Things are a bit blurry by now. I think I might have attempted to go get some sun so that the tan on my face would merge with the dark circles under my eyes. As soon as I get to the beach, a fucking monsoon ass-rapes me. It's ok, I got some color while crossing the street. Back to the Escobar villa. Did something for the next several hours, not sure exactly what. Because I don't recall a huge block of time between getting back to the hotel and winding up at BED for the Robots/Sven Vath party, I assume I must have done something. I think maybe I took a one hour power nap and then got some Mojitos at the downstairs bar. Not sure what else happened. Anyhow, having never seen Sven before, even during a month in Ibiza (something always came up to keep me from seeing him), I couldn't wait. Not that the Robots were chopped liver or anything. It's just that I'd seen them a gazillion times before in NY and on top of that, Nick and Dennis just spun at my party the night before. Those guys were always on point and I knew exactly what to expect from them.
The line outside is the usual clusterfuck that assembles in front of BED during the conference. People who were supposedly on the guest list are being turned away. Lots of dejected people are leaving in droves while others are busy dropping names at the ropes. Once inside, the room actually has plenty of space to move around and some beds open. A bunch of us promptly set up camp on the one in front of the booth. Nick, Dennis and Billy are dropping some quality tunes. People are starting to bop around. Some girls are already jumping up and down on the beds. Then, Sven comes on.
Sven tears shit up. He's every bit as good as I thought he'd be…for about an hour. Suddenly, he shifts gears and starts spinning proggy stuff that could only be best described as James Holden on his worst day. I couldn't believe it was Sven spinning this tripe. Being used to nothing less than quality techno from Sven, Andreas almost dozes off. If it weren't for the fact that BED is so small and intimate that I could practically see the wrinkles on his forehead, I might have tried to delude myself into hoping that maybe some other DJ was spinning. Nope, it's Sven. Fortunately, after about an hour, he starts getting better. By then, a bunch of us were all Sven'ed out and decide to bounce to another party. A bunch of my friends were throwing the Plastic Sex afterhours at Tangerine. I figured we'd get there early to help them set up.
< Mon > < Tue > < Wed > < Thu > < Fri > < Sat >
0 comments: [discuss this article] [previous articles]