#5 __ the derelict ship rave

Just after the fall of the wall, there were hundreds, if not thousands of abandoned buildings throughout east Berlin. As young people from the west trickled in, they began to explore this previously inaccessible side of the city, strolling effortlessly through empty apartment buildings, bank vaults, factories, and power stations. There was nothing to stop them from throwing a party wherever they might please; they needed only to pick a place. One could go months without ever attending a party in the same location. Or so the story goes.

To pick through the rubble of urban decay, see the potential in a rat’s nest of concrete and steel, and then breath life into abandoned and decrepit structures, even if just for one night — this is part of what it means to rave.

Turn down a long, dark alley. Right past the art bus that looks like a spaceship. Wind your way through the wooden trench out onto the dock. Cross the gangplank. You’re on a sinking ship.

Water is being actively pumped out to keep the boat level, but there’s a noticeable starboard tilt, particularly when you’re out on the deck. It’s not enough to feel actively disconcerting, but you can still feel that oh-so gradual pull towards one end of the boat. You wonder what might happen if everyone were to stand to one side. It’s hard to say; this thing is a colossal heap of steel and it doesn’t seem to be moving at all.

The initial exploration is an utter thrill. Countless nooks and crannies. Shitty furniture and knick-knacks stuffed in every corner. Mirrors glued to this wall or that door, cables hanging from the ceiling here and there, piles of broken chairs blocking a hallway for no apparent reason. Oh, look, there’s a door here. Does it open? Does it open if I yank hard enough? Can I stand on this platform? How do we get onto the roof? Hm, this room appears to be filled with nothing but literal trash. Here’s some mattresses (are these…clean?) and some mannequin torsos. Everything smells like a mixture of stale garbage and rusty mildew; is it the water, or is it the boat? Is there a difference? Oh my god there’s a sub-basement and it smells like one of death’s moldy uncles.

When I first learned this party would be on a boat, I was concerned. In my mind, boat parties are for people that want to drink champagne and take conspicuous group pictures to post on instagram. But this was a righteously filthy affair, perfectly executed on every level.

There were chairs everywhere — it had a thousand different places to sit and rest, each with its own unique view and vibe; you could be close to the dance floor to enjoy the music, or tucked away in some corner in relative peace, or perched on a balcony above another rest area to watch the smokers. Cruising around at peak was a fucking joy, perusing all the lovely people that had nestled into the infinite crevices of this rusty galleon.

The music out on the deck was bouncier, groovier, sorta consistently dark psy-electro. A perfect fit for the open air — it was free-form, easy to jump into and out of, and encouraged lots of social interaction on the dance floor. The lights, too, were a little stroke of genius for setting the vibe. The dance floor was flanked in vertical track lights lashed to the port and starboard railings forming walls of light, serving as a barrier to the outside world. Everything here just felt cohesive, totally appropriate to the space and setting.

I spent most of my time in the bilge, however, which is where I reached a better understanding of the virtues of a boat for a party like this. When everything’s made of steel, lashed down, you can climb on everything, grab whatever, there’s an indestructible feeling to all this metal. The kind of textures you see on the walls are different — nuts and bolts and rivets everywhere, patches of rust and peeling paint — it’s just a completely different visual landscape than what you get in a warehouse or club.

The space was cramped and the actual flow in this room was wildly bad — the bar was merged right with the dance floor and the path to the bathroom and the largest outdoor seating area cut straight through the middle into a gaping stairwell. However, people seemed committed to the dance floor — there wasn’t a lot of thrash or people entering/exiting the core areas. This meant meant that the high traffic areas were relatively consistent, and once you had a spot, you could hold on to it and get comfortable there. If the crowd were more restless or the music less intense, then I imagine this would be a more frustrating experience.

It helped that I managed to find an incredible spot, too. Standing on top of a bench in the middle of the room, I could see the whole crowd, the DJ, the lights, the people coming up from below, from outside, I had plenty of room to dance, and the sound was glorious. Verticality is hard to find in many venues, but it seems like a core component of the architecture in boats.

There’s so much more I could say; the lights in the bilge were so simple but exactly what was needed to propel the music forward. The crowd was a delight; I had lots of beautiful and hilarious interactions with folks throughout the night. Nobody can grind me to dust like Akua. Her pacing, that insane fusion of intensity and creativity, the relentless sophistication of her beats — even when I feel like I’m completely spent, she can pull more out of me. Suffice to say — for me, this was a flawless party.

Thank you so much for reading.

Next week I’m not sure if I’ll be out. My body’s telling me I need to take a little break and rest. If I do go out, I’ll be at Bossa on Friday for Akua. Saturday will be MoMA PS1 for Soul Summit, since I’ve missed both of their Fort Greene parties. If I’m feeling great and willing to suffer the Output crowd, I might carry on to Grayscale for Fjaak and Rebekah.

Previous issues

• crowd dynamics
• the bass party
• more than just music
• art of the promo
• launch

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