Stop Making Sense II

I am on a terrace, drinking coffee with milk, feeling a little frayed at the edges, looking out at the beautiful bay at Petrcane, the one which Hitchcock said has the best sunsets in the world, you remember. Swifts dart and skim above the sunshades and return to their perch on the wire, free as a Leonard Cohen lyric in the balmy summer air and the picture perfect light blue light. We’re piecing together images, making sense of the Stop Making Sense night before.

This is a place that I have somehow fallen in love with, whatever that means now. There is something about the light here, Hitch got that right. The flow of islands on the horizon, the splash and sparkle of sun on sea. It’s so cinematic, like the slowest European art movie you have ever seen. And it’s just there, every day you wander down for coffee, like a blossoming art student, casually relaxed with her own beauty.
We were flown here for last night, now, for a change, we have two days to recover, to do nothing, to watch the film and see how it unfolds.

Last night involved the Mixcloud / Melodica boat party. At 6.60 we sat drinking Pan beer as the pirates rounded the point and powered into the bay, like something from the story scene in Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, old wooden boat, Function One sound on the shaded deck.

They docked at the quay and took on supplies (mostly Pan beer) and boarders, a motley crew of party people and early arrivals for the festival proper.
At 7 we set off on our musical journey, through True Jazz Child, Nikhil and Coco; through sunset and inky dusk into shimmering moonlit night.

And it felt somehow theatrical, treading the boards, the build, the slow unfolding, the journey down the coast to Zadar, round the bay and back; the journey from jazzy house through modern London versions of electronic dance to party tunes. From the first tentative sips and polite hellos to the full throated scream. We are your friends. You’ll never be alone again. Come on. Come on. From a gentle sway in the bay on the way out to the frothy chop and rock on the way back.

Dancing a DJing on a boat at sea is an acquired skill, but the added movement does create that mythical feeling of togetherness in the dancefloor or deck boards and leads to some, shall we say, interesting, if not always pre-planned dance moves.
Back on shore, the was the incident with Nikhil, his friend and the sea, which involved N and said friend taking a tumble into the salty bay, along with his i-Phone and laptop. Luckily not too much damage was done to the computer. We wish the i-Phone a speedy recovery.
And finally, a short but satisfying set in Barbarella’s Nightclub, all 70s kitsch and circular motion, like the inside of a perfect shell or a human ear, swirling in from entrance to DJ booth; bumping bass through more F1 sound, disco and house sounding like they always have, sounding like they never have done before.
And that was that, beautifully simple really. Now, let’s have another coffee and watch the boats come in.