- It was inevitable that the tragic events of Friday, October 30th in Bucharest, Romania's capital, would cast a shadow over the first edition of Interval 100. That night, a deadly fire broke out at Colectiv nightclub, leaving more than 50 dead and dozens injured. According to reports, fireworks from a heavy metal show caused the roof and a pillar, both of which were covered in cheap, decorative foam, to instantly catch alight. Many of the 3-to-400 people inside were trampled in the rush to the exit, while others sustained fatal burns or suffocated from the smoke. When it wasn't hosting rock bands, Colectiv also ran club nights, with Nicolas Lutz and Baby Ford among recent guests.
In the days and weeks following, the local authorities did what most institutional bodies do in that situation: they panicked and jumped into action. The city's Emergency Situations Institute (ISU) decreed that, going forward, all clubs and venues would have to adhere to new safety laws and apply for updated permits. Bucharest's tangled bureaucracy means these processes can drag on for months. Interval had four weeks for its two original venues—Guesthouse and FORM—to meet all the necessary standards. FORM was the first to drop out, just three days after the fire. Two more clubs entered the fray as potential replacements, Control and Eden. A week before the event, the latter also cancelled. That left Guesthouse and Control.
Interval lost Guesthouse around midday on Friday, November 27th, roughly 11 hours before the first DJ was due to start. (The reasons are too long to go into here, but I recommend reading Interval's detailed statement on their Facebook page.) The organisers searched the city high and low for last-minute alternatives but found nothing that was both suitable and available. In the end, with just one club to work with, they had to slash the lineup from 100 acts down to 65. For financial reasons, this included many of the main draws, among them Ben UFO, Nina Kraviz and Jackmaster. The party, though, would go ahead, running for 100 hours non-stop across Control's two rooms.
By this point, a lot—no, everything—rested on Control, so good thing it turned out to be a wicked venue. The main room was a dark, high-ceilinged rectangle with a booth at one end and a mezzanine running along half of the club, fitted with metal grating for those after some privacy. Next door, AKA Front Control, the dance floor was smaller and flanked by rows of raised seating (the room doubles as a restaurant). The soundsystem in the main room was the more impressive of the two, picking out the finer subtleties in local newcomer Melodie's opening set. But as good a first impression as the club gave off, while I stood there tapping my foot as part of the sparse, early crowd, it was hard not to feel a little uneasy at the prospect of having to spend the next three days within its walls.
I should mention that, due to work commitments back in London, I couldn't attend the full five days. My flight home was scheduled for late afternoon on Monday, giving me just over 50 hours (or half the event). Because of Interval's non-stop policy, the DJs were given longer sets, with three hours the average. After Melodie's buyoant introduction, Kowton put on a wicked performance next door, crammed with stark, tribal drums. Back on the main floor, Steve Rachmad rolled out sleek techno to a room now heaving with young, fashionable revellers.
When I returned to the club after a few hours of sleep, Romanian favourites Cristi Cons and Vlad Caia were 90 minutes into their five-hour back-to-back. It was just after 1 PM and the main room had no more than 40 people in it. At first, it felt odd slipping straight back into it, but the music they were playing—classic, tumbling Romanian house—was so good any inhibitions I had soon dissipated. The atmosphere inside was like that at the best afterparties: everyone danced with wild, weird abandon, exchanging smiles and offering tokes on cigarettes. If people were high, you couldn't tell.
Later that afternoon, while Terekke threw down flamboyant disco house in the main room, I was blown away by another Romanian DJ. Dozens gathered in Front Control to watch Romansoff ease between deep house, techno and rave, cheering when each new track came in. That night would be the busiest of the weekend by a stretch, making it difficult to hear Cabanne's tight rollers over the incessant chatter. (I had to jostle for position to feel the full effects of the night's best track, Nimbus Quartet's "Later Lover.") Margaret Dygas and Amir Alexander battled for the early-hours crowd, with the American's mischievous blend of US acid and classic house (Lood's "Shout N Out") just trumping Dygas's restrained selections.
From an outsider's perspective, there was a sense that no clubbing trip to Bucharest would be complete without seeing one of [a:rpia:r] in action. If respected across Europe, then Rhadoo, Raresh and Petre Inspirescu are revered in Romania, and most of all in their hometown. I was only in town for Raresh, who played early Sunday evening. He was brilliant, weaving cuts of warm, firm house with precision and flair, teetering behind the decks and blowing kisses like a young Ricardo Villalobos.
My final stint in Control passed by in a blur. Not as many people showed up as the previous night—a blessing—but it was still consistently lively. Kornél Kovács was on exquisite form in the back room, dropping ecstatic disco, golden-era Todd Terry ("Searchin'") and an Omar-S classic ("The Shit Baby.") DVS1 was the pick of the mini Ostgut showcase in the main room, his lean, incisive techno preferred over Ryan Elliott's big-room antics. Around 8 AM, I left and went to bed.
I'll be honest: when I first heard about Interval back in September, the 100-hour runtime struck me as gimmicky, a marketing ploy to lure in extreme battlers up for a challenge. But I was wrong. It felt natural that Control never shut. After all, partying for days on end is par for the course in Romania (the music at popular festival Sunwaves also runs non-stop). Nothing about it felt forced, or ugly, or at all druggy. (I fear the latter would ruin a similar experiment in, say, the UK.) Of course there were times when the club was empty, and of course a second venue would've added another dimension to the experience. But considering what Bucharest had just been through, and the repercussions that had on clubs and crowds up and down the country, it's commendable and impressive that the organisers managed to pull it off at all, never mind in such style.