If one verbal outcry spoke for the serotonin-drenched buzz that was Carl Cox's last opening party at Space, it'd be a raucous “ARGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH”, followed by “YAAAAAAAS”. It was fandem fever on the disco bus - a few even managing to block out the carnage and catch a tactical nap - something I hope saw them through the long night ahead. I've built a rep as being king of the naps, but the art of sleeping while standing up isn't one of my strengths, and anyway, I'd packed one in earlier to make sure that any eyelid shuts were purely down to a sign of appreciation for a belter of a track.
Space was like a magnetic field for clubbing pilgrims last night. Opening its doors at 8 PM, you could have munched through a 11-hour meaty session, but I was in for the late shift, kicking things off with Spanish duelist, Christian Varela. Resident Advisor has him penned in as “one of the friendliest characters you'll meet.” He's probably got a solid handshake on him, but he's also got a firm hand in dishing out the kind of discs that only a small number from our growing population of raving pensioners would get down to. His box of tricks is crammed with techno voltage, and while I've heard him play much harder, he stomped through a rousing set to kick the discoteca into lean shape. He gave Cirez D, Eric Prydz's alias, some love with an airing of the hypnotic, progressive energy of 'Century Of The Mouse', before slipping in a bit of sex with a sampling of Lil Louis' 'French Kiss', and kept the techno torch lit with Misstress Barbara's 'Quarantine'.
After a monster first set session, I slipped on to the terrace with a pizza slice for some of Michel de Hey, just as he crashed in with some of his own magic, in the form of 'Compound'. Snack done, energy restored, Luciano was calling for a march to the front left. Sometimes the magic of a rammed club room is that everyone round the back assumes that the front is too much for the sweat glands so don't venture in, which leaves some gem spots to be found. Groove room found, I was able to get in there with Luciano´s packing of his trademark Latin rhythms, which almost have you feeling like you're on a date with a more sensual version of yourself, going on the hip rolls you didn't know you had stashed in the bag. It was an explorative set from the Swiss-Chilean DJ and producer, with swelling tech house spills infused with some of the harder stuff. As soon as I got wind of Oxia's anthemic 'Domino', I was off on one, as it's a track that's been given a bolstered airplay following on from last season and I´m not complaining if it´s one that´s bled into plenty of sets this year.
Before it hit 5.30 AM, or Carl Cox o'clock, I was out on the roof sniffing the fresh breeze as if I'd been fighting through dense air pollution in China. Oxygen in, it was time for a dive and tumble for the main man himself. The atmosphere for a man who famously chants "FANTASTIC, FANTASTIC", it was exactly that. Aside from the club's opening and the stellar residencies kicking off - people are here to see Coxy, and his opening was second in line for a Space must visit. Pepe Roselló, the owner of Space, got in behind the booth and was out handing out drinks tokens like Willy Wonka – I got a wee grab of his hand and probably creepily held on for longer than needed. It was a killer set with bounds of hugs and cheers in a show of unity for one of the season's biggies. He ploughed through a chunky set exploring darker terrains and sturdy basslines, with the likes of Marco Faraone's 'Climax', 'Overcast' by Jel Ford and 'Death By House' from Len Faki, which fired up the crew of idolising fans, both old school and new team. He brought it to a OH YES, OH YES close with 'Finder' by Ninetoes - a track thousands of clubbers still haven't got their full fill of - and he was off after a mass applause from thousands of sweaty faces - many of whom looked a little shellshocked at the sheer sense of pleasure they were sent home packing with. Cries for an afterparty were heard loud and clear, and I'm sure revellers are still sitting around a pool somewhere, basking in last night's epicness.
WORDS | Aimee Lawrence PHOTOGRAPHY | Julián Farina
