Hey look at us! We went to Melt!

As a prerequisite to the following, we strongly urge you to see this:

That is how everyone looks at Melt. Everyone. Neon is dead; long live muted plaid, American Apparel, moustaches, short shorts and sour-faced apathy.

Now that a week of heart-wrenching melancholy has passed since the International Hipster Stare-Off that was Melt, BTBW is ready to recall what it can. Now bearing in mind that we collectively ate about half of a bratwurst in a week, this amounts to significantly less than it could have.

First mention must go to the fact that, no, this was NOT a haven of German efficiency and organisation. No shuttle bus at the click of your fingers. No U-bahn to the door of your tent. No, no - this was EAST Germany; a country with more in common with Belarus than with Bonn. Dessau? We’re talkin’ barren streets on a Friday, we’re talkin’ rusty Trabants, we’re talkin’ tumbleweed, we’re talkin’ highly suspicious and non-responsive communist-era check-out ladies. The kids don't stand a chance....

The result of the region’s unacceptable inability to absorb it’s new neighbour’s penchant for highly efficient public transport services was our ashamed absence at Burger/Voigt and Supermayer, the former having been highly anticipated on the back of the recent Gas record on Kompakt. Nevertheless, we weren’t complaining as we settled into the campsite atmosphere, curiously lacking as it was of mud, puke, knackers, fights, GAA jerseys, thievery and arson.

The setting, amid an old lake-side iron mine, was stunning. Five arenas were spaced around a jungle of industrial warehouses and colossal mid-century cranes – all dressed in neon lights and spectacular flames. It begs the question – why must these things always happen in shitty, swampy fields? For all the joys of Ferropolis, though, the music is really what sets Melt apart. Or to be most specific, the lack of shite music is what sets Melt apart. No Fratellis here, Tonto.

Friday night brought us the joys of Germany’s finest techno labels, Kompakt and BPitch Control. First up after our giddy post-entrance jigs was the mighty Gui Boratto. His excellent Chromophobia record got a fine airing, although, oddly, Beautiful Life was omitted – perhaps for fear of being a tad too ethereal for a discerning opening night audience. After this came one of the highlights of this and probably most festivals this year: an absolutely rasping performance by the incomparable Modeselektor. Whatever reservation evident amongst punters earlier on in the evening was wholly washed off in three minutes alone by Black Block. The visuals, the energy and, of course, the big monkey spraying champagne on the front row combined to make it the most unforgettable performance of the weekend. Voici:

The rest of Friday evening brought us two doses of Ellen Allien's trademark deep minimal techno, fitting in either side of a set from Sascha Funke. The fun was only beginning at that stage though, as the joys of the Sleepless Floor were then discovered by BTBW. It was here that the outrageous disregard for the phenomenon that is sleep became apparent. The festival seemed to have arranged it that anyone who wanted to go non-stop for the three days could do so without much hindrance. An arena by the lake covered in artificial sand, Sleepless Floor kept going pretty much 24 hours a day, with BTBW struggling home at 3pm Saturday in order to salvage the rest of the weekend, after a deluge of shite-talk, terrible dancing and sand-throwing had subsided. The quality of music playing set Sleepless Floor apart from any other festival after-party we have seen. Here is but a tiny sample of what went on:

Onto Saturday then, and a campsite rave – courtesy of Audiolith (a worthy highlight of any other festival) – quickly set us off again. An afternoon return to the Sleepless Floor couldn’t be resisted as the masses (well, ten of us) gathered in anticipation of Jape’s evening set at the Gemini stage. And, well, Jesus. What a belter. Egan bombed through his most energetic material in front of a packed out arena. (Many apologies, incidentally, to the throngs of slightly miffed Berliners for our insistence on being loud, jumpy, and very much in front of them). We’ve said before that his is a brand of music that could really hold its own in front of a foreign audience. And we were right. So there.

Then we were meant to go to Whitest Boy Alive, to see the God that is Erlend Oye live in the flesh, in possibly the greatest moment ever. But the arena was full. So, tough luck there.

Tails between legs, we laid faith on Franz Ferdinand to lift spirits. That they certainly did, with a snappy set comprising of one or two characteristically sharp new tunes dotted amongst the finest material from their first two albums. Despite the undoubted gusto of their performance, you couldn’t help but sense a slight streak of nervousness in Kapranos’ demeanor as the Glaswegians attempted to shake of the cobwebs accumulated in nearly two years in the studio. We expect to see them back to their charismatic, charmingly arrogant best by Electric Picnic. And to the scenesters who think it’s now crushingly uncool to still like them – fuck off.

The Gemini stage confirmed its legendary status as Mr. Oizo blew the crowd away with a blistering two hours of dirty, relentless, Parisian electro. The bouncy floor added to the madness of this one. This was the kind of gig that would send you to confession. See it for yourself here:

The night then moved down-tempo as Matthew Johnson and Steve Bug treated the crowds to the most elegant, perfectly-selected minimal techno as the sun came up across the lake. In between these two we experienced the Red Bull Academy’s thumping atmosphere – young DJs out-mixing each other with nods to MIA and MGMT, amongst others - truly beautiful moments, well borne out in the following video from Steve Bug’s set:

After Bug the mindless skullduggery continued at the Sleepless Floor until midday Sunday. What a place…

Despite Hot Chip, despite Bjork, Battles and the Berlin Battery Allstars, Sunday will be remembered for one thing and one thing only: