goa parties
Goa Trance music doesn’t really make sense to most people until they hear it on drugs at a party, preferably on acid. Until that point it’s not much more than a bunch of repetitive beats and irritating samples of people saying ´hey, this must be heaven, man!´
I’m one of the converted but I’m not sure it’s exactly easy listening music and not the kind of thing you’d play at your grandmother’s funeral. As a means of self-discovery through dance though, it’s a unique medium that allows you to voyage through the night.
No one seems to agree much on what makes good trance. After every party, no matter how great a time everyone had, there are always but always people bitching about the music. The tracks were too old, they were badly mixed or the DJ wasn’t stoned enough. Perhaps one of the worse things about the whole phenomenon of the trance movement is that it spawned a whole new generation of music critics who consider themselves expert in the field.
Perhaps this was because the music was so personal, melding as it did with your particular trip. Either way the music gave you the waves but it was up to you to surf them. At it’s best dancing to trance could be better than sex. At it’s worst, however, it became a cruel, mental torture that messed your head up all night.
In Goa I usually went to bed early and the woke up at around 3:30 am to go to the party. That gave me time to shit, shower and get my party gear ready. I’d need my torch to find my way through the jungle to the beat that was already calling me, money to buy my drop of acid and fluids and I learnt to take a packet of dehydration salts with me.
By the time I found my way to the party it was hoped that most of the darker characters had already gone home and soon the cooler crowd would be arriving. Old Goan mamas held reign on their chai mats, serving tea and cakes to stoned freaks who had no idea which pocket their money was in. The DJ occupied a discreet post somewhere to the side and there was minimal lighting on the dance floor itself.
The night could be hellish. Many people actually liked it that way, dancing through the dark in a painful anonymity, exorcising their demons before the dawn. Then with dawn you’d hear a wave of motorbike engines and feel a new energy taking hold of the party. The light began to grow and you’d suddenly realize what a beautiful place you were in. The dance floor swelled and hundreds of people would suddenly go wild as the DJ unleashed a new mood.