They occupy the Temple in the thousands. At the dusk of a scorching
day, in outfits with vivid fractal designs, alien insignia, OM symbols
and geometric mandala patterns, they arrive in cohorts who’ve
journeyed from a multitude of national embarkation points. With
utility-belts slinked at the waste and dreadlocks knotted back,
imprinted with futuristic glyphs, etched in tribal tattoos and marked
by facial piercings, they come bearing gifts of specially prepared
decoctions, meads, herbal mixes,
ganja cakes, crystal powders,
beer and other intoxicants, along with fruits and energy supplements
they will share among friends and strangers encountered through the
night, and into the day. Entering this vast hexagonal covered arena,
the noise of the surrounding festival recedes as occupants are
enveloped in “3D sound” controlled from a stage upon which rests a
stellated dodecahedron portal within which scheduled DJs perform the
hypnotic bass and rhythm patterns of electronic trance music dictating
a compulsion on the part of those present to become activated by
moves. And as the natural light fades, the Temple is enlivened with
psychotropic projections, morphing geometric laser patterns and
blacklights triggering ultraviolet reactive designs and illuminating the
awestruck appearances of Temple dancers who will carve shapes into
the night. At one side of this structure, groups huddle under
luminescent
Day of the Triffids-like installations crafted
from recycled material, and all around the edges the enthused are lost
to engrossing acrobatic displays, spinning fire staff and twirling
LED
poi with stunning light-trail effects. Into the early
hours of the morning, the intensity of furious-paced “darkpsy”
transits towards uplifting and melodic sounds as the Sun clears the
horizon and begins its journey over the sky’s proscenium arch.
It’s mid-summer in Portugal, at the tail end of August 2010, and
I’m on one of the most expansive and impressive outdoor dance floors
on the planet. The Dance Temple is integral to the biennial Boom
Festival held in central-eastern Portugal near the protected area
Parque do Tejo Internacional and the village of Idanha-a-Nova. An
eight-day event, Boom is the premiere production in world psychedelic
trance (psytrance) and visionary arts culture, with its Temple
attracting near 25,000 people holding passports from approximately
seventy countries. If there’s a global centre of
psyculture,
this is it. Inside the Dance Temple, I’m immersed in a soundbath of
languages and caught in a blizzard of sensory impressions. Up on stage,
an artist is DJing from a laptop and orchestrating a sonic broadside
incorporating hypnotic melody lines around persistent and seductive
bass-lines. Frequencies amplified through the sound system enervate my
whole being. Time passes, and I too pass outside of normal time. And
within this prolonged now, the optical grows rhythmic and sounds become
visible. The national colour-codes and iconography of Japan, Israel,
Sweden, Brazil and Australia, to name a few, blend with expatriate
gestures, not dissimilar to those performed by forebears in Goa,
India, the birthplace of Goatrance, the formative dance movement from
which psytrance and its various subgenres grew. There’s possibly
10,000 people on and around this dance floor at this moment, a vast
congregation of fleshy gesticulations, its habitués performing the
international hand and foot signals of trance. I feel like I’ve landed
among a community in exile. There’s multiple personal, lifestyle and
cultural concerns this community’s inhabitants have sought exodus
from, and at this moment they’re communicating their desires in the
expressive mode of dance. And, as I slide into the groove, I feel like
I’ve come home.
As I come about, I’m face-whipped by a woman with long black
dreadlocks. Commanding a wicked stomp, she’s beside herself. Nearby, a
Japanese freak in his early thirties stands astride jabbing at unseen
soap bubbles up ahead. He’s joined by compatriots in carnage alive on
the pulse. An Italian girl in fairy wings swivels gracefully
four-stepping in perfect unison with the beat. A German freak, who I
recognise by his unyielding grin, is cutting it up inside his own
personal smoke cloud. Others clown around, hug their partners in the
sublime, prepare a chillum, maintaining form amidst the mayhem. All
about me, transnational beat freaks ride the 16th note loop of
psychedelic trance, compelled by its progression, acting as if
everything depends on its maintenance, as if a faltering move will
cause a collapse in the rhythm and a diminution of the vibe. And as we
pass outside of ourselves, it seems to me that everyone has fallen
into the slot, that zone which everybody knows though few can
articulate—that moment in which nothing remains the same. “This is
it”. Grinning under bass pressure, my crazy Russian neighbour shouts
something barely intelligible, something about the “mothership” we’ve
boarded. Oscillating between self-dissolution and spectacular displays
of the self, its passengers are blissful abductees. Many producers
have collaborated to steer our ship through the night. In transit,
time’s lost and the world is gained. Eventually, I snake my way across
this incredible synesthetic stomping ground, idling to absorb
kangaroo stilt performers jumping over gales of laughter. Leaving this
dance floor is like finding the best route out of a metropolis.
Floating on a wave of exhilarationand the aromas of
chai,
charas and
changa, eventually I emerge out of the Temple and disappear into the wider festival.
More Reviews
Our 2nd mix up on the show is Projekt Rauschklang
our third mix on the show is Minatrix
We are going to be bringing you some amazing goodies from all over the world at fantastic prices
