I think my sense of adventure is starting to get the better of me, and probably not in a way that I’ll be happy about in 30 years’ time. I went to Paris last weekend to see a DJ friend of mine from school, Paulo [Airdrop Records], mix at two events on Saturday night, and it was one of the coolest experiences I’ve ever had. Maybe I was still riding the wave of the aftereffects that Creamfields left me with: a love (rather an obsession) for electronic music, but whatever it was, it was worth absolutely every second of the eardrum bursting, sleep depriving experience I had that night.
To say the least, Cracki put on a great event that night… and I’d say that this one tops the list of the warehouse parties I’ve been to… mostly because of the amazing music that I heard that night, but also because it was an all-around really well-planned event. (My friends and I were personal fans of the room with walls covered in Nutella…) I will definitely go back to Paris for another Cracki event ANY time… provided, of course, that I can even get a ticket. This one sold 1500 in less than a week... and there were people desperately searching for tickets up until right before it started.
The first of Paulo’s two gigs was at the Social Club in Montmartre, which is your typical small electronic club that houses great DJs every night. Before I go on, I should just say that I am in no way a music expert… but judging the energy of the crowd around me that night, it would take a blind (rather, deaf) person not to see how amazing Paulo’s first set was. And it was just warm-up for the gig to come… a huge warehouse party put on by Cracki (a French record label) on the outskirts of the city.
|Paulo at Social Club|
After Paulo’s gig at Social, (and then after negotiating our ways into cabs and then around to the outskirts) we finally arrived at the warehouse, which had been turned into a sort of wonderland for electronic lovers. And if that warehouse was Wonderland, then Paulo, Larcier and Marcelus (the DJs who mixed before and after Paulo did), were the mad-hatter orchestrators of the mind-blowing musical adventure that Alice (the audience) found herself lost in. And no, that’s not an allusion to drug use… the music itself was incredible enough to keep anyone going strong until the late hours of the next morning… They all played amazing sets. At one point during the night, one of Paulo’s friends turned to me and said something that beautifully summed up the way the evening/night/morning/early afternoon went: “Dude, it’s like being obsessed with Christmas and then finding out your best friend IS Father Christmas.” It was unreal and everyone in the crowd was having the time of their lives as Paulo, and the other DJs, mixed.
|Cracki party venue|
Paulo was followed by Marcelus [Deeply Rooted House], and I swear the combination of those two DJs makes me wonder how it was possible that I’d never gotten into detroit techno/jacking house music before. Sure I’d been to a few shows here and there around London and Madrid, but nothing as unbelievable as the Cracki party that night.
Towards the end of the night, I was introduced to one of the guys who planned the event who, from what I could hear above Marcelus’ ridiculous mixing, told me that the event we were at reminded him of Berlin circa 1990. Granted I was still in diapers and scaring nannies off at that point in my life, but I nodded and told him I agreed anyway, while noting to myself that I was totally born in the wrong place and time. Well, at least in this time and age where I’m not doing this every night, my hearing has the iota of opportunity to last me 'til I’m 50. Yea, I was the recipient of quite a few looks and comments that night about my less than trendy ear plugs… (it's ok, I realise I’m not that cool). Anyway, my point is, how I haven't yet been to Berlin, I don't understand.
|Paulo at Cracki|
So, to everyone's absolute dismay, the party came to an end around 7.30, and we all dejectedly creeped out of our Wonderland rabbit hole and back into the Parisian sun... and for us, personally, it was a hard stab of reality, as we realised that we had no way to get back to Paris.
I won't go into details about how we miraculously made it back to the city that morning, but around 9 am as Paulo and I deafly wandered towards his apartment (walking past and feeling sorry for countless people who were about to start running the marathon that morning), I looked up and saw the sun rising above the Eiffel tower (which thankfully distracted me from of the looks of bewilderment falling upon Paulo and me...) And though my legs were killing me from 12 straight hours of bouncing up and down, my vision still blurred from the smokiness of the venues, and I couldn't hear anything quieter than a large truck engine, I realised that it was a beautiful end to the perfect adventure... and that I, once again, found myself looking half homeless. Perhaps this is becoming too much of a trend.
|the walk home|
Anyway, as I am left now with ruined clothes and only the memory of the amazing Cracki party, I can only hope that I'll stop limping soon and that the still un-waning ringing in my ears is indicative of something other than permanent hearing loss… but something tells me otherwise… My next goal in life now is to see one of these parties put on in Shanghai. But I suppose I'll have to get there first.
(Footage from a previous Cracki party)
(Footage from a previous Cracki party)