This was great news because a little program called Air Crash Investigations, which mercilessly screens every day, has pretty much put me off flying for life. There go my dreams of visiting the real Ibiza. It's internationally acclaimed mobile infantry Lieutenants Camilo Franco, Danny Marquez and Commander Roger Sanchez had been primed to rain audio annihilation upon the masses.
Before I get to the good stuff, I want to spend some time talking about the chosen venue: Shimmy Beach club, near the historic V&A Waterfront. I feel as though this place deserves its own segment, but I implore thee, please bear with it, or simply skip ahead to the musical section. And by skip ahead I mean please bear with it.
As I drove through the docks, trying to locate the Shimmy Beach club, a fishy "fragrance" suddenly filled the air. As it frolicked about my nasal cavities it brought with it great wisdom and understanding, for I was now fully aware of the fact that I was driving through a dockyard. What? It was like something straight out of Fast and the Furious. Swarms of youngsters in refined rides literally pulled out of the woodwork, parking haphazardly at will. Everyone eventually managed to park in somewhat of a straight line, but the rate of double parking going on was hilarious. Just like the movie, sections of the road were even closed off to serve as outposts manned by people with walkie-talkies. Although their purpose wasn't clear, they had walkie-talkies, which ultimately made them cool. I seriously expected a SWAT team to bust out of crates and containers at any second. But, nonetheless, I took my briefcase full of dirty money and contraband, and proceeded on foot to the rendezvous point.
Parking was super in its capacity, but power is nothing without balance, much the same as capacity is nothing without regulation. But that's just typical Cape Town, you gotta love the ultra-chilled vibes of these people - always on their own buzz. Even though I arrived almost two hours after opening time, I still managed to get a parking space a stone throw from Shimmy. Aaaah, Capetonians, never on schedule but always on time. Arriving at the entrance, I slid right through, as I do (cough cough: media accreditation), but decided to hang back just to make sure that no injustices were taking place on the shop floor. The lines progressed pretty smoothly, not triple distilled smooth, but they were making great time without any hiccups. That's great right? Wrong. One does not simply put flowage over security. There was zero security, no frisking, nothing - just two hot girls in feathers looking at tickets going: "Seems legit".
So this is where I set sail on my maiden voyage of the Shimmy Beach club and the Space Ibiza Samsung Experience. Upon entry my face lit up with awe and wonder, I had to readjust my jaw manually to resting position and remove fragments of tar from my teeth. I could tell the place was once a factory, but in all my years of clubbing, I've never come across a Cape Town club more exquisite than the Shimmy Beach Club. Wow, just wow! No, this is not a club, this is a wonderland. Calling one of the most glamorous entertainment venues a club would simply be an insult. If this is what the inside of a dockyard factory looks like then I want to give it all up and pursue a lifelong dream of packing fish. After thinking about it for over an hour, I simply don't know where to begin describing the place. It's like an elegant rabbit hole that keeps going and going, the deeper you delve, the deeper your desire to discover what lies beyond the bend.
This place has everything. There are luxurious lounges, each with their own radiant bars, peaceful crystalline chandeliers that hang from richly textured art nouveau-like ceiling panels. A shimmering silver metal lined the walls and, together with stylish ribbon glass sheets, they ethereally glowed as they reflected the warm sapphire luminescence of the light falling upon them. Humans are social creatures who thrive on verbal interaction with one another. As such, these spaces were great for conversation, an area often overlooked by clubs who think volume is everything. Just picture a British guy going "Yeeees, quite" in an Old-English accent at the end of every paragraph.
The VIP area featured trendy sophisticated cuboid white couches, flaming gas heaters, a 22-metre glass rim pool and, yep, its own bar. The most amazing part about the VIP area is that people actually used it! Most clubbing VIP areas are vacant and far removed from the action. This VIP area was right next to the main dance floor and offered significant benefits in terms of comfort, style and service. The same can be said for the balcony areas, which offered spectaculars views of the crowds and sets from their lofty vantage points.
Behind the main floor was a soft sandy strip which housed several Arabian-like tents. These tents formed intimate and romantic retreats for those who had reserved them to "come home to" and refresh after an intense session on the floors. I kind of expected Aladdin to swoop in on his magic carpet and be all like "what are you doing in my house?" while flinging empty bottles at the intruders. To my absolute astonishment, this didn't happen - I wonder why? But there were simply so many compartments and sections that it's impossible to review each of them and still remain web friendly in length. If by now you feel that I've simply rambled on too long about the venue and haven't been focusing on the actual event, then I do apologise and I promise to cover the musical aspect of the event shortly. But as a venue choice to play host to this astronomical event, Shimmy deserves every ounce of credit it gets. The place is stylish, decadent, luxurious, and I simply can't think of a place more befitting of our extra-terrestrial Space Ibiza ambassadors.
Now let's get talking about the music. Shimmy featured three dance floors, or at least three that the general public were allowed onto - who knows how many countless hidden areas the place had? Okay, music is something I take very seriously, so jokes aside. The El Terrace, situated right by the entrance was simply a giant marquee over the parking area next to the building. This floor hosted some of SA's local talent, such as Monique Pascal, Lady M, Nick Supply and Chris Jack. If you're an avid South African club-goer and house enthusiast, the line-up alone should be enough for you to get an idea of what this floor was like.
Their signature sounds along with the moods and energies they create became apparent within seconds of standing on the El Terrace. The beats were like progressive trance house hybrids, a techno funk of sorts. On the one end you're looking at low-down, flat-pitched synths that have come to define this type of house, but at the same time, you're bombarded with the constant hypnotic monotony that is synonymous of the trance genre. The result of the trance elements is fluid like wavy armed two-step forged from a feeling of suspension within a vast industrial chasm: dazed, drifting, as if you've melted into your sofa. There is great comfort in the motion, remaining static only seems to burn more energy. But someone or something is constantly knocking, breaking the daze. It is a golden thread of pure energy to which all consciousness is tethered. It is the house synths knocking at the back door of your mind to keep you firmly rooted in this dimension. It is both binding and liberating. Simply put, a trip and a half, you would surely loose it if you stayed there too long, but it was awesome nonetheless.
The El Terrace's inherent dockyard foundry style was given a complete change in character. Several fluorescent lights along the wall cycled synchronistically through the colour spectrum, turning the entire raw, industrial wall into a slow pulsating panel of luminance. Eyesores like piping and vents were instantly transformed into chic, ornate steam punk embellishments, which greatly reinforced the techno ambiance of the genre being played there.
Next there was the El Salon floor, which showcased even more local favourites such as Headphase, Pascal & Pearce, Gareth Devore and Digi-Tall. Once again, when looking at the line-up, words such as tech house, future garage and bass lines leapt to mind. As the name suggests, this was more of an elegant boutique dance floor; an elongated ballroom inside the main building which spanned across its entire length. It adopted the same metallic, glass and art nouveau-textured styles, which radiated ethereal glows under the lights. It boasted the lengthiest bar, as well as a food stall area where party-goers could replenish their precious life force and take precautionary measures to gird their livers against further alcoholic assaults. While the music here was very similar, the mood was exponentially more energetic. Rampant smoke machines pumped an eerie mist into the area while bass lines beckoned all to come ever closer. Like the beautiful sirens of Greek and Roman mythology they lured unsuspecting party-goers to change course toward their digital demise.
Once under the thundering melodic spell, nothing could be done to break free. This hold was cemented by two massive laser turrets spinning in slow constant pin wheels. Like tractor beams their pull was simply too powerful. Resistance was futile, once eyes had been laid upon them; your fate was sealed literally to wander down the hall of the damned. Dark silhouettes ritualistically jumped and bounded amidst the smoky haze. What horrific delights wait at the end of this portal? Could it be? Yes! That dance, the way heads banged and hair whipped, it was unmistakable! I had indeed wandered into the stomping grounds. Having braved the journey to the front, I knelt before the dazzling alter from which the DJ blasted his gospel and received the blessing of renewed vitality, zest and zeal. With new-found power coursing my veins, I too took up my place in the smoky shroud to stomp feverishly, without a care in the world, and to inspire those behind me, those still making the pilgrimage through the hall, to push forward to the Promised Land.
From the corner of my eye a gigantic fireball leapt into the air. I turned around and looked outside. There were no signs of panic, no severed appendages, so it can't have been an explosion. Then it happened again and the crowds began to cheer even louder, and that's when I knew that my time in the hall of Valhalla had come to an end. It was time to begin a new journey - a gruelling 10-metre journey to the main floor. So I packed my bags and made my mission to where the main floor was. Look, when you've been wearing formal shoes all night, 10metres is like walking on hot coals, so don't judge. I began to navigate through a vast ocean of people to get to the front, but somewhere around the middle I paused to drop my anchor and simply take it all in.
The main floor was an expansive open-air wooden deck, which could easily support over 1000 people. It offered spectacular panoramic, almost 270-degree views of the starry night sky, the tranquil ocean within arm's reach of the deck and city lights that blazed like 1000 miles of fire in the suburbs that hugged the opposite West Coast line. One of Space's main attractions is its open-air terrace, where party-goers get to watch aircraft pass by. As they fly directly over the dance floor the roar of their engines almost seems to harmonise with the music. The Shimmy Beach Club deck came pretty close to replicating this experience. In addition to the outstanding views of land, sea and air the club is situated right at the mouth of the Waterfront harbour, which means a constant flow of ships, yachts and boats sailed past the deck, while helicopters needing to land at the harbour darted on by. It is to this breathtaking backdrop that the main stage was set. Could Shimmy be any more perfect to host the Cape Town leg of the Space Ibiza tour?
It was as though I had stepped out onto a platform above the world, looking through a window to the cosmos. Dean Fuel lit up the intergalactic runway in preparation for the landing of three of the most internationally acclaimed DJs: Camilo Franco, Danny Marquez and the most legendary of them all, Space resident Roger Sanchez. Having played alongside the likes of David Guetta, Infected Mushroom, Tiesto and Paul van Dyk, Dean Fuel was the perfect man for the job. His unique transnational blend of minimal, electro, progressive and tech house not only ignited the crowd's spirits but got the dance floor blazing.
Then the moment everyone had eagerly anticipated for so many weeks, the headliners took the stage, and all hell broke loose. First up, Camilo Franco. This guy never ceases to impress. His chilled-out Balearic beats and tech styles were a delightful treat. Next up was the main man himself: Roger Sanchez. This Grammy Award-winning DJ/producer's blend of deep house, Latin, tribal and tech sounds, infused with commercial R&B samples; made for an explosive one-and-a-half-hour set. Last, but not least, Danny Marquez. His evolutionary sound is testament to the hard work and sheer dedication this guy puts into his pioneering progressive electronic dance beats.
Despite the chilly air, you could definitely feel the heat. The crowds went wild, the secondary and tertiary floors were both gigantic trips, but not this one, oh no. This was the floor where you came to get down and dirty. Where you came to grind, tease, flaunt, flirt and release the beast of the deep. This is where you came to dance! The rate of hotties in short dresses was too damn high. And if the air wasn't already electrically and hormonally charged to hair-raising levels, the on-stage pole dancers in sexy lingerie, each more gorgeous, more sensual, more acrobatically flexible than the last, simply sent the crowds into overdrive. It was as though the laws of gravity didn't apply to them, because gravity is too mainstream, right? They climbed those poles higher and higher to the point where they appeared to be floating and twirling in mid-air, suspended only by the sheer collective energy of the roaring crowd. Let's not forget the Samsung girls in raunchy leather outfits, dancing on elevated platforms around the main arena. And it doesn't even stop there! Combine all this, with flaming pyrotechnics, not just sparks or fireworks, but real flames on stage that were so hot could feel the heat tighten your eyeballs from the middle of the dance floor, and you have yourself an Ibiza experience. The deck even began to feel like a boat as the jack hammering bass and the weight of the insane crowd warped and vibrated the wooden floor upon which we stood.
I do, however, feel that the artists didn't engage the crowd nearly enough; they almost lost me at several points. I didn't feel any real energy coming from any of the DJs. The Space guys probably don't speak English as a first language, but still, they could have yelled some random stuff in Spanish like "Mi casa, su casa!" just to let the crowds know they're there. The South African guys really don't have an excuse. They were like the McDonald's employees who become so sick of forcing their smiles day in and day out that they simply stop caring and start saying things like: "Hello sir, can I interest you in our special? It's called go to hell." You can't just stand they're playing music! As consumers we fork out big money to come to listen to things we could have listened to for free at home. You have to sell it to us when we make the effort to come out to support you.
Now, Newton's third law states that all great stories start with a drink. Lucky for me I'm not a picky drinker, so I didn't mind the limited selection of available drinks. But one thing I am is a picky spender. I'm not going to give you a holistic pricing plan, but R30 for a single shot of vodka - enough said. It wasn't even premium vodka, it was Smirnoff! This really upsets me. Why do prices at these things always have to be so damn ludicrous? What are they running on, a feudal system? Were they trying to curb inebriation for fears of people falling into the sea, raising an army of crabs and marching back to the shore to exact crushing vengeance? Come on man - if you're a drinker, and I don't mean an alcoholic, but a normal average drinker, there's just no way you're spending less than R150 on booze. I get that it's an upmarket polished event, I really do, and I'm not cheap. But why does exclusivity always have to go hand-in-hand with exploitation? And God help you should your cigarette stocks begin to dwindle. But that's another can of worms entirely. I remember seeing quite a few passed out Argonauts throughout my voyage, and I couldn't help but wonder, how rich are these people? I wish I could afford to be slumped over in a pool of my own stomach contents.
Visually, so much more could have been done. I loved how simple yet stylish the lighting was, so as not to detract from the visuals of the stage areas; it gave the entire venue a heavenly azure hue. But for the vast majority of the time, the main visuals were simple colourful geometric projections, which were heavily Samsung branded. In fact, most of the visuals throughout the night were just pretty ways of displaying the words Samsung Experience. Yes, they were the main sponsors, and, yes, they deserve to have their name draped and projected everywhere, but an overkill is an overkill so whatever. Apart the bodacious beauties, Samsung did add a few more nice touches to make up for the borderline propaganda branding. These included Samsung lumo-paint stations, and bars where loyal supporters could present their Samsung devices and be rewarded with free tequila and sunglasses.
Lastly, there wasn't nearly enough seating available for the general admission ticket holders. I didn't count more than 10 tables which were never vacant. My tired feet finally found sanctuary when I became so fed up of standing that I sat in the sand and started drawing Xs with my straw. If you market yourself as an upmarket premium club, your patrons will probably be wearing formal shoes and heels. And if your patrons are wearing formal shoes and heels, they'll be glowing upon arrival, but two hours into the event, the floor will begin to feel like a bed of nine-inch nails. When it comes to clubbing, seating shouldn't be a VIP privilege; it should be a basic human right! Let us all unite and fight for general admission seating! Viva la revolution!
All in all, this was certainly a stellar event. I genuinely had a great time. We can't play football to save our lives, but the electronic dance music (EDM) coming out of South Africa is world class. And each of our Ibiza brethren proved exactly why they're internationally acclaimed. Many things could have been done better, and don't think I didn't notice that pipe leading out into the ocean - not cool Shimmy. I don't know what it's for but I know nothing good can come from it, and it has no business leading into the sea; especially when seals and other marine life forms frolic so close to the shore. But, by and large, the event was so well done. Great service (with smiles), great music, great crowd, great experience. Thank you Samsung for making me feel like the only girl in the world. Thank you G n' G for such thorough planning, it's the little things like the two-ply toilet paper, which really made the event. And, finally, thank you Space for choosing Cape Town to host your prestigious establishment, and for giving us a glimpse into your world. I can't wait to visit the real thing in Ibiza, once I undo the deep emotional and mental scarring that Air Crash Investigations has left me with.
