Built in the Nevada desert for just one week a year, Burning Man is the mother of all festivals. I've been meaning to get there for years, but situations always conspire against me. This year though, it feels like I've lived the experience vicariously through friends who went out to Black Rock City, so on Saturday I joined them all at the London Decompression party - a re-union run by Euro-burners for UK based burners to party together again and reminisce over the seven days on the playa.
We arrive early at a small warehouse just off Kingsland Road in Dalston, to be greeted by a gaggle of dear old grannies in a gazebo who check our tickets. These were only publicised to community mailing lists and strictly limited in number to keep the party small and sociable. Like Burning Man itself, it's all about participation - all the performers, DJs and crew are volunteers who have bought tickets. A group of fire spinners are putting on a show in the front yard as we head in.
Inside, the warehouse has been kitted out into four main areas. The first room holds a comfy chill out tent, behind which is the tea shop. You can't miss it, because it's right next to a metal sculpture with flames blasting out of the spouts of four kettles. Next door is the Quixote Cabaret, with a small curtained stage, lots of coloured tendrils hanging off the ceiling and a brilliant 'draw your own' seaside style photo-board. On the walls hang maps of Black Rock City - the open circle of camps that made Burning Man festival 2009, laid out in geometric postcodes in the dry Nevada lake bed.
The first thing that really hits you about this party is the costumes. They're out of this world, or to be more precise straight off the playa. With human mirror balls, aliens, animals and steam punk face paint, the whole party's like a cross between a regency ball, a reunion of extras from Mad Max and a 70s disco in space. Glowing EL wire is everywhere, woven into glittering costumes, and in one case crafted into a Donnie Darko style bunny on a baseball cap (apparently it's worn partly as a safety measure to prevent you getting run over by art cars on the playa at night). If you've forgotten your costume that's no problem - you can hire one for a £5 deposit at the entrance.
The main dancefloor is the jungle room, where we spend most of the time bouncing to tunes and swinging on ropes suspended from the ceiling. DJ Debo is the first to get the party quite literally swinging, playing a mixture of bouncy house and techno. There's also a ball pit, into which I am disgorged by a fabric fallopian tube (another costume concept - the theme of this year's Burning Man was Evolution).
After a bounce we venture into the furthest room, a sweltering cul-de-sac decked out like a Bedouin tent with low lighting, sofas, space invaders consoles and a stage for bands to play on. An afro-headed, mo-sporting DJ called Dillon is bringing the funk to the dancefloor in the sweat inducing heat.
When we return to the jungle room, DJ Jurassik (Supatronix/ThisIsBreaks.com) is really enjoying himself, pumping the dancefloor with funky party breaks. The swinging ropes have been replaced by a fetish artist, performing in front of a huge crowd. Due to its nature, Burning Man is a magnet for all manner of creative eclecticism, as the costumes and various art installations around the venue also testify. Toby Lyons is next up on the decks. He's a wizard at the controls, mashing up some bad boy electro and breaks before pulling out into party style d'n'b, much to the joy of the crowd.
While the stunning outfits and decorations are the first thing you notice, the main thing you take away from the party is the openness and warmth of everyone there. Throughout the night we are gifted lots of nice things and get chatting to everyone we bump into. As we do, I realise why this night is a decompression - everyone has stories about the playa, comparing notes from around this massive festival. No-where else, I'm told, can you be in the middle of a festival of 50,000 people and yet feel completely isolated, caught up in a dust storm with the nearest other human being hundreds of metres away in the distance. Very different to a tiny squat party in Dalston then - I can see why burners take a while to re-adjust on their return to civilisation.
Image by VJ Meno.
Review for Spoonfed.
