10 days of Ibiza
“Clubbing” recap of my 1st-ever visit to Ibiza from 28/8/05 to 6/9/05.
Sun 28/8: Danny Tenaglia (Be Yourself) @ Pacha
The displacement of Flower Power (a highly touted party) to the following week from tonight’s Pacha billing w/DT initially disappointed me but not enough to defect to Spun (Infected Mushroom/GMS) @ Privilege. Free bus deposited me at the club just before 2am. No queue at the entrance and club was relatively empty. DT was in the booth but not spinning. This being my first time in Pacha, arguably the world’s premier club “brand”, I took the opportunity to scope the joint.
The first room after clearing the security brigade has a bar with cushioned platform seating alongside it and the far wall. Several other comfy table/chair sets make it a good space to adjourn for a respite from any excessive headiness. This leads down to the main dance floor from which you can see the rest of the stylish multi-level interior. Lighting and layout manage to infuse a sense of warmth into the spaciousness afforded by the 360° panoramic view of the multiple balconies and bars. There are also several VIP areas cordoned off in random spots. I recall at least one other room with different music.
Having safely washed down the evening’s head with some water (both of which cost the same!), DT took to the decks to much applause. Crowd density still sparse and the beat lackluster & monotonous, I was beginning to feel underwhelmed. Remarkably, all the elements started to converge simultaneously. DT picked up the tempo and energy, right when the floor began to fill up and the head started to tingle. The backup visuals consisted of a montage of boxing images and what appeared to be childhood family photos. DT maintained an edgy but not overly deep house groove without resorting to the short-wavelength crescendos often favored by DJs bent on catalyzing fist-raising frenzies. As I was as yet unfamiliar with the season’s popular tracks, I only encountered 1 or 2 hummable strains though judging again from dance floor reaction, DT didn’t pander to “Top 10 hits” selection. Crowd density stabilized ultimately to an optimal level around 4am and consisted largely of “serious” clubbers as most tourists and teens were likely at Space. As testament to this, most everyone (including myself) stayed till the very conclusion of his set at a respectable 8am.
Mon 29/8: Manumission (featuring FischerSpooner) @ Privilege
Bar M (Sant Antoni) pre-party had its smattering of scantily-clad/costumed performers warming up the mostly young British crowd. Persuaded ticket girl to toss in free admission to Carry-On@Space and she kindly consented with a VIP bracelet, most welcome after having to endure a 30+ minute line to simply catch the free bus to Privilege. The ride was overrun by boorish English kids bellowing football fan-like chants, much to my and the few other non-English patrons’ bemusement.
As the “world’s biggest club”, Privilege takes your breath away. I was able to sneak a camera in for some sub-standard snaps. The main hall is vast as a hangar, with multiple staircases and passages leading to split-level terraces and stand-alone rooms, including the popular Coco Loco. A large pool/moat occupies the center with numerous stages and podiums for performers. There’s also the customary souvenir shop, as well as clairvoyance and head massage service.
I chose to go to Manumission for its past lore, which in its heyday included explicit sex shows. The famed crowd contribution to its legendary atmosphere was disappointing with little costumery and an overwhelming percentage of tourists, especially in contrast to Danny Tenaglia. The show itself was passable, with an impressive aerial “bedsheet suspension” act by a pair of gymnasts, stilt walkers, a confetti machine and several sexy dance choreographies. FischerSpooner came on for a total of two (3?) 10-minute sets. I enjoyed their rock guitar-energized Queen-like theatrical interludes, though it seemed discordant to the general club ambience. DJ mix was sufficiently enjoyable, with a crowd-pleasing selection of Disco/‘80s remixes & Ibiza house. Coco Loco featured spurts of psytrance & tribal beats but stuffy ventilation drove me out the room quickly.
All in all, Manumission didn’t meet the lofty expectations and I departed at 6am for a power nap in preparation for the Carry-On.
Tue 30/8: Manumission Carry-on @ Space
Recharged my head in the apartment before stumbling out into the harsh sun and ambling the 300m or so to Space. SO looking forward to my 1st Space! As I wandered through the parking lot, a voice behind me called out “Eh Hombre” and I spied a Ray-Ban-ed uniformed Guardia Civil motioning me over to his parked car. My first thought was “thank heavens for the in-apartment recharge”. Having no goods en el corpo, I fearlessly went over. Emptied all pockets, every cigarette inspected closely, patted down meticulously. Then I was asked to unzip my pants. I objected in principle, and the thought flashed that his thoroughness would not be inconsistent with possible police planting. To get on with it, I let him look where he wanted and thus satisfied, he brusquely asked me to gather my stuff and move on as he got in the car and stationed it closer to the club entrance. Future visitors are thus hereby forewarned. I shall say here too that Space club staff (roaming security and bartenders both) was super-vigilant on stamping out visible drug use, tipping over powder, upsetting lines and stubbing out joints. I didn’t witness any evictions though.
OK – back to the fun stuff.
The outdoor terrace was bathed in a warm 11am sun as I sauntered in and was greeted with a sea of grinning, beautiful people moving joyously to the infectious Balearic House that I’d grown to love in a matter of days. After a quick inspection inside the one interior hall that was open – which had a moodier trancier bent, amenable but not what the doctor ordered – I heeded the words of one of the Manumission staffers I’d struck up a yak with, “get the lay of the land, then stay on the terrace the rest of the day”.
Friendly smiles were abundant and before long, I found company in the form of a group of longtime Ibiza regulars - Spaniards and most gracious to share their love of the island. Graca immediately shared her party favors and a sampling of the very tasty local liquor, Hierbas. The energy and spirit of the party was such that I was actually a trifle winded and didn’t take to the floor much, content to lean back and bop incessantly on my bar stool, people-watching and engaging in numerous randomly-generated conversations mostly with forward Italian women. Just when you thought it couldn’t get any better, Space staffers began walking around depositing garbage bags around the terrace and dance floor. Whoops and yells emanated from all corners as the range of freebies was soon revealed. Snazzy sunglasses, shiny golden wigs, fake mustaches/boobs/butts, pink-tinseled toy microphones etc. found their way around the crowd. Happy became hilarious and crazy became nonsensical. All the while, the music wove us all together. On the basis of my first party there, it wasn’t difficult to see why Space was voted the World’s Best Club in 2004.
I left at some point in the afternoon with my new friends to a private party in the hills of Es Cubells, notable mainly for the world-class view, the appearance of Richie Hawtin (though he didn’t spin) and large groups of cliquey Italians. The evening wound down at sunset (circa 8:30pm) on Playa D’en Bossa with a leisurely demi-pill & local smoke, after which I eased into my first stretch of sound sleep since arriving.
Thu 1/9: Steve Lawler (Viva-Fundacion) @ Space
On my 30min hopper from Barcelona a few days earlier, I’d sat next to what initially appeared to be a fidgety guy who upon takeoff, whipped out a stack of CDs and promptly cocooned himself in high-end noise-canceling headphones, industriously taking notes as he made his way through the stack of tracks. I was gazing out the window at the magnificent Mediterranean islands when he struck up friendly conversation. Noting it was my first time to Ibiza, he inquired of my “party schedule” and it turned out he was a resident at Space with Steve Lawler on Thursday. Pete (Gooding) also regularly DJed the sunset set at Café Mambo (adjacent to the cultish Café Del Mar) and without any hesitation, offered to guestlist me for Steve Lawler. That solved the tricky dilemma of my hardest scheduling decision of the entire stay – Cream (Paul van Dyk et al) or Lawler.
I took full advantage of Pete’s generosity and brought 3 newfound friends met earlier in the evening at Bora Bora’s famed pre-party, conveniently located between my apartment and the beach, mere steps away from Space. On this night, Space was relatively empty and Pete intimated that end-Aug/early-Sep is typically a short lull when Ibiza catches its breath from the headiness of Jul/Aug and the frenzy of the mid-Sep closing parties. I caught my own breath, realizing everything I was experiencing was during a “quiet week” in the season.
Most everyone at Space that night was in the one main room that was open though I never made it up to inspect the chillout roof. Steve didn’t take too long to come on and quite rapidly wrapped the room in his traditional hypnotic wave of deep, dark, sexy trance. I was mildly disappointed that the usual Thurs doubleheader line-up of Sasha/Lawler was not to be (victim of the lull week?) but I knew I’d be at the marathon 22-hour WLS (We Love Sundays) at Space, headlined by Sasha & Groove Armada. Steve was relentless and I might have favored a freshening/lightening up at points but I’m being picky. My companions, partial to the “cheerier stuff”, bagged after a few hours and I happily ground on with the other diehards of the evening. We made plans to meet up the following evening and with the knowledge that I’d be celebrating my birthday then, I begged off the dancefloor at a modest 7am.
Fri 2/9: Pete Tong/Darren Emerson et al (Pure Pacha) @ Pacha
This was another (what wasn’t?!!) eagerly anticipated night, not only for the birthday excuse but the impressive line-up. I’d heard extreme opinions about Pure Pacha, many decrying its “commercialism” (let’s face it, this is Ibiza!), others extolling its vibe. And while I love Space on account of its unbridled energy, Pacha – for all its attendant snootiness (VIP areas, hyper-priced drinks, nattier dressing, reserved tables) – has accoutrements that admittedly make it a comfier club.
I arrived at 2am and instantly realized this was going to be a different experience than Danny Tenaglia. I’d gotten wind of this earlier as everyone seemed headed to Pacha tonight. It was THE party to be at with little competition elsewhere. The line was not ungodly but somewhat unruly. My experience with Cairo “queues” helped ensure reasonably swift entry. Inside, there was barely room to see, let alone move. Forget dancing. After an hour, I realized I’d never find the people I’d arranged to rendezvous with. So much for “old friends” - I would spend my birthday with brand new ones, primarily a Dutch group and later an English crew, the latter bequeathing me a half-bottle of Absolut they’d inherited from their table’s previous occupants.
The layout was markedly changed from the DT night, with the main DJ booth oriented differently and 2 (?) other active booths going simultaneously. More smartly-dressed crowd tonight and I was ushered out of one table I’d temporarily planted myself at by a foursome of ostentatious Luxembourgers - the only friendly one being the lone lady – who upon being seated had two bottles of champagne immediately uncorked. The constant stream of visual stimuli afforded by the density of people was accentuated by my departure from a hitherto consistent diet of Ibiza warEz to a remnant rogue South African souvenir I’d somehow saved from years back. This packed a headier punch than the local stuff and along with the unexpectedly pounding Pete Tong, who stayed clear of his oft-favored vocal tracks, I rarely found my legs throughout the night.
This night was memorable for the well-wishes & compliments I received, the at-times unnerving crowd levels and a relentless music tempo that wreaked havoc in conjunction with my Capetonian catalyst. I was energized enough to make a spur-of-the-moment decision to attend the morning party at Space to further extend my birthday euphoria and the pragmatic side of me took leave of Pure Pacha before its end for another power nap.
Sat 3/9: Matinee Group @ Space
This had been touted by the locals as an excellent day party, notable for its attendance by serious aficionados with few tourists, who’d be gearing themselves for WLS the next day. The price for spontaneity was paid via a ticket at the door for 35 EUR (1 drink included). This time, the open rooms were the two main halls, with the outdoor terrace closed off. The magic of daylight however, bathed the room, which previously held court to Lawler’s sinister grind, in a wide swath of warm sensuous sun and I was struck by the rawness of energy visible on all the faces, expressions which hide themselves in the dark of night. The locals obviously were right.
Music was anthemy but hardly pandering, with hints of disco expertly woven into the upbeat summer Ibiza house. Notable too was the gay pride strength on display in both rooms characterized by a large visually uniform group of muscular shirtless men in jeans dancing in a cohesive mass in the center of each floor, exuding a pulsing statement for all to take in. Tempo and mood stayed at an unvarying high level, attractive but a shade monotonous and just a bit draining. The week’s toll was starting to take its measure.
Sun 4/9: Jeff Mills, Groove Armada etc (We Love Sundays) @ Space
There was palpable anticipation for this party all week amongst the newcomers like myself. Once in, I was devastated to see that Sasha was missing from the line-up sheet posted just inside the entrance. Further inquiries revealed his previous 2 gigs had drained him, and he was taken off the lineup today - HIS birthday no less!
In consolation, Jeff Mills was added to the line-up and since I hadn’t seen him before, I was sufficiently mollified. All the rooms were open for the first time, including the open-air roof terrace playing an R&B/Chill mix to go with the hot baking sun. Relaxing there with newfound friends of the day, I sweated more than any other occasion and soon made my way downstairs to the throng below.
I didn’t think it could’ve gotten more crowded than Pure Pacha but WLS made that seem like an evening at a suburban jazz lounge. I spent most of the afternoon on the terrace jostling with a crowd that was pleased with the rotation of familiar current Ibiza hits. I was pleased too though only familiar with about a tenth of the tracks. Knowing that Groove Armada was due on at 9pm, I took my pass-out at 6pm for a quick dinner break and peek at the US Open.
Returning at 8pm, the line was the longest I’d experienced – roughly 20 minutes. The terrace was now crammed and everyone was near frenzy. The DJs were just as animated as they edged from the bass line of Michael Jackson's "Smooth Criminal" to the most inspired crescendo of a decibel-crunching full-length mix of Nirvana’s “Smells like Teen Spirit”. Shortly after this unbelievable high, I receded indoors for a reprieve in the relaxing air-conditioned discoteca and remained inside the relative spaciousness for some extended bona fide dancing.
At midnight, I met an attractive Indonesian couple (one of few Asians I encountered all week) and we could barely contain our excitement over Jeff Mills’ imminent start. There was some confusion as the outside terrace stayed silent until we realized JM was spinning inside. The room was already packed and I guided us to my favorite spot on the mezzanine level. JM was less “techy” than I’d expected and I was emotionally won over with his patient, teasing segueway into a thumping mix of Santana’s “Jingo”, augmented by original vocal chorus. The mesmerizing beat droned on and for variety I nipped in next door to check out James Zabiela (a Sasha protege) and unbeknownst to me in the other room, JZ was blitzing a crowded dance floor with a wicked, eclectic high BPM mix. High-octane lighting further juiced the adrenaline. I stayed contentedly here for some time before deciding I’d end things with one more JM techno session.
In all, WLS was the extravaganza it promised to be. Good vibe, inspired mixes and a real marathon. Sasha spinning on his birthday as well might have been too much to handle.
Notable missed dates
Clubbing in Ibiza is spectacular for its weekly roster and for a supposedly lull-week, I must list the numerous acts/parties I regret simply not being able to attend.
Infected Mushroom/GMS
Circo Loco @ DC-10
Roger Sanchez
LaTroya (DJ Oliver)
Timo Maas (Closing Party)
Erick Morillo
Cream
People from Ibiza
Hed Kandi
Satoshi Tomeii
Sander Kleinenberg
Carl Cox
Sun 28/8: Danny Tenaglia (Be Yourself) @ Pacha
The displacement of Flower Power (a highly touted party) to the following week from tonight’s Pacha billing w/DT initially disappointed me but not enough to defect to Spun (Infected Mushroom/GMS) @ Privilege. Free bus deposited me at the club just before 2am. No queue at the entrance and club was relatively empty. DT was in the booth but not spinning. This being my first time in Pacha, arguably the world’s premier club “brand”, I took the opportunity to scope the joint.
The first room after clearing the security brigade has a bar with cushioned platform seating alongside it and the far wall. Several other comfy table/chair sets make it a good space to adjourn for a respite from any excessive headiness. This leads down to the main dance floor from which you can see the rest of the stylish multi-level interior. Lighting and layout manage to infuse a sense of warmth into the spaciousness afforded by the 360° panoramic view of the multiple balconies and bars. There are also several VIP areas cordoned off in random spots. I recall at least one other room with different music.
Having safely washed down the evening’s head with some water (both of which cost the same!), DT took to the decks to much applause. Crowd density still sparse and the beat lackluster & monotonous, I was beginning to feel underwhelmed. Remarkably, all the elements started to converge simultaneously. DT picked up the tempo and energy, right when the floor began to fill up and the head started to tingle. The backup visuals consisted of a montage of boxing images and what appeared to be childhood family photos. DT maintained an edgy but not overly deep house groove without resorting to the short-wavelength crescendos often favored by DJs bent on catalyzing fist-raising frenzies. As I was as yet unfamiliar with the season’s popular tracks, I only encountered 1 or 2 hummable strains though judging again from dance floor reaction, DT didn’t pander to “Top 10 hits” selection. Crowd density stabilized ultimately to an optimal level around 4am and consisted largely of “serious” clubbers as most tourists and teens were likely at Space. As testament to this, most everyone (including myself) stayed till the very conclusion of his set at a respectable 8am.
Mon 29/8: Manumission (featuring FischerSpooner) @ Privilege
Bar M (Sant Antoni) pre-party had its smattering of scantily-clad/costumed performers warming up the mostly young British crowd. Persuaded ticket girl to toss in free admission to Carry-On@Space and she kindly consented with a VIP bracelet, most welcome after having to endure a 30+ minute line to simply catch the free bus to Privilege. The ride was overrun by boorish English kids bellowing football fan-like chants, much to my and the few other non-English patrons’ bemusement.
As the “world’s biggest club”, Privilege takes your breath away. I was able to sneak a camera in for some sub-standard snaps. The main hall is vast as a hangar, with multiple staircases and passages leading to split-level terraces and stand-alone rooms, including the popular Coco Loco. A large pool/moat occupies the center with numerous stages and podiums for performers. There’s also the customary souvenir shop, as well as clairvoyance and head massage service.
I chose to go to Manumission for its past lore, which in its heyday included explicit sex shows. The famed crowd contribution to its legendary atmosphere was disappointing with little costumery and an overwhelming percentage of tourists, especially in contrast to Danny Tenaglia. The show itself was passable, with an impressive aerial “bedsheet suspension” act by a pair of gymnasts, stilt walkers, a confetti machine and several sexy dance choreographies. FischerSpooner came on for a total of two (3?) 10-minute sets. I enjoyed their rock guitar-energized Queen-like theatrical interludes, though it seemed discordant to the general club ambience. DJ mix was sufficiently enjoyable, with a crowd-pleasing selection of Disco/‘80s remixes & Ibiza house. Coco Loco featured spurts of psytrance & tribal beats but stuffy ventilation drove me out the room quickly.
All in all, Manumission didn’t meet the lofty expectations and I departed at 6am for a power nap in preparation for the Carry-On.
Tue 30/8: Manumission Carry-on @ Space
Recharged my head in the apartment before stumbling out into the harsh sun and ambling the 300m or so to Space. SO looking forward to my 1st Space! As I wandered through the parking lot, a voice behind me called out “Eh Hombre” and I spied a Ray-Ban-ed uniformed Guardia Civil motioning me over to his parked car. My first thought was “thank heavens for the in-apartment recharge”. Having no goods en el corpo, I fearlessly went over. Emptied all pockets, every cigarette inspected closely, patted down meticulously. Then I was asked to unzip my pants. I objected in principle, and the thought flashed that his thoroughness would not be inconsistent with possible police planting. To get on with it, I let him look where he wanted and thus satisfied, he brusquely asked me to gather my stuff and move on as he got in the car and stationed it closer to the club entrance. Future visitors are thus hereby forewarned. I shall say here too that Space club staff (roaming security and bartenders both) was super-vigilant on stamping out visible drug use, tipping over powder, upsetting lines and stubbing out joints. I didn’t witness any evictions though.
OK – back to the fun stuff.
The outdoor terrace was bathed in a warm 11am sun as I sauntered in and was greeted with a sea of grinning, beautiful people moving joyously to the infectious Balearic House that I’d grown to love in a matter of days. After a quick inspection inside the one interior hall that was open – which had a moodier trancier bent, amenable but not what the doctor ordered – I heeded the words of one of the Manumission staffers I’d struck up a yak with, “get the lay of the land, then stay on the terrace the rest of the day”.
Friendly smiles were abundant and before long, I found company in the form of a group of longtime Ibiza regulars - Spaniards and most gracious to share their love of the island. Graca immediately shared her party favors and a sampling of the very tasty local liquor, Hierbas. The energy and spirit of the party was such that I was actually a trifle winded and didn’t take to the floor much, content to lean back and bop incessantly on my bar stool, people-watching and engaging in numerous randomly-generated conversations mostly with forward Italian women. Just when you thought it couldn’t get any better, Space staffers began walking around depositing garbage bags around the terrace and dance floor. Whoops and yells emanated from all corners as the range of freebies was soon revealed. Snazzy sunglasses, shiny golden wigs, fake mustaches/boobs/butts, pink-tinseled toy microphones etc. found their way around the crowd. Happy became hilarious and crazy became nonsensical. All the while, the music wove us all together. On the basis of my first party there, it wasn’t difficult to see why Space was voted the World’s Best Club in 2004.
I left at some point in the afternoon with my new friends to a private party in the hills of Es Cubells, notable mainly for the world-class view, the appearance of Richie Hawtin (though he didn’t spin) and large groups of cliquey Italians. The evening wound down at sunset (circa 8:30pm) on Playa D’en Bossa with a leisurely demi-pill & local smoke, after which I eased into my first stretch of sound sleep since arriving.
Thu 1/9: Steve Lawler (Viva-Fundacion) @ Space
On my 30min hopper from Barcelona a few days earlier, I’d sat next to what initially appeared to be a fidgety guy who upon takeoff, whipped out a stack of CDs and promptly cocooned himself in high-end noise-canceling headphones, industriously taking notes as he made his way through the stack of tracks. I was gazing out the window at the magnificent Mediterranean islands when he struck up friendly conversation. Noting it was my first time to Ibiza, he inquired of my “party schedule” and it turned out he was a resident at Space with Steve Lawler on Thursday. Pete (Gooding) also regularly DJed the sunset set at Café Mambo (adjacent to the cultish Café Del Mar) and without any hesitation, offered to guestlist me for Steve Lawler. That solved the tricky dilemma of my hardest scheduling decision of the entire stay – Cream (Paul van Dyk et al) or Lawler.
I took full advantage of Pete’s generosity and brought 3 newfound friends met earlier in the evening at Bora Bora’s famed pre-party, conveniently located between my apartment and the beach, mere steps away from Space. On this night, Space was relatively empty and Pete intimated that end-Aug/early-Sep is typically a short lull when Ibiza catches its breath from the headiness of Jul/Aug and the frenzy of the mid-Sep closing parties. I caught my own breath, realizing everything I was experiencing was during a “quiet week” in the season.
Most everyone at Space that night was in the one main room that was open though I never made it up to inspect the chillout roof. Steve didn’t take too long to come on and quite rapidly wrapped the room in his traditional hypnotic wave of deep, dark, sexy trance. I was mildly disappointed that the usual Thurs doubleheader line-up of Sasha/Lawler was not to be (victim of the lull week?) but I knew I’d be at the marathon 22-hour WLS (We Love Sundays) at Space, headlined by Sasha & Groove Armada. Steve was relentless and I might have favored a freshening/lightening up at points but I’m being picky. My companions, partial to the “cheerier stuff”, bagged after a few hours and I happily ground on with the other diehards of the evening. We made plans to meet up the following evening and with the knowledge that I’d be celebrating my birthday then, I begged off the dancefloor at a modest 7am.
Fri 2/9: Pete Tong/Darren Emerson et al (Pure Pacha) @ Pacha
This was another (what wasn’t?!!) eagerly anticipated night, not only for the birthday excuse but the impressive line-up. I’d heard extreme opinions about Pure Pacha, many decrying its “commercialism” (let’s face it, this is Ibiza!), others extolling its vibe. And while I love Space on account of its unbridled energy, Pacha – for all its attendant snootiness (VIP areas, hyper-priced drinks, nattier dressing, reserved tables) – has accoutrements that admittedly make it a comfier club.
I arrived at 2am and instantly realized this was going to be a different experience than Danny Tenaglia. I’d gotten wind of this earlier as everyone seemed headed to Pacha tonight. It was THE party to be at with little competition elsewhere. The line was not ungodly but somewhat unruly. My experience with Cairo “queues” helped ensure reasonably swift entry. Inside, there was barely room to see, let alone move. Forget dancing. After an hour, I realized I’d never find the people I’d arranged to rendezvous with. So much for “old friends” - I would spend my birthday with brand new ones, primarily a Dutch group and later an English crew, the latter bequeathing me a half-bottle of Absolut they’d inherited from their table’s previous occupants.
The layout was markedly changed from the DT night, with the main DJ booth oriented differently and 2 (?) other active booths going simultaneously. More smartly-dressed crowd tonight and I was ushered out of one table I’d temporarily planted myself at by a foursome of ostentatious Luxembourgers - the only friendly one being the lone lady – who upon being seated had two bottles of champagne immediately uncorked. The constant stream of visual stimuli afforded by the density of people was accentuated by my departure from a hitherto consistent diet of Ibiza warEz to a remnant rogue South African souvenir I’d somehow saved from years back. This packed a headier punch than the local stuff and along with the unexpectedly pounding Pete Tong, who stayed clear of his oft-favored vocal tracks, I rarely found my legs throughout the night.
This night was memorable for the well-wishes & compliments I received, the at-times unnerving crowd levels and a relentless music tempo that wreaked havoc in conjunction with my Capetonian catalyst. I was energized enough to make a spur-of-the-moment decision to attend the morning party at Space to further extend my birthday euphoria and the pragmatic side of me took leave of Pure Pacha before its end for another power nap.
Sat 3/9: Matinee Group @ Space
This had been touted by the locals as an excellent day party, notable for its attendance by serious aficionados with few tourists, who’d be gearing themselves for WLS the next day. The price for spontaneity was paid via a ticket at the door for 35 EUR (1 drink included). This time, the open rooms were the two main halls, with the outdoor terrace closed off. The magic of daylight however, bathed the room, which previously held court to Lawler’s sinister grind, in a wide swath of warm sensuous sun and I was struck by the rawness of energy visible on all the faces, expressions which hide themselves in the dark of night. The locals obviously were right.
Music was anthemy but hardly pandering, with hints of disco expertly woven into the upbeat summer Ibiza house. Notable too was the gay pride strength on display in both rooms characterized by a large visually uniform group of muscular shirtless men in jeans dancing in a cohesive mass in the center of each floor, exuding a pulsing statement for all to take in. Tempo and mood stayed at an unvarying high level, attractive but a shade monotonous and just a bit draining. The week’s toll was starting to take its measure.
Sun 4/9: Jeff Mills, Groove Armada etc (We Love Sundays) @ Space
There was palpable anticipation for this party all week amongst the newcomers like myself. Once in, I was devastated to see that Sasha was missing from the line-up sheet posted just inside the entrance. Further inquiries revealed his previous 2 gigs had drained him, and he was taken off the lineup today - HIS birthday no less!
In consolation, Jeff Mills was added to the line-up and since I hadn’t seen him before, I was sufficiently mollified. All the rooms were open for the first time, including the open-air roof terrace playing an R&B/Chill mix to go with the hot baking sun. Relaxing there with newfound friends of the day, I sweated more than any other occasion and soon made my way downstairs to the throng below.
I didn’t think it could’ve gotten more crowded than Pure Pacha but WLS made that seem like an evening at a suburban jazz lounge. I spent most of the afternoon on the terrace jostling with a crowd that was pleased with the rotation of familiar current Ibiza hits. I was pleased too though only familiar with about a tenth of the tracks. Knowing that Groove Armada was due on at 9pm, I took my pass-out at 6pm for a quick dinner break and peek at the US Open.
Returning at 8pm, the line was the longest I’d experienced – roughly 20 minutes. The terrace was now crammed and everyone was near frenzy. The DJs were just as animated as they edged from the bass line of Michael Jackson's "Smooth Criminal" to the most inspired crescendo of a decibel-crunching full-length mix of Nirvana’s “Smells like Teen Spirit”. Shortly after this unbelievable high, I receded indoors for a reprieve in the relaxing air-conditioned discoteca and remained inside the relative spaciousness for some extended bona fide dancing.
At midnight, I met an attractive Indonesian couple (one of few Asians I encountered all week) and we could barely contain our excitement over Jeff Mills’ imminent start. There was some confusion as the outside terrace stayed silent until we realized JM was spinning inside. The room was already packed and I guided us to my favorite spot on the mezzanine level. JM was less “techy” than I’d expected and I was emotionally won over with his patient, teasing segueway into a thumping mix of Santana’s “Jingo”, augmented by original vocal chorus. The mesmerizing beat droned on and for variety I nipped in next door to check out James Zabiela (a Sasha protege) and unbeknownst to me in the other room, JZ was blitzing a crowded dance floor with a wicked, eclectic high BPM mix. High-octane lighting further juiced the adrenaline. I stayed contentedly here for some time before deciding I’d end things with one more JM techno session.
In all, WLS was the extravaganza it promised to be. Good vibe, inspired mixes and a real marathon. Sasha spinning on his birthday as well might have been too much to handle.
Notable missed dates
Clubbing in Ibiza is spectacular for its weekly roster and for a supposedly lull-week, I must list the numerous acts/parties I regret simply not being able to attend.
Infected Mushroom/GMS
Circo Loco @ DC-10
Roger Sanchez
LaTroya (DJ Oliver)
Timo Maas (Closing Party)
Erick Morillo
Cream
People from Ibiza
Hed Kandi
Satoshi Tomeii
Sander Kleinenberg
Carl Cox
posted by jngah @ 2:40 PM
1 Comments:
At 5:46 AM,
Anonymous said…
My only regret was not being there for the big 'Four-O' myself. Thanks for sharing the blog, I felt you could teach Oliver Stone a thing or 2 on the continous use of hallucenogenics.....In fact, I felt pretty 'fucked' myself at the end of your diary....keep it coming. We're in danger of getting to our graves without having our experiences chronicled...boy, compared to the rest of the meat puppets out there, we've led a life extraordinary. Read 'em and weep.
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