By: Kai Teo
Photos and video: César Ortiz
Event: ØKA Dnb/Dub/Jungle – Inkonst, Bergsgatan 29
Date: Friday, 29 March ‘13
DJs: Too many to figure out, read it here
Genre: Drum and bass, dub, jungle
Entry: 60kr before midnight, 100kr after, 20kr wardrobe
Our rating: 5/5
This is one of those evenings where you could feel the raw, deep bass even before you’re close to the club.
No, it’s not the pounding shit you hear coming from the gangsters’ BMWs. It’s the kind of bass that shakes the walls, rocks the ground, and resonates through your soul. Yes, welcome to ØKA.
Face paint has become our necessary accessory these days. And since jungle was one of the keywords, we turned up looking like lost indigenous tribesmen from the Amazon. The bouncer made some cheeky remark as usual, but we forgot our spears, and so his life was spared.
Then the bass hit us. Two relentless dance floors with merciless DJs that spared no thought for our eardrums, and left no room for doubting the sound system. It was hard, fast, and fucking groovy. We went full-on jungle mode right there.
The stage was almost as crowded as the dance floor. It was like a performance on illegal steroids. Military camouflage nets, the giant DJ console, full white rastaman crew, proper ragga rap. And a perpetual WOR WOR WOR WOR that did not permit any verbal communication.
Drum and bass is a genre that is named exactly what it is. No further explanation needed. I mean, why can’t Trance be called Spacey Sounds and Fast Beats? But I digress.
The thing about all the parties that don’t play radio scum, or too-cool-for-school indie stuff, is that the crowds are often there specially for the music. And this night was no different. It was like a tribe. No one really gave a shit about anything else except for thrashing their hair wildly and shuffling their feet furiously to the beat.
Yes, there’s always the couple that accidentally ended up here after a cocktail party, oblivious to the music and eating each other’s necks out. And there’re always the dudes with sticky, slick-back hair trying to press their crotches against some girl’s ass.
But the majority of the dance floor was just pure awesomeness. An awesomeness that came from a raw desire to dance, and dance fucking hard.
We stumbled out into the next room. It was less crowded, very smoky, and had shit loads of crazy laser lights. That’s when we came face to face with the ultimate bass machine. Standing three metres tall in the corner of the room, it was huge, black and looked very dangerous. Those speakers produced a vibration so strong it’ll make a bomb blast (woh, woh, sensitive topic) sound like a pin dropping.
We didn’t waste any time. Like hungry children running towards an ice cream truck, we sprinted straight for the mother of all speakers. I was paralysed. I couldn’t dance. I just wanted to stand there and feel the bass rock my bones and blast my entire existence into a wuzzy mash. My mouth was wide open, eyes half closed, fingers all stretched out as if to absorb every decibel of the WOR WOR monster.
I looked absolutely stupid.
When the night ended, our brains were completely destroyed, and along with it went our sense of hearing. I sit here writing this in complete silence. And I think I need more tissue for the blood coming out from my ears.