So there we were in Privilege, watching the man with green and pink hair fashion something blue and brilliant out of two sausage balloons.
It was Friday night and my two sisters and I were at SuperMartXé (pronounced Super-Marsh-Eyy dontchaknow), an event that boasts a Guinness World Record and title of Best Session of Ibiza at Privilege three years on the trot. This particular night the 212 hit-maker Azealia Banks had been invited to join the party, her one and only date on the White Isle this summer.
The club is one of a kind. If you are boarding the Disco Bus I advise you to ask other partygoers which is the stop to get off for Privilege to avoid an early departure off the bus… resulting in a fifteen minute walk down San Antonio’s motorway. Once we arrived at the venue’s unmissable white gates, it was like following the yellow brick road in to Oz. The street loops round through what seems like a little village, up to Privilege perched on the top of the hill. At this point it is a very impossible task to get lost, even for me, as all the clubbers romper-stomp up together in their droves. An expedition that even Christopher Columbus might shy away from, yes, but boy is it worth it.
The main room holds a concert-sized stage, a swimming pool (decoration purposes only) and your usual bits and bobs that seem to lie around Ibiza superclubs; martini glasses of gigantic proportions, tightropes and king-sized ice cannons. Some of the island’s clubs are solely focused on the music and others are dedicated to treating ravers to a feast for the eyes; cue the ringmaster uni-cycling on the cable overhead, the acrobats clambering up the dangling ropes and the other cyclist making his way across the roof, pedalling in a gigantic hamster-wheel-like cage.
That’s not to say the music was below standard because it was very much up to scratch! The masked DJ spoilt us revellers with a mixed bag of hard, hard electro and smash hits like Summer by Calvin Harris, 50 Cent’s Disco Inferno, Empire State of Mind a la Jay Z and the aptly titled tune Insomniac by Faithless. It’s a refreshing change not to be bombarded with “new, up-and-coming tracks”; I didn’t reach for my phone to Shazam once….which was lucky because I had to delete all my apps to make space for the ten billion videos I took of Ms Banks.
VIDEO | Phone footage by Privilege last night during Azealia Bank's rendition of 212.
Dressed in a silver, glittery two-piece, the self-confessed Mermaid unexpectedly greeted the stage at ten to three. Azealia’s infamous attitude is very apparent in her songs (remember those risqué lyrics of 212!?) but she had cranked it up the highest notch for this performance. She sung, she danced and she twerk’d her way through ATM Jam, encouraging the ravers to “Jump! Jump! Jump!” like an energiser bunny rabbit. It was our very own Azealia Banks show. After the enormous screen flashed up images of the American rapper and the streamers shot in to the crowd like huge party-poppers, the music cut and Azealia gave a soulful and raspy acoustic rendition of the notorious 212 before opening a tin of whoopass on us all minutes later (isn’t that what they say in the States?).
Disappointingly, that was her performance coming to an end, lasting a mere ten minutes. However the fun and games didn’t stop there, three dancers in neon afro wigs were unleashed on stage followed by an extremely talented live singer who delivered one of my favourite remixes, Diplo’s mash-up of Drunk in Love. By this point my dance moves resembled Kiesza’s in her Hideaway vid (nothing to brag about).
As the Cookie Monster gyrated on the stage ahead, it suddenly all clicked in to place. That’s what the neon haired, Balloon Man was creating out of two sausage balloons; his very own miniature blue and brilliant Cookie Monster Balloon (which, naturally, I didn’t get to keep even though I am the oldest of my sisters!).
And that just sums up the highly energised SuperMartXé for me; weird, wild and wonderful, a night that you spend staring at everything in awe but somehow it all makes perfect sense…..only here in Ibiza.
WORDS | Francesca Evans
