- In the lead-up to the second US installment of Mannheim's Time Warp festival, the questions were many: would it lean towards EDM extravagance or be the biggest techno party of the year? Would the visuals be corny or awe-inspiring? Would it draw further ire from local authorities already on a mission to suppress underground parties, as with Cityfox? (The answer: yes.) What would the line be like? And the crowd? Would Villalobos be sober enough to play?
When I arrived on Friday night, the line stretched down the block, guards grumbled about the organizers, and muscled men with artist passes got into pushy altercations over who was standing where. After a stretch of tense confusion, perhaps stoked by flashbacks to the recent Klockworks showcase in Brooklyn that had hundreds in line for hours with no explanation, the crowd was eventually let in with no incident and we made our way to Pier 39.
The massive warehouse venue was spectacular. Two huge stages were split by an expansive lobby where attendees could store their belongings or access the bottle service sections. Thousands of people filled the cavernous spaces and yet the sound was excellent no matter where you stood. In the main room, camouflage netting hung across the ceiling, which was covered in spotlights and pulsed liked an alien beehive. Behind the DJ, a cinema-sized LED screen flashed with intricate visuals. The venue's second room, Floor 2, shot lasers across the room in elaborate grids. Lines to the bar, bathroom and VIP sections were seamless, the dance floor wasn't overcrowded and security was mellow, cutting out the stresses that typically plague larger events.
When I walked in, Luciano was pounding out a set that split the difference between his trademark tropical minimalism and thicker party jams. Heavy on impatient EQ-ing, his was the least interesting performance I saw all weekend, and I chose to dip into to Black Coffee in Floor 2. Built on crisp, djembe-infused drum tracks, his set bounced with a sexy flair. This deeper mood was interrupted, though, when he wrapped things up with a bar mitzvah-worthy finale, stretching a cappellas of "Show Me Love," "Billie Jean" and "Wanna Be Startin' Somethin'" across a percussion workout before signing off with an Afro-house cover of Prince's "Purple Rain" whose vocal lacked the desperation and sex of the original.
That said, many loved it, and the mood was effusive as Seth Troxler and Jamie Jones began with a thick bassline and moved through a selection of catchy, funked-up house. As with all the DJs on Friday, their set was primed for impact, with plenty of hands-in-the-air anthems. Danny Tenaglia's "Elements (The Dtour)," in which a lothario's voice intones "ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the club. I'm your DJ... and I'm gonna take you on a tour of a 12-inch.. yes, a 12-inch," was one of many met with a chorus of cheers.
The only DJ to demonstrate restraint was Ricardo Villalobos, whose first US appearance since 2011 was the most anticipated of the festival. Would he be as deliciously weird as hoped for, or as vacantly minimal as feared? The answer was both a relief and slightly disappointing: he was a breath of fresh, jazzy air after Luciano's boneheaded finale. The tracks grooved and whispered, teasing out bits of melody and tumbling textures. There were more ideas in the first 15 minutes than I heard anywhere else all night, but was it worth the wait?
If Friday was the warm-up, with an emphasis on generous house, Saturday was devoted to chugging techno. Concurrent sets from Chris Liebing and Sven Väth offered much of the same types of jacking, pumped up thrills, although the former benefited from Floor 2's more tasteful lighting. (Also, Väth's decision to project a montage of himself on screen, bare-chested and wearing eyeliner, striking open-armed Christ poses and casting smoky, come-hither looks detracted slightly from the music.)
Recondite's live performance was a highlight, his crystalline melodies dancing delicately above pulsating heartbeat kicks. It was refreshing in a manner similar to Villalobos' set: both offered room to breathe on a stage where most went for outsized, sweeping gestures. When a climactic wave of static rose above the icy reverb before an understated drop, it was all the more exciting for its sense of deliberation and purpose.
The overall massiveness was Time Warp's only flaw. The event is designed as one huge rush: big DJs, big sound, big lights, big room, big fun, and it delivered on all counts as promised. At times, I felt like the man in the Maxell logo, thrown back in his chair by the sheer force of the sound coming from the speakers. But was this the force of techno in its ideal form, or of commerce smoothing out all of its sharp edges and nagging contradictions? Was there a message of utopian brotherly and sisterly love, or simply a palliative murmur that everything's fine?
Photo credit: Stephen Bondio, Chris Proper
