A couple of weekends ago I had the pleasure of visiting Murcia, Spain with the mini girl-gang of Mari.cha (Higher Love, Thessaloniki), Pippi Langstrumpff (Milan/Rotterdam) and Sassy J (Patchwork, Bern). So maybe it’s about time I posted a few photos and a brief recap.
Murcia is about a 40 min drive from Alicante and about 4 hours drive from Madrid…. it’s arid, surrounded by crumpled dry hills with lots of brand new apartment complexes mushrooming up, in interesting combinations of brick and rust-coloured aluminium. Perhaps little wonder that the festival isn’t big on the international clubber’s calendar – though it’s a blessing that you can wander around the Plaza las Flores in the old centre of the city, and not be bothered by any rust-coloured English tourists.
After we arrived on the Friday, a day spent nibbling on peanuts in airports was completed with a fortifying meal of potato crisps, blanched almonds and strips of cured ham. With whole baby pigs being hacked up mercilessly under our noses, this was no country for italo-disco vegetarian trainspotters.
Over at the festival, I blocked out the ambient noise of one rogue Italian cokehead, who Pippi valiantly tried to restrain, and started the set with slower BPMs like Dam Funk’s Let’s Take Off EP (Groove Attack promo), and the cherished Chuck Mangione record that Vladimir and Tako gave me for that one benighted birthday. The most fun I’ve had since Playground Love at c/o Pop festival last year. Other stuff I played: Pascal Schäfer track, Robin Hannibal’s Non+ album and Musiccargo’s new album. Pippi played after me, a painful two hour set in which she needed to go peepee because of the bubbling fountains spurting in front of the stage. Who said DJing was easy?
The next day after kicking it in town all afternoon (28 degrees) drinking ‘clara’ shandies, Sassy J surmounted technical problems with hip hop jams, and hazy deep house as the early evening sun threatened to burn holes in her records. We snuck off to see Matthew Herbert’s Big Band in the auditorium – not compelling enough to listen to off CD but enchanting live, with school teacherish orchestra members ripping up magazines and Eska teetering around in amazing mask-like glittering black make up and platform heels.
Then Mari.cha stepped to the stage and killed it as usual with Larry Levan classics like Celestial Choir – Stand On the Word, and modern bombs like Theo Parrish and Marcellus Pittman – Night of the Sagitarius. Too much fun!
After Mari.cha finished we mooched off to eat pizza, as some rabid techno-rock DJ called Speedballs took to the decks. We were going to stay up til 4am to watch Matthew Herbert DJ but instead hightailed away from all the aggressive hand-clappers back to the hotel, which had been commandeered by Catholic communion groups and was full of little terrorists in fluffy pink and white dresses.
I never bumped into Ladyhawke though we did share the dinner queue in the artist’s backstage area with the pooped-looking trombonists from Herbert’s Big Band. I watched about three Babyshambles songs on the back of a monitor that could be seen from backstage and behind a carpark, as Prodigy’s white trash entourage swept past self-importantly (including two 16 year old blonde girls and their mum).
But who needs celebs when you have a classy gurl crew in matching leopard tights.