJ Joe Claussell as our very special guest DJ, supported by Mehdi and James Curd. The following week we have Kuniyuki from Japan playing a live set. The club has also had a lot of love, most noticeably in the area of sound and lighting – and the bar will be run far more efficiently. Our Social media is getting turbo charged, organisation is occurring across all aspects of the business.

So how does it feel?

It feels like a massive disco ball is gonna light up Adelaide for another 20 years at least!

It feels almost too good to be true. For me, I get to stay on in a reduced role, doing just the bits I love doing and none of the business stuff – which I never really liked, because, let’s face it, I’m an artist, not a businessman.

The lesson is never, ever give in. Keep hope alive and it will find a way no matter how desperate things may seem at the time.

See you on the dancefloor!

Featured