For one, there is the line-up. Only by glancing at the billboard long tim ravers will get this pleasant, familiar Cocoon feeling: Väth in the Club, Villalobos on the terrace. Just like in 1999. Sixteen summers lie between that. And all this in a time when a firm affiliation between DJ and promoter has virtually disappeared. It’s only Ricardo Villalobos’ unique loyalty and faithful clubbers that make line-ups like this possible for seasons. Out of pure respect the two headliners don’t compete this night and instead of the closing set, host Sven Väth takes care of the warm-up from midnight in the club. The ‘Gude Laune’ priest once again in his chapel, straightforwardly spinning warm house tracks, very careful not to gain too much speed too soon. Always two steps forward, one step back. Just like a good lover. And Sven would love us long-time on this particular night, until we reach the first climax with Makams monster-track ‘One night at the Trouw’.
Similarly sexy the Terrace around this time: Zip and most of all Sonja Moonear hypnotize with their minimal, drumming ethno-techno, casting a fascinating spell over the dancers. Legs begin to move invariably and our eyes close automatically, like in a trance. Here comes the CO2 cannon from above: This is so on! Sonjas unceasing smile betrays her own happiness about this terrace gig. Finally, at 4.30 in the morning the last DJ swap of the night: Nina Kraviz, embarking on a journey through her dark techno-cosmos in the Club and taking over the terrace, Ricardo. Complete strangers high fiving each other with a smile on their faces. Immediate apologies given for the slightest, involuntary barging. The happy first timer dancing ecstatically next to the smiling rave-oldie. People, who you never talked to, look strangely familiar. You nod to each other conspiratorially: ‘You again! Like last week.‘ The Cocoon crowd. The best of the island!
And then Villalobos drops Robert Hood’s ‘Never Grow Old’ in last year’s Re-plant remix. Just like that. BAM! A party is dancing in its sixteenth season. Next to me a greying clubber in his late fourties screams into his imaginary microphone: ‘Neeeeeever! Neeeeeeeeeeever!’ No, we are not growing old. Not in spirit. Timeless, for ever: Cocoon 16.
Original