It's steep season in Ibiza, but what's on the other side of the bump? The end of course, and you might already be able to sense it, rushing up like a packed disco bus on the San An to Ibiza Town road.
The shaggin' wagons have been criss-crossing the island full of punters who had no problem whatsover finding that really slamming joint. Take Space last Sunday (right) for example, celebrating 15 years in which it went from a concert hall (true! – check the Space site for an excellent potted history of the club) to the shining star at the centre of the clubbing solar system every Sunday.
The steady stream of show boater traffic to Playa d'en Bossa turned into a flood as the those now up hot shit creek got thoroughly paddled by every dj from Tania Vulcano to Black Strobe in the discoteca after midnight. Erick Morillo got every ego maniac's wet dream gig when he closed the uproarious terrace in the company of rock star Tommy Lee, and owner of the institution Pepe of course.
The party almost certainly continued till Wednesday when Tommy took his drumsticks to Pacha to accompany Señor Morillo at his envy-inducingly popular Wednesday nighter. Pacha is fully embracing the Balearic heritage she helped inspire – the juxtaposition of ostensibly disparate elements for maximum dance floor mayhem. In this case it's another stormy episode in the constant marriage/divorce cycle of dance and rock music. Both genres have now heavy-hitting heritages, and the music that was once radical and rebellious is now populated with the sort of personalities they once shunned. Namely, old people.
Not that Erick and Tommy lacked any energy. Quite the opposite in fact, both were bouncing around the booth like kids overdosed on Ritalin. The audience had the opportunity for a bit of mosh too when Harry Romero played ‘Killing in the Name Of' by Rage Against the Machine.
Ok, it was a jumped up remix, but the crashing guitars were all in place and kicking a hole in the club speakers. It was a genuinely startling moment, but there were enough metal heads with satan hand signs raised aloft to keep the energy going till the next Human League sing along session from Harry.
Erick came on round four I guess and played some freaky tech-edged grooves, including his ‘Break Down the Doors' single featuring the Audio Bullys who are the geniuses who figured out that the four four clipped UK garage-style beats pioneered by Todd Edwards sound extra-fresh especially in comparison to the leaden plod-house banged out by too many of today's big name jocks.
Another hour rolled by and it was finally Tommy's turn, to the relief of the ranks of photographers fused to their equipment in anticipation of his arrival on the big shiny drum kit set up opposite the pulpit-like dj box.
The expert ex-Motley Crue (his spelling) skinsman crashed into the pulsing rhythm laid down by Erick. As a performance it worked, tho it certainly wasn't seamless. But the risk paid off, and sensibly Tommy decided that after 15 minutes or so he'd done his bit for the cause of main room eclecticism in Ibiza, and swam off through the crowd back to the booth.
For that punters were charged 60 euros per person (no drink) and the “completo” sign was put up at around 3am. Expensive? Perhaps, but obviously I'm in no position to be able to judge value for money as I've never paid to get in. Not that lack of direct experience has stopped a few vocal media pundits moaning about the 10-20 euro temporada tax on visitors who choose to squeeze themselves into the busiest clubs in the highest of high season.
That's capitalism baby. If you don't like it, tell your mates to come in September like all the switched on folks and let the rave sheep be sheared as efficiently as possible of their cash.