Keeping things brief, we recently noticed a video for the beatless version of Fit Siegel‘s ‘Cocomo’ had quite a lengthy description attached – a mini essay of sorts that recounted the flurry of emotions the uploader (Gavin Rapaport) experienced upon hearing the track during Fett Burger’s Dekmantel set earlier this year.
A lovely, personalised take on a composition we’re also quite fond of, we decided to approach Gavin with a view to publishing the writeup. He was happy to give us his blessing, so without further ado, we bring you the first in a series of revelation moments, as experienced by the dancers (or in this case, sitters);
Despite the gluttony of incredible DJs I saw at Dekmantel, there was one set that I was most excited for: DJ Fett Burger at the Sunday afterparty.
When I finally made it to that little side room in the Melkweg at 4am on Monday morning, it wasn’t the image I had been painting in my head. After the mind-blowing shows at the festival main stage – the religious experience that was Jeff Mills and the apocalyptic spectacle that was Siriusmodeselektor – walking into a room so small and so half-heartedly presented was quite a disappointment. Add to that the fact that all my friends had called it a night, with my body was collapsing beneath me after three days of dancing, and you can understand that my mood was shifting to one of surrender.
I moved to the front of the audience and stared up at the awkward, mop-fringed Norwegian man that I’d idolised so much. Every movement of his hands was hesitant, and every glance he let himself take at the audience was followed by an embarrassed smile.
I stood there swaying for a while, not realising that a huge grin had appeared on my face. I think it was partly out of the appreciation that I’d made such an idol out of someone not much older than myself who seemed so embarrassed about their ultimately pointless talent, but also partly due to my general smugness about what an amazing weekend I’d had. But after a few minutes I realised I couldn’t stand any longer, retreating up the stairs to the balcony.
There were a couple of guys dancing to the right, still full of energy, but I found a ledge by the side of the empty tech booth, sitting down to watch over the scene and lose myself in my own thoughts. I felt like I was in the final scene of a movie and the camera was slowly zooming in on the DJ as the screen faded to black. And that was the moment that he played this track. It replaced any inner-monologue I was acting, any conversations I was reliving or predicting, any truths I was trying to realise, any thoughts at all that might have filled my head. I couldn’t feel my body. My entire consciousness became the melody, filling the room.
I didn’t know what the track was at the time, and I didn’t even remember it a few minutes later. But by some magical serendipity, I had it downloaded on my laptop. Today I imported it into my iTunes and seconds after pressing play I got that rush of excitement and nostalgia you get when you’ve heard a track before; something inside me knew it was at Dekmantel. I scrolled through the images in my brain of all the sets I’d seen until that little room at the afterparty flashed across my mind, and the emotion of the track slid into place with my memory of sitting up on that balcony watching the last few revellers sway to DJ Fett Burger.
I’ve replayed it about five times now, and every time it becomes further cemented as the track that will forever be synonymous with my weekend at Dekmantel. If I shut my eyes tight enough I can almost transport myself back there. Pure bliss.
Make sure to check out Gavin Rapaport’s channel and please don’t hesitate to get in touch if you’d like to share your own firsthand account. Send your story to firstname.lastname@example.org and we’ll be in touch!