Event: Sunrise Rave Club – Fluffy Friday pres. BE SVENDSEN live
When: Friday 6 Nov ‘15
Where: Some industrial area that’s so fucking far out so that only the most dedicated party people would make it there
By: Kai Teo
Welcome to the new, supercharged kid on the block in Malmö’s underground party scene – Sunrise Rave Club.
Being out in the middle of fucking nowhere is the first step to Sunrise Rave Club’s exclusivity. A 6-hour bike ride from the city centre (if you’re really drunk) wouldn’t exactly be on the itinerary of the weekend alcoholic who suddenly decides that he or she needs to find someone to fuck at a club.
This is a journey only the truly dedicated rainbow warriors would embark on. I mean, of course you could take a cab, but let us keep it dramatic.
And when we found out that Be Svendsen, the legendary messenger sent by the gods running our minds’ psychedelic circus was gracing the decks, we knew that even if we lost our legs, we would turn up in a blinking neon-light wheelchair and do wheelies on the dance floor.
An old, industrial office building had been turned into a cosy, tropical dream factory. With my kaleidoscope vision, I remember seeing fake palm trees and a monkey. Ok, not sure about the monkey, but I vaguely remember having a conversation with it and its name was Roberto Caliento, born in China and hitchhiked to Sweden 2 years ago with its best friend César Garcia, who died in a tragic accident involving a broken window and a vegan banana milkshake.
The dance floor was barely big enough for Kim Kardashian’s ass, but it managed to fit more than 50 (I’m not sure about this number as well) of us in there. It was like we were partying in a hippie’s living room, and everyone somehow got to rub shoulders with everyone else within two hours.
The crowd was a beautiful mess of gorgeous princesses, longhaired queens, bearded giants and bare breasted angels. It was all smiles and hugs and kisses, and no one I bumped into that night was creepy. I felt a certain sense of sincerity that Malmö’s party scene had long lost. No one cared if you were straight or gay, no one asked about your diet, and no one gave a shit which political party you support. Tonight, we were one, and we were here to Be (sorry I had to), and let Be Svendsen spin our heads around.
The last time I witnessed the might of this world-class producer was at Fusion Festival this year. The 5-am set saw thousands squeezed cheek-to-cheek, all singing to the same tune, rubbing face paint and glitter all over one another. I cried while bum bum bumming at the top of my lungs to Bones, the first song that I ever heard from his array of musical weapons of mass creation.
And the star of Burning Man as well as Boom Festival has descended to the mortal realms of the Malmö underground to take our minds to his whimsical wonderland.
When my oversensitive eardrums picked up the first familiar note that night, I screamed so hard in pure ecstasy (didn’t even take that shit) that I might have shat myself a little. And from then on, my vision only consisted of light-speed carousels, solar-powered clowns and divine goddesses the size of Malmö’s Turning Torso. Every new track cast a new formation of neon mountains into our mindscapes, and every beat was a new breed of comical creatures taking their turns to perform for us on stage.
I might have screamed so much some of the other dancing warriors got a little pissed off. But my voice box was out of my control, my excitement couldn’t be contained. Tonight, I was the ultimate fan boy, I had no shame, I only had fun.
To put Be Svendsen’s music into a genre is impossible. There’re cowboys, Native Americans, rockets, angels and dancing animals. It’s always happy and incredibly groovy. And when I wasn’t swaying wildly, I knew that my palms were clasped together in a prayer, thanking the heavens for letting this human being exist.
I got a little irritating towards the end of the set, screaming for Bones once again. But like every self-respecting DJ, once was enough. And I knew that pushing further would be pushing my luck, and pushing my own self respect into the dark abyss of uncoolness.
When he finished, I might have foamed in my mouth a little. But I swallowed it, just in case the girl beside me might consider kissing me. Jonas Brothers and Erik Berg took over promptly and seamlessly, never for a moment letting the vibe of pure bliss drop to the mundane, mindless, monotonous bullshit that many clubs play these days.
I didn’t know how long the set lasted. But my feet never left the dance floor. My bindi was on my cheek, and my hair was in complete disarray from the incessant twirling. And when we finally emerged from Sunrise Rave Club, sunrise had long passed. Time had stopped for us in there. And if you haven’t been in a time machine before (chances are you haven’t), join us for the next Sunrise Rave.
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