By Kai Teo
Photo: Attila Majom
Event: Impulz Eventz presentz: Finfrämmad iFrån Götet
Venue: Klaffbron, Nordenskiöldsgatan 19, Malmö, Sweden
Date: 11 October ‘14
Artistes: See full line-up here
A Saturday night in Malmö typically ends at about 3, when the clubs shut their doors and depending on how lucky you’ve been, you either go home and cry/wank/both in the shower, or bring home a new part-time lover.
But last Saturday, the party animals in Malmö were given an unprecedented treat – a club that didn’t close even when the sun rose, pounding beats that stopped only at 11am, and insane stompers that defied the need for sleep.
Welcome to Finfrämmad iFrån Götet, Malmö’s long-awaited indoor Psytrance party that stretched 12 full hours starting from Saturday night.
Situated by the harbour near Central Station, Klaffbron, from the outside, looks nothing more like a small, disused warehouse that’s tucked away in an inconspicuous corner. It’s hardly an eye-catcher with its lack of bright neon lights or giant signboards. It’s raw, somehow dilapidated and gives no clue of whatever the fuck is going on in its deep, monstrous belly.
The only hint of any human activity was the vibrations that shook the air as we entered the main gate.
It was the all-too-familiar gallop of the mighty Psytrance unicorn. And this time, through the narrow metal door, the mystical musical creature was puking out waterfalls of crystal rainbows that spilled out onto the sidewalk and covered our feet in a thick, mushy slush of irresistible dance potion. It was angry, furious and very, very alluring.
The moment we stepped into the darkness of the lion’s lair, all hell broke loose. My universe got swept up in a forceful whirlwind of neon lights, psychedelic paintings, string art galaxies, War-of-the-Worlds lasers, and of course, the raging pounding of the roaring speakers.
I gulped down about 6 beers to recover from the initial assault by the Beast of Boom. And as I stumbled around the multi-coloured landscape, I noticed many familiar faces from the Swedish Psytrance scene, their smiles illuminated by the rainbow lasers and glaring strobe lights.
This is my family. And this dancefloor, is my home.
Now look, the Psytrance community in Sweden are a special bunch of people. A very large percentage of them are pretty hardcore hippies who meditate for about 4 hours a day, do yoga for another 2, eat sunlight, drink cosmic energy, and at night, transform into wild animals on the Psytrance dance floor.
And at gatherings like this, there would usually be overwhelming love and genuine concern for one another. Like, if someone fell on the dance floor, the DJ would stop the music to help him or her up. Well, kinda.
The most beautiful thing, perhaps, is that no one’s really there to try to get laid. Dance was our decree and everyone seemed to respect that. You wouldn’t hear hippie pickup lines like, “Hey, what do you say to combining our Ying and Yang tonight to gain higher consciousness and balance?” or “You have just activated my Svadisthana chakra, wanna see where this energy should go tonight?”
Everyone took dancing seriously. And no, there was no one grinding or twerking. That’s Babel. Besides, we were probably too fucked to fuck.
So if you’re sick of being picked up by weird people in clubs when you just want to have a good night out dancing, go to a Psytrance party. Not Hip Hop or R&B. And stay away from the slick-back hairdo boys who wear tight long-sleeved shirts.
And as I continued getting lost in the spacey music, swinging my hair like a mad kung-fu monk, I suddenly saw myself dissipating into a golden beam of light.
No shit. I couldn’t feel my physical body, I couldn’t feel myself standing on the floor. I was a floating entity of bright, golden energy. I was a blinding light ray. I looked at my hands and saw my fingers dissolving gracefully into the atmosphere, breaking up into a million cosmic particles like someone flinging party glitter into the air in slow motion.
My entire body was vibrating from deep within, with a strong wor wor wor wor wor kinda frequency. And I felt completely at one with everything. Yes. You, me, him, her, the chair, the speakers, the sound waves, the dead rat by the canal, Mars, Jupiter, the sun, the entire fucking galaxy, and other dimensions. And the sensation running through my veins was that of pure pleasure. Imagine your best orgasm, take that, intensify it by ten, then run it through your entire body, right down to your last toe. That was it.
We all came from stardust and we are all one living, breathing unity, and at this moment, I felt that concept more strongly than ever before.
There was no fear of disappearing into the black hole of my consciousness, there was no hesitation to let the divine take me, there was nothing holding me back from this physical world that we live in. There is more to this. There is a divine, and I was about to find out.
“Hey, you want a balloon?”
I was instantly sucked back to the present and the physical. It felt like the sound a vacuum cleaner makes when it sucks at your open palm, but a little more elaborate, like an airy “Wheeeeeew” sound.
Balloons. Yes. The drink of choice at many Psytrance parties. Some call it laughing gas, some call it NOS. It’s got the chemical formula N2O and when inhaled, gives a euphoric effect of temporarily stepping out of your consciousness and plunging headfirst into a muffled universe where you can hear your own thoughts screaming at you.
And yes, there were balloons everywhere, just like a 5-year-old’s birthday party, giving the atmosphere a childish contrast compared to the dark Psytrance that induced nightmares and killer gnomes.
I took a deep breath and…
“Hello… hello… hello…” I could hear her, but I couldn’t respond in time. I managed a weak smile, and felt that my brain was submerged underwater. Sounds were almost muted, the lights produced echoes, and everything started to move at hyper slow speed. It felt like four years, but 15 seconds later, I zoomed back into my normal state of mind and continued my wild dancing.
Expert studies have revealed that NOS is safer than alcohol in terms of its effect on the human physical body and psychological state. It sometimes helps people achieve a temporary meditative state that many describe as calming and comforting. Alcohol makes you horny, aggressive and causes liver damage. Taadaa, Science, bitches! And for now, it made me want to pee.
The male’s bathroom was a black hole of nothingness.
There were no lights, no sound, just an abyss where you could vaguely make out where the urinal is, and then hope for the best as you spray into non-existence.
I had to step into that terrifying supermassive zero a few times that evening. And every time I went in there, it felt like hours. In absolute zilch, your mind goes into dream mode. You start travelling to unknown worlds and meeting non-existent creatures, you start talking to them and they invite you to shake their hands and shit. But no, I didn’t make physical contact. I knew the urinal was right in front of me and shaking hands with that 67 legged rainbow coloured cow would mean reaching out to place my fingers on someone else’s pee. Not today Molly (the name felt appropriate), I’m not gonna touch urine.
After my repeated encounters with Molly, I stepped out into the, oh my god, the sun has risen.
It was a different world out here. The air was cool and fresh, the rain had washed off everyone’s face paint and makeup, and it was this open space that allowed your ears to finally realise that they were going deaf.
Here was where the casualties of the Bass Monster were tending to their injuries. Some were pale-faced and exhausted, some were passing out but refusing to admit defeat, and some, like me, were just catching a fresh breath of cancerous smog before continuing our heathen dance for the planets.
It was a beautiful sight. Early Sunday morning, when self-righteous middle class parents were bringing their kids to an exclusive brunch at an overpriced vegan restaurant, we were here, eating balloons and munching on beer cans. Smudged makeup and sweat everywhere. We were the chosen ones for the next stage of evolution. Yep.
It was 10am. And I went back in to dance off the last bit of sanity and energy that I had.
The pounding didn’t let up. The laser blasts didn’t falter. The dancers didn’t stop. You see, 10am is the time that separates the truly hardcore, from the part-time trance fan. 10am is what tells us that we have made the gods of dance proud. 10am is an indicator of who’s a real party animal, and who’s a mere hipster.
10am is a baby step for Malmö’s party scene to become more like Berlin’s, where clubs never close and people never sleep. This party has been our little statement, and we sure screamed it loud.