“It is never too late to give up our prejudices,” wrote Henry David Thoreau. Little did I expect a nightclub to make his case.
Last year I swore off Privilege. One night too many being groped by Italians while wandering fruitlessly around the dancefloor in search of some atmosphere and I decided the World’s Largest Club isn’t for me. Give me the sweat-dripping walls of DC10 or Amnesia’s sci-fi splendour any day.
If it weren’t for my friends Helen and Nikki who are promoting hip-hop trio Sophisticated Funk (playing the second room) at SuperMartXe’s Friday night party I wouldn’t go anywhere near the place.
I do, though, but with vertically-challenged expectations. Especially after popping to Underground for a drink and discovering it’s empty at 2AM. Only walking up the road to Privilege do I realise something is happening. A traffic accident, I assume, from the massive tailback of cars trailing out of the drive and back down the carretera.
Pushing through palm fronds and pebbles towards the main entrance I can’t figure out what’s going on. There are these people, everywhere, scrambling through the underbrush, shouting at each other in Spanish or Italian, smoking, grumbling. “This isn’t the freaking queue?” I groan. Oh yes it is. Forty stifling, elbow-riddled minutes later my friends and I stumble out of the crush and through the entrance into another crush – a gloriously OTT swirl of bodies, lights, thumping house music and grinning faces.
SuperMartXe is reputedly a Madrileno gay night with a heavily Spanish following. In fact, it is completely mixed in every sense. And what a blinding show it makes: couples of every persuasion; gangs of friends chattering in a assorted languages as they struggle for space on the dancefloor; the white-hot blaze of the glittering SuperMartXe logo in lights across the stage; dozens of perfectly sculpted, expensively enhanced dancers wearing imagination-defyingly tiny outfits (a baby oil sales exec’s dream come true) and a staggering stage set – the whole display a glorious triumph of pomp over seriousness.
My friend – a Privilege virgin – is standing goggle-eyed: “Now this is what I expected an Ibiza club to be,” he says reverently. And he’s right. I’ll be back. Without prejudice.
Photos and text By Cila
(Cila is an occasional/regular contributor to the blog and Ibiza NOW magazine.)
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