Randomland, CiRCA
Toronto
Words & Photos by Ashley Hampson
Randomland. How does one describe such a place to those who have never been? It’s the main room and dance floor at the behemoth that is CiRCA, an entertainment venue and nightclub created by the King of New York Clubs, Peter Gatien. It’s called Randomland because, well, there’s simply no better name for it. A giant metal head, tilted back, mouth agape in a permanent state of bliss, hangs off to one side of the room, almost unnoticeable in the haze and wild lighting. To the left of the stage sits an escalator. That’s right, an escalator. It serves as one of many options to reaching the upper levels of the club — and every floor of the club offers an unobstructed view of the mayhem below. Randomland residents also use it to make an entrance during the main set — by residents, I mean the oh-so-fashionable folks decked head to toe in large, outrageous outfits. Stars, hearts, ice cream cones, and a handful of other equally innocent and cutesy costumes are usually present.
Tonight, Toronto DJ Nasty Nav is on the decks, playing to a crowd intent on starting the party a touch early. A group of what appears to be drunken college boys decides the best way to kick things up is to start a mini mosh pit, front and centre. While gritty electro-house is spinning two younger girls pose in front of the stage, lips puckered, sunglasses on, snapping pictures of each other as people dance around them. I watch the pair for a moment and wonder why people consider catching a DJ or artist to be some sort of creative statement about themselves, while giving little regard to the music. They get all decked out to stand around — at least they’ve got edgy pics to show to their friends — rather than doing what should be a no-brainer: dancing like fiends and enjoying the set.
A JFK remix of “Bring it On” by the Belgian lads in Goose kicks the crowd up a notch as UK DJ Sinden sets up. He gives a quick intro and starts up, the room slowly swelling as the crowd thickens. The two photo happy girls make a hasty retreat from the front as Ears joins Sinden onstage to start the show. Ten minutes in, Mz.Bratt and Ny saunter out and the trio keeps the energy high, providing vocals on nearly every track. The familiar first notes of Mr. Hudson and the Library’s “Ask the DJ” (the Count and Sinden remix, naturally) floods the room and sweaty bodies start moving, arms flailing, legs hitting others in an innocent act of self-expression. Something dawns on me and I’m suddenly confused — but my confusion is twofold.
For one, where the hell is the Count? It’s only Sinden, solo on the decks. The second moment of disarray arises when the crowd suddenly starts to chant “OBAMA, OBAMA, OBAMA”. Ears, Mz.Bratt and Ny look perplexed, but carry on, being professionals and all. I don’t get it either. This is Canada after all and our guests onstage are British. Seems the overzealous crowd simply wants to show its support. And with good reason. Sinden, with his brigade of artists, puts on an amazing, engaging show.
To the right of the stage and above the mass of people below, secured snugly in a private, glass-paneled room, three girls attempt dancing on a couch while the guy behind them watches the show from a mounted flat screen. Why watch the live event happening below when you can PAY to watch it on TV? Brilliant. I take the escalator to the second floor (no, it’s not actually in service. I can just imagine a mangled heap of hipsters lying apathetically at the bottom) as Sinden’s set comes to a close and enter the Kidrobot room. Founder Paul Budnitz designed the room filled with all the Kidrobot characters. Brightly painted walls, a glowing bar top and a shooting gallery style backdrop — complete with Smorkin’ Labbits rollin’ by — assault the senses. For an extra kick, drop acid beforehand. A roar wafts to the second level as the Crookers set starts and the Randomland residents join them onstage. The ice cream cone, the star, the smiley face — they’re all present. I think I spy a tube of toothpaste busting a move, but can’t be sure.
Sinden and co. kick back on the stage while the Italian duo that is Crookers spins away. Without warning, “Mad Decent” explodes into the room, the song’s dirty synths and pounding beat exactly what the crowd was waiting for, judging by its surging reaction. A crowd surfer floats by moments later as “Lava Lava” by Boys Noize gets a mix-in. As far as DJs go, this was easily one of the best sets I’ve ever heard — the boisterous crowd, all legs, feet, and writihing bodies, proof of that. Randomland is still packed to the tits as the night winds down. I pass by a large wall-mounted motion screen on the way out, and my digital image is suddenly splayed across it, composed entirely of corporate logos. Nike, Microsoft, Apple, Playboy, Warner Bros., Adidas — an endless list of commercial consumerism made into my likeness. Interesting and terrifying all at once. One has to wonder (not particularly hard) if it’s corporate sponsorship or if CiRCA’s taking the piss.
