Posted by: pascoesabido | June 15, 2008

Ibiza Opening Part 2: DC10

Ibiza Opening Part 2: DC10

[Data Transmission]

Circoloco@DC10, Monday 2nd June 2008

Written By: pascoe

In this writer’s humble opinion, Circoloco @ DC10 is the best event in Ibiza. Not the biggest venue, not the fanciest, luckily not the most expensive, but with its incomparable atmosphere and collective-collusion in naughty deeds, by far the best. The notorious after-hours party has become a staple of any visitor serious about their raving. Despite now being forced to open at 12PM rather than 8AM, it still retains the same charm that has made it world-famous, even attracting the likes of Duff Paddy.

Eager to be returned to the safety of its pink walls, I’m rather distressed on walking in to see a change in the colour-scheme. The infamous walls, associated with sheer debauchery and the craziness that embodies DC10 – and Circoloco in particular – are now yellow. Another sign that the end is nigh? Let them say what they want, but it hasn’t changed the atmosphere, and when the sun sets – this time to the sweet sounds of Matthias Tanzmann – all those lucky enough to experience it are bathed in an orange glow further reflected in the yellow.

Unlike Space, the queue is civilised and do-able. However, the Guardia Civil are still a menace to all those pretty/mashed boys and girls out there; last year they pulled people out of taxis on arrival and stripped them down to their non-digestible undies. However, a more relaxed attitude prevailed this year – or maybe I’m not pretty enough? – much to the relief of those left alone. Being an ‘after-hours’ venue, there’s a wider acceptance of naughtiness, realising that many are going to arrive without having gone to bed, and not because they’ve been drinking Red Bull – although I’m sure some have. This attitude covers dress sense also, as Circoloco is the home of ridiculous outfits; looking silly is celebrated, almost expected. An entire hospital appeared to have turned up, as nurses and doctors grinded away all around to the sexy beats. There were still many a raunchy reveller – and some damn sexy costumes, but the pretence found at Space was left at the door, along with those who couldn’t hack the pace…

The music was always going to be second to none. The yellow Terrace sees RPR follow on from Clive Henry with clicky, groovy beats, tunes that make you sit up and listen, combining classics from old stalwarts such as Josh Wink with lesser known gems, warming the toes and filling up the now-roofed terrace. Eager to follow, Matthias Tanzmann’s progressive selection crescendoes in a way reminiscent of his new album, Restless, slowly taking the crowd on an upward journey: incorporating quirky samples, both natural and synthetic, before releasing a series of drops that force your arms and then legs into the air. The crowd lap it up, and the whole place even did the whole lowering itself to the ground thang, poised to spring back up with the introduction of another impressive kick. The fuse is lit, and it’s Tania Vulcano who attempts to take full advantage of the exploding club. She plays for her public, continuously maxing the bass, but at times her set lacks imagination: purely relying on the bass doesn’t cut it. Relief arrives in the form of her second hour, when less bass and more interesting samples were put to spine-tingling effect, sending the place bouncing off the walls (unfortunately quite literally in my case, having to be saved by the yellow mortar in shining armour). Luciano is given the honour of closing out the Terrace for midnight, and does so with his usual style. As crowds pour in from all sides, the safest place to enjoy Luciano’s final assault is just outside the doors, accompanied by a cool breeze and space to wiggle. Although the thumping bass is slightly muted, a sizeable crowd still shack in a farewell gesture. Nina Simone even gets an outing, as Luciano beams down onto a sea of smiles.

For anyone feeling the Terrace is too light and bubbly, the main room provides a sufficient counter-weight. The engulfing blackness gives an anonymity that allows anyone who dares the chance to get lost in the dark and dirty side of tech house played by Dan Ghenacia. The circus tent-cum-disco then witnessed regulars Renne and Fabrizio take it into the realms of the twisted, ‘keeping it real’ with their good-old-reliable vinyl format – how many of you CDJs can do that, ‘eh? Cirilo seemingly feels obliged to crank it up even further, bringing in the best of both worlds to compensate for the Terrace’s closure: all those with energy left in them stuck to the beat. For the slightly tamer among us, the garden provides a much needed breather.

Unlike most Mondays, there’s no Cocoon @ Amnesia to keep the dancing alive, but most find a way to entertain themselves, and don’t, rather wisely, go to Eden. You live and learn. Lunacy’s no fun when they let you out of the sanatorium. Put me back into DC10.


The season is yet to unfold, so despite Space and DC10 getting away with it now, who knows how it will pan out. The local government appear hell-bent on curbing the joyous mayhem that Ibiza has become, and this year – in the view of many long-standing frequenters – is just the beginning. Bora Bora is effectively dead, as a large fence cuts the music off from the beach – not to mention the late opening time, while San Antonio is due to radically change for the same reason.

Although, is this such a bad thing? Who wants the Roonies’ ugly mugs popping up randomly and putting them off their only meal/banana of the day? Who would actually want to have to have a conversation with the majority of San An’s visiting population? Perhaps the only way around such a difficult question is to detach San Antonio from the mainland and let it float all the way to Magaloof? Time will tell, but the prospect of Ibiza ever becoming anything but tamer is not likely. In the meantime, make the most of the sun, sand, sea, sexy music, and clubs that you won’t find anywhere else in the world, because if the opening parties are just the beginning, then this year is going to be another corker – and perhaps one of the last.


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