We’ve been running round like chickens with our heads cut off to bring you this lot. We got drunk in Pacha on Saturday with Morales and Knuckles, high on Sunday night at the final Zenith do at Ibiza’s new goddess of a country club La Diosa, then finally sliced in two by the insane clown posse at DC10 on Monday.
Our feet are bloody stumps, we’re jaded & faded, but it looks like we’ve made it, made to the end. Thanks v. much to Mark @ Pacha for all the drinks tickets which got our wonky weekend underway.[center]
In the Global Room, Def Mix closing 27.09.03
Pussy in red boots
The next day after Space closing we hitched a ride up with the personable radio personality Andy Wilson from Cadena Cien to La Diosa which was brimming with bubbles and bubbly people. Cheers very much to the Zoro-like Zenith boys Roberto and Ernesto for being free with their freebies and visibly uplifted on the door. Swashbuckling.[center]
Roberto, not at La Diosa
La Diosa closing 28.09.03
La Diosa office
We awoke to a grey and rainy Monday. The feeling of dread was palpable, like a stone in your stomach. But there’s no excuse for not going to the closing of DC10, regardless of strained finances, a throbbing head or a lack of legs. After raiding the copper coin cup we bought a bus fare to Playa d’en Bossa carrying a bottle of booze and a woolly hat. It pissed down not long after our arrival, which is not a good situation when most of the club’s electrical equipment is outdoors. But like gremlins who multiply when they get wet, the corker crowd simply got bigger, louder and messier. Once the small storm had passed we got down to the monkey business of wrecking the place and ourselves.[center]
Sam & Kyle
If you get off the bus at the last Playa d'en Bossa stop and cut across the fields to DC10 you have to walk thru all this. Not a day for flipflops
The calm before the storm
[/center]Jo Mills got the music moving in the gravel garden (otherwise known as the parking lot – where did they get that idea then?) but after that the parade of djs became a blur. Apparently Danny Tenaglia and Carl Cox did a set each on the terrace, but we missed that. We did see Ricardo Villalobos and although we appreciated his complex jazz-inspired rhythms, most everybody else thought he was shit. Booing and the burning of effigies ensued.
When the decks are at the same level as the people there’s nowhere to hide, but following the Rickster’s er, challenging set, was Mr C who loves a bit of attention. He informed us of the contribution he made to the forum at the end of our muck-raking interview with him earlier this year...
...then proceeded to prove that he has no need of stunt doubles as he revved the excitement levels to the red line and back again. Apparently it was chaotic on the door later in the evening but all the guys we dealt with were pleasant and accommodating. However by this stage we felt like we’d been transported into an amplified house megamix version of the musical Grease, set in an apocalyptic new millennium with a lot more tattoos, drugs and fighting.
Our chills were multiplying and we were losing control, because the power they were supplying was electrifying. Our summer loving it was a blast, but it all happened so fast. Then it turned colder, and that's where it ends.
So our summer dreams were ripped at the seams, but we went together like ramma lamma lamma a ding gadi dinga dong. Remembered forever like shoo wha shoo wha shoo wha shoo yippidy boom che boom chang chang changity chang shoo bop waooo yeah ramma lamma lamma a dingity ding da dong shoo bop shoo wadda wadda yippity boom sha boom chang chang changity chang shoo bop yip da dip da dip shoo bop sha dooby do boogy boogy boogy boogy shooby sho wap sho wap sha na na na na na na na yippity dip da do ramma lamma lamma a dingity ding da dong shoo bop shoo wadda wadda yippity boom sha boom chang chang changity chang shoo bop yip da dip da dip shoo bopp sha dooby do boogy boogy boogy boogy shooby sho wap sho wap sha na na na na na na na yippity dip da do a womp bop a looma a womp bam boom.
But oh, those summer nights…
Possibly powered by a little more than Fanta
Justin Drake, Peace Division
The offices of the local newspaper on the way home
What you feel like after four months in Ibiza[/center]