Halu,
Here’s the story of the first weekend of Half-Baked Debrecen. Stay tuned after the break:
HoldTurbina (Dr. Rubinstein & Galactic Jackson) and the next day’s Technokunst Light.
Friday morning started with a bit of a cold, but with 6 daily vitamins and other shits, who the fuck cares? The closing club season kicks off tonight, and so does the Half-Baked Debrecen, so it’s off to the gym to ensure I’m absolutely wrecked by Sunday morning.
The evening begins with a lightyl ate befre at Feryke’s place in the ghetto. He’s testing out his DJ skills with his usual crappy music, but at least a glass of rum makes it bearable – after all, it’s half-baked debrecen, not fully. Downing the traditional Club-Mate, it’s time to head to Turbina.
Early arrival, early exit, because the main event is tomorrow (though at that point, we had no idea we’d run into frog people, but more on that in Part 2).
At Turbina’s entrance, bright-eyed promoters are already trying to sell me on the CasinoBangkok on the 13th as soon as they see me grabbing a flyer. But it’s pointless – the plan is already set, so they’re not escaping our haunting presence.
The coat check has a massive line, so we head to the small room where Feryke starts stalking/chatting up the current performers. Things are still pretty chill, so it’s another Club-Mate in the small room before heading to the main room. Dr. Rubinstein is already lurking in the background, so it’s a quick check to see if we can finally drop off our stuff at the coat check (we can, but getting it back later turns out to be a different story – more on that later).
Coat check mission accomplished, and we manage to regroup with the rest of the crew, so nothing can stop the proper start to the night. Off to the back-right corner!
The first surprise: the folks hanging out in this area have created a spontaneous second coat check. This wouldn’t be a problem if they weren’t constantly wandering around, flashing their phones, and being otherwise annoying. Honestly, I don’t know what industrial madness was going on with the crowd that night, but there wasn’t a single spot on the dance floor where you could stay for more than two seconds without someone walking all over you. Guys and girls, if you want to hike, head to the Bükk mountains. This was supposed to be a music event – Acid SPA, no less.
A special treat was the video/photo squad filming the same thing side-by-side, only for a third, more enthusiastic buddy to join them, claiming we absolutely needed a third shot – naturally, with a flash. Meanwhile, subtle flashes went off in the background as the girls posed for photos. It’s fine to be inclusive and let everyone enjoy themselves, but for the love of fucksake, could you ditch the flash if you’re going to shoot instead of party?
Speaking of partying, let’s talk about the actual point: the music that accompanied the industrial wandering instead of dancing. Dr. Rubinstein was solid – she delivered the expected acid-heavy set, and we even enjoyed it at the time. However…
Then came Galactic Jackson, and what he pulled off defies words. There are simply no words or phrases adequate to describe what the hell happened there…
This was the first time over the weekend that the question arose: why even bother with international acts when locals can deliver like this? I won’t even try to describe it further, so I’ll leave it at this:
At the end of the set, the plan was to head home quickly. However, we ended up in a 15–25-minute hieroglyphics-reading workshop with the coat check girls. They were sweet, and since the place wasn’t packed, no one got lynched, but next time it’d be great if they could at least read their own handwriting so we don’t have to decipher coat tags. On the bright side, at first, I got two coats instead of one, which would have been a nice deal – though probably less so for the original owners come morning.
On the way home, a quick stop at Feryke’s to check if the mountain bike and the exercise book, then finally some rest – because the main summit is coming up on the A38 boat with Technokunst…
To be continued.
