I wish I had the words to describe the experience that was Ultra Music Festival. I’m still trying to scrape my bottom jaw from off the floor and wondering if I should even bother trying to explain what happened. Not only do I run the risk of grossly underplaying the awesomeness of Ultra-which is bound to be the case considering my unrelenting ability to express something awe-inspiring in the driest manner- but I also run the risk of sounding too hyped up and impressed, and thus unbelievable.
I’m pretty sure Ultra was real. It had to be; ask my legs. All you Ultranauts that I saw limping to your cars will understand. If you’re not treading that thin line between pleasure and pain right now, you don’t deserve those God-given legs with all their stomping potential. But for the rest of the Ultranauts that were seen stumbling around at sunset or looking out of sorts on a distant patch of grass or cement, let’s just pretend nothing happened. While you try to avoid FOMO of death, let me mention a few things I would’ve learnt from Ultra if it really happened.
1)South African DJs and producers are kings in their own right. The SoulCandi stage was gold! When it comes to house, especially the deep kind, other DJs can just “shut up”. Phat Jack braved the sun and made me want to kick off my sandals, run into an open space and totally spaz out, or rather hippie-out. MiCasa was a surprise. Their performance, which I decided would be a toilet break and refresher period, quickly became salsa time. It’ll just never get old. I want their muti man. Crazy White Boy’s set with Nonku on the mic got my final stamp of approval when, my favourite, “The Forgotten People” oozed out the speakers. Then Black Coffee. We all know the deal when it comes to this man. I won’t even bother.
2)Rough and dirty can be good for you. I suggest you make it a priority more often than not. This is the reason I fell in love with EDM. When Tiesto showed us why we like to give him our money it was that filthy, dirty Dutch bassline and kinky drum that had me bouncing and punching the air with my standard show of approval – the stank face. I gave and left my all on that littered patch of grass. Only a superhuman can “Eat. Sleep. Rave. Repeat.” when it’s that rough and that dirty and you kinda, sorta, like it. I more than liked it, so before I hit repeat I’m going to need more sleep.
This international festival definitely delivered. Good people, good venue, good planning, great sound. I’ve never been this OK with being a shell of a person – I guess that can happen when the world as you know it is turned on its head. Now, when is Heineken going to call me to tell me I’m going to Miami?