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Alfredo loves... Ibiza
But he's also worried about what it has become as well. RA's Christian Rose-Day catches up with the man often credited with inspiring Oakey and the crew to find out how things have changed on The White Isle.
"When I arrived on the boat and walked down the first street, I saw that everyone was free, hippy, and laid-back. I thought to myself, 'This is where I want to live'." As memories of Ibiza go, this one seems fairly pedestrian. Until you realize it belongs to Alfredo Joaquin Fiorito, otherwise known as the legendary DJ Alfredo.
In 1976, Alfredo was still in the country of his birth, Argentina. There, President Jorge Videla’s government was using its military might to eradicate tens of thousands of dissidents, in actions that have since come to be known as the "Dirty War." Violent murders and torture reigned for so long that eventually the commanding powers thought it best to unify the country under a veiled "patriotic" invasion of the British Falklands. Alfredo, a learned man who had studied business, philosophy and medicine, fled the repressive regime to join like-minded people in Spain.
Although he doesn't talk about it much, he does admit to missing his "younger years." He travels to his homeland often these days and is impressed with its trivial changes: "The trees are bigger….the green is greener." He doesn't mention the political climate, though. Instead, he chooses to focus on the fact that Europe is the provenance of most Argentinean immigrants, and when they first arrived they brought their many cultures and styles with them. This gives Alfredo, it would seem, his European soul. In that way, he was bound to feel at home on the White Isle.
After a series of faltering career choices ("If you don't have a family here, or a well-established job, it's very difficult to survive"), he was given the opportunity of a lifetime: a resident DJ position at a little place called Amnesia. At the time, the club was lacking in custom and rich with empty space. Once on board, however, Alfredo's contribution proved to be pioneering and hugely important not only to the success of the venue, but to the evolution of the island.
There was lackluster attendance at the initial gigs. However, word spread quickly about Alfredo's talents: "The first day that Amnesia was full," comes his boastful reminiscence, "after three or four months of me playing to only a few people each night, we'd managed to get a full crowd. It's one of my proudest moments from Ibiza."
Despite this rare display of pride, Alfredo is modestly understated about his role since first residing there over 30 years ago. It's claimed that he is one of the Balearic originals, if not the original, and should be thanked for luring British talent to the island's ethos. As the story goes, in 1987, radical youngsters Oakenfold, Rampling, Holloway, and Walker were holidaying in Ibiza when they heard Alfredo play at Amnesia. This defining moment proved to be the inspirational catalyst they needed to deliver the Balearic sound back to an unsuspecting Britain. Masked by an almost bashful chuckle, the secret, according to Alfredo, was simply that he "was in the right place at the right moment."
"Now, I think that because we are experiencing a change, everybody's subconscious is getting a bit mad, loco loco."
It's clear the right place was Amnesia, where he became Artistic Director in 1988, the same year he earned DJ Magazine's DJ of the Decade award. The right moment was cruising through a scene that gathered pace, styles, and flavors from every possible angle and flaunted them in Elysium. Yet unassumingly, Alfredo shifts the responsibility for igniting Ibiza's popularity onto someone else. "Adamski," he interrupts, keen to enlighten the whole world. "He blew everything up when he opened in Amnesia in '88. After that, he made his record ["Killer" with Seal, 1990] and became very popular. Adamski made a big change to Ibiza. After Adamski there came loads of groups from England. For English techno, it was a starting point."
Although the UK is not entirely responsible for the growth of Ibiza, it can claim a major part. A hedonistic explosion followed the Second Summer of Love. Acid house was everywhere (808 State, Guru Josh, S'Express) and just as rare groove had been incited by marijuana, acid house was now riding high on the new drug: ecstasy. The UK embraced the euphoria, creating a movement towards the idyllic shores of Ibiza. It was a national psychological reaction to being caught in the Thatcherite doldrums, when unemployment and the lack of any tangible excitement encouraged young people to seek happier feelings, places, and people. "All these people behaved differently, but behaved well amongst one another," reasons Alfredo, casting his memory back to that initial instant appeal. "The party was not divided with English people [on] one side and Germans or Spanish on the other, which is how it is now."
He goes on to claim that globalization and the internet have had a counterproductive effect on the way people interact. "Now it's the other way round; everyone has their own party." His sadness regarding this national segregation is understandable, but perhaps a little romanticized. Years ago, wide-ranging audiences were the norm, clubbers were given fewer choices, and there were only a small number of influential media. Nowadays, everything is fractured, every sub-genre is covered in Ibiza, and there is rarely one party that won't appeal to someone's specific taste. It is simultaneously splintered on a large scale and consolidated on an intimate one.
The Ibiza of today is different and Alfredo knows it. (If he's not the authority, who is?) He mentions the massive sound systems and the drugs that "even kill horses". He shies away from the latter—"I don't want to talk so much about that, I think that it's all over the place"; his reluctance is sheepish, especially regarding the universal unspoken truth that drugs have been as important to Ibiza's prosperity as its perfect Mediterranean setting. "Now, I think that because we are experiencing a change, everybody's subconscious is getting a bit mad, loco loco."
This "change" he mentions is not just a local phenomenon. "We're going through a big change globally," he continues, touching on the transformations he's seen in recent years. "With Bush's politics, wars, and economic movement, the world has got to a point where something is going to have to change. It's happened everywhere: ecologically, economically, socially. And Ibiza is the same, but in a smaller version."
" For the worse, I can tell you a lot of things… For the better, I don't know."
Having been on the island since the '70s, he's seen firsthand the developments that are categorically better or worse. "For the worse, I can tell you a lot of things," he admits, somewhat apprehensively. "For the better, I don't know. It's getting more popular year by year." His responses are transparently candid; neither sycophantic nor derogatory towards his islet home. "The roads are bigger; that could be better or worse depending on how you look at it. The food is better, but more expensive. The transportation system is also better, but that also depends on what your beliefs are. The hotels are getting bigger and have more stars. It's more professional in the way that tourism is treated."
It's interesting to note such ambivalence towards Ibiza, especially from a man who has his own personal history so heavily entwined with its success. He's obviously grateful for the fortuitous opportunities it has given him, but he also shuns its rapid, advancing consumption. He concludes the discussion firmly, though: "Any change that happens in Ibiza results in attracting new generations."
Although he dismisses the term "Balearic" as mere "commercial branding," these days, Alfredo still believes in the music he played—and the spirit he embodied—all those years ago. He looks at it simply: "What I did in Amnesia was to try and get all those people together." Plucking a vinyl from the discos of London and playing it in unfamiliar setting gave it an additional dynamic. The key was then to follow it with something totally alien. "You accepted the record that came after because maybe you didn't know it, because it was Italian, Brazilian or Spanish."
Here, he could just as easily be describing his most recent production—We Love….Sundays at Space—a release compiled alongside Paul Woolford for the purposes of getting "the right vibe for the Sundays in Ibiza." The idea: to mix new and old music using a Balearic flavor. The part he plays is purely as a stamp of approval. "They chose me to make a continuation, or to connect the original Balearic to the new thing."
With such constant referencing of the past, a cynic might well ask how Alfredo is still relevant today. But with all the evidence on hand—a weekly slot at Space again this summer, a showing at Chew The Fat in the UK earlier this year, and a recent Global Session with Carl Cox circling the blogs—has he ever been more relevant? But if you're still not convinced, perhaps this recent testimonial from an emphatic raver will serve as one last reason to believe:
There he was, in front of us, putting on a set so good that I can't even describe it properly in words. It was as if the turntables and mixer…were not just machines, they were part of his body and soul. All I can say is I cried, and that I don't think I can go clubbing too much anymore....
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Published / Wednesday, 06 August 2008
 14 Comments
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