![]() In the context of post-Colectiv Bucharest, everyone thought that the buoyant nightlife that made the city so vibrant might sadly disappear. Their strongest bet must have been world music’s wide-range appeal : it’s the genre clubbers, indie kids, metalheads, jazz cats and their parents could all enjoy. The task of putting together three full days of concerts, complete with debates, workshops and club nights, sounds like an overly ambitious task and possible financial suicide, especially without corporate sponsors. The sheer existence of this sort of event, especially in a context like Bucharest, is a pretty huge, almost miraculous deal. It is 2016 and this was just one act of Outernational Days, the three-day festival celebrating this niche. With an equally infectious smile, Sebastian aka Booty Carell is spinning mostly bassless music to a happy crowd that has miraculously not fled to the neighboring techno room or the smoke-friendly terrace. On a warm night at the beginning of July, some 200 people are doing their best belly dance impression on the generous dancefloor of the Berlin room in Control Club guided by the steady hands of my old German friend. He keeps pulling gem after gem from his record bag with an enthused, nonchalant smile, as if it were the most normal thing to be doing on a Saturday.Ĭoming from the highly segregated Romanian party scene that back in 2010 was still dominated by indie/electro sounds as the official underground soundtrack, it seemed unconceivable that the silly, lo-fi sounds popularized by labels such as Sublime Frequencies would ever leave our Ipods and bedrooms. How was this possible, where the regular Parisian dancing venues were a combination of indie, rock and roll and Balkan music?įor the closing night of an international hacktivism festival, the programmers chose a circuit bending A/V performance, an 8-bit noise show and a German DJ playing all sorts of non-western sounds to the handful of people that braved the overheated basement. Only, instead of long haired guys in black band shirts headbanging to ’90s rock hits the crowd was a mix of punks, hipsters and crusties gently swaying to the wailings of a ’70s Iranian singer and Turkish songs we would play at our house parties. It reminded me of those rockers’ bars we used to have in my hometown in old cellars. There were posters with horses on the walls, six tables on the side and a minuscule stage. It was a dark, shallow space with visible red brick, not much larger than my living room. ![]() Novomatic & Marius Vișinescu, photo by Sebastian ApostolĪbout five years ago, I was dancing in a sweaty basement of a Belgian bar lost among the winding cobblestone streets between Nation and Montreuil. Novomatic & Marius Vișinescu, photo by Alex Negulescu Novomatic & Marius Vișinescu, photo by Andrei Mușat Raze de Soare, photo by Sebastian Apostol Ĭrowd at Raze de Soare, photo by Alex Negulescu.Tapes at Paradaiz Tape Mașina, photo by Andrei Mușat Tapes at Paradaiz Tape Mașina, photo by Sebastian Apostol Paradaiz Tape Mașina, photo by Sebastian Apostol ĭan Armeanca, photo by Sebastian Apostol.Kids at Dan Armeanca, photo by Alex Negulescu Rabih Beaini & Vincent Moon, photo by Alex Negulescu ![]() Okay Temiz & Harry Tavitian, photo by Alex Negulescu Okay Temiz & Harry Tavitian, photo by Andrei Mușat Miron / Cotac / Stanciu, photo by Andrei Mușat Idris Ackamoor & The Pyramids, photo by Andrei Mușat Idris Ackamoor &The Pyramids, photo by Andrei Mușat Idris Ackamoor & The Pyramids, photo by Alexandru Dan Idris Ackamoor &The Pyramids, photo by Alexandru Dan Maurice Louca Trio, photo by Andrei Musat
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