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Frazzled and dazzled - Cocoon opening review

Why my head is currently up my arse.

I haven’t got any photos from this event as Amnesia can be a little, er, frugal with the camera passes, but I hope these words convey however vaguely what my night was like and why my head is still up my arse...

After an afternoon and early evening spent sending emails and text messages and phoning every Cocoon-related number I had in my possession I finally got confirmation of my guest list place. Yay!

At one point I spoke to a nice but slightly lonely-sounding guy in Frankfurt who told me that he was the only one left in Cocoon headquarters, which must be a bitter, bitter feeling.

But there was clearly nothing I could do about his isolation so I figured it was best to just go out and enjoy myself. So this review is dedicated to the poor old office junior – I do sincerely hope you get to go next year mate. It was bloody great.

At around 10pm on Monday I was informed by my girlfriend that she was a bit tired after We Love opening the day before and wasn’t really up for another epic session. This was obviously a bit of a disappointment as I was looking forward to a night of throwing and catching shapes with my lady.

Given my lack of company I figured it would make sense to head down to Noctambula where I was sure I would meet some people who planned to head on up to Amnesia. It turns out they all were, so after a few chupitos and a fair amount of back slapping and hand shaking (it’s the Italian way!) I hitched a lift with Circo Loco resident dj and ex-marine, Andrew Grant, and some guys from Miami.

The Amnesia car park was fairly near full so we had a bit of a walk to get to the actual club. Upon our approach it was apparent that the non-paying queue was huge and would take some time to negotiate starting from the back. Luckily Andy proved his handiness by flexing his special dj blagging powers and we skated right on through within ten minutes. Result!

The sala principal was already pretty busy but the music was a little bit fast for my more than 30-year-old legs. Me and Andrew ambled into the terrace which was proceeding at a more manageable pace. Lots of familiar faces were there – Ryan from Underground, Mr C, Loco Dice, Jaime Fiorito, Dan Ghenacia, Toby Amis (London-based dj about town), Angelique, Tania Vulcano, Yohan from Etno, Yannick, Julia, Max Latino, Damian Lazarus, Rhadoo, Pedro, Clanger, Oliver the German PR in the port, all the guys from the aforementioned Noctambula and probably other entire staffs of trendy establishments.

The dj on first was Tobi Neuman and he was pumping out tracks so funky it made me feel proud to be white. We might be shit at dancing but when it comes to production, remixing and djing, us Caucasians are right up there.

(Click here for some examples of his work if you don't believe me.)

Not having a camera was quite nice in some ways ‘cos it meant I did not have to seek out interesting angles from which to photograph the club, or wave my equipment in disinterested jocks' faces.

Instead it was socialise city as more and more incoherent conversations were entered into. I hadn’t been inside Amnesia long but there was something about the atmosphere that brought me right up. You know those times when you’re just feeling so nice it scarcely seems possible? Well this was one of those. I was lost in the groove and shake, shake, shaking it like a polaroid picture. It felt like the first real meet and greet of the 2005 season, perhaps because the oversubscribed Dc10 opening was too fraught and Space opening too vast. It was very light on the terrace and therefore everyone was visible which gave a real sense of togetherness.

The music continued in the tough yet warm vein as Ricardo Villalobos came on. He’s clearly a twisted individual with a penchant for challenging noises, yet he retains everyone’s confidence by bringing the beat back just when you think it’s been buried forever under an avalanche of broken beeps and warped whistles.

Which isn’t to say he’s always inspired such faith. At Dc10 closing in 2002 his effigy (in the form of photos from Dub magazine) was burnt by punters dissatisfied with his combative spinning style. Circo Loco can be a little aggressive and the chorus of boos would have made a lesser man soil his trousers.

But Ric the Rooster persevered and over the last few years has won most everybody over and here again performed admirably. There wasn’t much in the way of whistleable tuneage, but it’s nice to avoid being bashed over the head by every big hit of the summer as is the wont of other club nights. However his closing number, Kate Bush’s ‘Running Up That Hill’ brought back memories of the vicious crowd reaction of yesteryear.

‘Good god man - are you sure?’ was the thought that popped into my head, and by this time I was particularly receptive. But he brought the freaky beats back, the admittedly stirring chord progression kicked in and there was a collective sigh of satisfaction. As Kate's ethereal voice faded out discussion turned towards after parties but I felt distinctly short of puff.

My wallet had been emptied into various cash registers in Amnesia and I had nothing but change and a screwed up five euro bill in my possession. I didn’t at all fancy the walk of shame down the aisle of the no. 3 bus that plies the route from San An to Ibiza Town so when the impressively sober Mr Grant hove into view again and offered me a lift home I took it. I was extremely grateful to be sitting in a cosy little coche far from sober, searching eyes.

My own orbs looked like they had wept copious amounts of tears, so red and swollen they were. And I had that gross lip lint that you get when you’re dehydrated and lacking in image consciousness.

I was a mess in other words, but not overly bothered as my immediate duties consisted of nothing more taxing than a hierbas at the humble little finca I call home. We probably even had a little toot on the peace pipe to wind down after our hard night’s raving and as I slowly drifted into a jittery sleep I retained that glow of contentment.

I even had a memento of my night in the form of a cheesy photo taken by the in house Amnesia photographers.

How funny is this?

Andrew Grant & me

So how was it for you? Please make your way to our 'Clubbing reviews' forum and tell all.

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