Ibiza Rocks 2008

Spain | by Daniel Fahey | 14 August 2008

When Ibiza first exploded at the backend of the last century it was a dance utopia; a Mediterranean escape for the hedonistic elite; a hangout for the bronzing superstar DJ. But now, like its Costa del Sol cousins, the island has morphed into a garish parade of neon signs, Burger Kings and stiletto heels.

Super club giants al la Amnesia and Space still pack out weekly, but island bosses are curbing the late nights and according to press reports, hitting harder on the drug dealers. So in a bid to attract a different clientele, money has been ploughed into the newly renovated Ibiza Rocks Hotel – a getaway for affluent indie fashionsta.

Though there's barely a pair of skinny jeans in sight. Instead bucket hats replace trilbies and hoards of sunburned lads are single-handily keeping the tracksuit bottoms and Reebok Classics industries alive. The festival, which runs intermittently throughout the summer, takes place in the hotel itself, squeezed into the centre of the apartments during the evening. This allows revellers to fill their long, sticky days with chilling out at the beach or the infamous Café del Mar. Though many chose to relax in one of the hotel’s three swimming pools – one plays chill out music, another house and trance, while the third pool is planked over to create the festival's dance floor.

Each instalment of the event is sold like an excursion alongside tickets for all the super clubs, with many fans opting to spend an extra 10Euros to gain VIP access and more importantly, free drinks. Though it doesn't mean that everybody has made it in time for the first act Cassette Jam.

There are a few more people by the time support band The Clik Clik take to the stage. The duo barely look old enough to be on a club 18-30 party as they teethe out indie-pop with a nu-rave slant that was wildly popular last summer. Catchy single 'My Dunks' is a funk driven rant about trainers that only an adolescent act could’ve dreamt up, but for all their dues and effort the crowd is half full with drinkers, not dancers.

Though by the time Reverend and the Makers take to a stage the VIP bar, balconies and the planked-over swimming pool are packed. The crowd are more enthusiastic than most festivals with the majority here to really 'av it! The Reverend himself though seems a little subdued as he wanders across the stage like a fashion disaster: Crème Brule sunglasses, Mohican haircut, green pixie shoes and with his flies undone.

Launching into 'Heavyweight Champion Of The World' the audience throw more fists in the air than Muhammad Ali did his entire lifetime, while McClure flexes his arms like a victorious pugilist. Though the celebrations feel a little premature as the band crawl over into the Alex Turner penned track 'The Machine'. The slow dubby number's lack of instrumental prowess highlights the Rev's inept ability to build a vocal melody, relying instead on his worn trick of three lines sung low, then one line crooned higher. Though it does give those on the balconies the opportunity to raid their bathroom for toilet roll to throw into the crowd below.

"It feels like an Argentinean football game with all the bog roll," quips McClure, "I hope you've got something to wipe your arse with." It is only now the Rev notices he is flying low as he attempts to discreetly zip himself back to full mast. 'Miss Brown' and the painful 'Open Your Window' sound tight, though the band seem to only be going through the motions.

"The next track is called why do Brits act like pricks when they come to Spain," McClure announces to a chorus of cheers, "show me a peace sign if that's not you," he pleads and the crowd oblige. Though for the sensational-gossip lovers among you this is the same man who was spotted at the airport being pushed around in a baggage trolley.

New track 'Silence Is Talking', which sounds a bit like The Charlatans 'The Only One I Know' proves surprising popular with the crowd as the set builds to the finale of a hectic version of 'He Said He Loved Me'.

The hotel's club-cum-canteen is hosting the "only official after-party", or so the DJ keeps saying over the microphone, with hoards packing out the bar waiting to watch ex-Artic Monkeys bassist Andy Nicholson and current drummer Matt Helders DJ.

When they finally arrive onstage a sweaty Nicholson turns out to be rather handy on the decks mixing tracks like 'Out Of Space' by The Prodigy and The Chemical Brothers' 'Hey Boy Hey Girl'. Meanwhile Matt Helders is half-heartedly hitting a drum kit behind the DJ booth with a large stick in one hand and a cocktail in the other.

The pair swap over with Helders playing some grimy hip hop including The Cool Kids and Santogold. But ultimately it's the duo's downfall as the bar empties and it suddenly feels like a canteen again. Ibiza rocks, but it's still all about the big name DJs.