Daybreaker Comes To Tel Aviv

The Tel Aviv venue was so much dingier than this bright sparkly one.

There's not a lot that can get me out of bed in the morning before I really really have to.  An early morning flight, an unexpected case of diarrhoea, my kid vomiting in my bed or on the floor of my room ......I wear earplugs nightly for the very purpose of not being disturbed by anything during my morning slumber.  So then, who would have thought I would drag my sorry arse out of my warm soft beddie at 5.30am to get ready to attend the first Daybreaker party in Tel Aviv - http://dybrkr.com/  a stone-cold sober rave -  held in an underground nightclub, called The Breakfast Club, in a lively part of the city.

Ooooh fancy

Surprisingly, lots of people are doing it all over the show, and not just in Tel Aviv.  The Daybreaker movement was started a couple of years back by two twenty somethings in Williamsburg Brooklyn - the Hipster Capital of the World (Of course it bloody was wasn't it?).
http://twintravelling.blogspot.co.il/2013/05/its-square-to-be-hip.html
Apparently they thought that the daytime morning routine is pretty lame (I hear you dudes, I hear you), and wouldn't it be fun to rock out on the dance floor before work (I know we've all pondered that from time to time.....).  Just good old alcohol free, drug free, cutting sick kind of shiz.  It's a novelty alright.

You gotta get yourself to school today sweetie

Trepidation at this stage

The day kicked off with a pre-dance session of yoga. I have to admit it felt pretty funny dressing up in an slightly odd outfit, and lugging your yoga mat across town, and then going into a nightclub to get your downward dog on.  There were a few people in animal hats standing outside the nightclub door welcoming us in.  They looked fresh, I looked fresh - it was all wrong - like an alternate reality. I had my doubts.  Nightclubs in the day generally suck.  They look as seedy as fuck, and you can almost feel the stories of desperation the walls could tell, as much as you can smell the stale beer and the light odour of vomit covered up by cleaning products.  But they'd done a good job in the The Breakfast Club on Rothchild - 150 sticks of incense can drown out all kinds of whiffs of despair, ciggies, and the stench of wasted lives.

We set up our yoga mats on the dance floor - well at least tried to....when I asked 3 yoga bitches if they'd mind moving their mats just a touch, they looked at me like I just asked them to eat a fresh piece of dog shit I was carrying in my hand.  Needless to say they didn't oblige.  I then had to skulk up the back with my other mate.  However, one of my dear friends visiting from Canada scored a place right at the front that I set up for her nicely (I hate the front anyway - I'd rather be up the back hanging shit on the yoga princesses and trying not to fart).  My other chum whispered in my ear "I'm not sure I want to dance with these people" - she's right Yoga Bitches are the worst - with their fancy leggings, their light tans, and their bouncy pony tails.  Best costume on the yoga floor was a dude in a red cape and crown.  I was a bit jealous of his look, but ultimately glad I decided not to go for my initial fancy costume idea (nerdy school girl with glasses and a 'Kick Me' sign on my back) - doing tree posture with a mini skirt would have been brutal for those around me....and I don't even want to think what the girl behind me would have suffered during the bend overs.

Damn you and your outlandish cape you funky kinglike man

In the final 2 minutes of the class however, there came an event that basically traumatised the shit out of my Canadian friend at the front.  Right in the middle of some crouching pose, the giant bloody disco ball hanging right above her head suddenly fell off the roof and landed with an almighty thud on her yoga mat.  Basically it missed landing on her head by about 5 cm.  And this was no pissy little thing either.  It was the big boy, the motherload of sparkles - Big Bad Bertha.  Very very nasty indeed......Death By Mirrorball - I never considered that as a way to go before.  You've got to admit it's got a certain kind of style to it - but people would laugh as well - you don't want your death to be laughed about.  Tears only, all the way.

She seems happy - escaping death will have that effect

Well, that little incident only broke the party up for a few minutes, the mirror bits were swept up, the final pose finished and the DJs kicked it all off properly.  My friend went into the next room in search of coffee and came back to report that it was absolutely packed.  And it was.  Who knew so many people were also prepared to get out of bed far earlier than usual.  There were pole dancers (copped a fanny in the face at 7am - no worries), jugglers that sucked (go back to clown school buddy), break dancers wearing tuxedos, people playing saxophone and trumpets in the middle of the dance floor, a hipster dude writing personal poems for people on his old fashioned typewriter and crowd surfing chicks wearing gold lame.  I'm a bastard in crowd surfing type situations, I always drop the person or flee the scene.....this time I opted for flee and she was dropped anyway - not my fault.....

Whatcha got to say Buddy?

I'm just not participating

Who doesn't love a pole dancer? Well, maybe Mormans...

Not even a drop bar keep???

There was plenty of alcohol on display (it was a night club after all), but all of it was totally off limits.  What you could get though was all free - free fresh juices, free coffee, free water, free smoothies and free nut butters.  The nut butter was being handed out on the dance floor - it seemed popular so I took a plastic spoon and had a go.  Bad bad mistake,  this kind of thing needs to be accompanied with a drink. Nut butter in a dry mouth on a sweaty dancefloor? - I don't care how good it tastes when you can't get your tongue off the roof of your mouth....There were dudes in suits there, and one with a tie - I've never even seen an Israeli wearing a tie in any situation - ever.  Even the politicians don't wear them in parliament, so of course I had to comment - he said he had a huge meeting at work that day - and yet, there he was on the dance floor in a night club at 8am.

See - told you there was freshness - compare this to me in a nightclub at 6am any other morning

The whole thing wound up at 9, and then everybody just went off into the day, doing their regular thing - just like I did.....but we were all carrying around the memories of the morning activities inside - a nice kind of secret, like you'd done something really out there, and totally random.  Something you'd never done before.  I liked it.

Why didn't we get a robot?  Fuck the yanks they get everything....

It was certainly a novelty being completely sober and rocking out to some pretty hard core tunes first thing in the morning.  It was also confusing, but it felt good too. And more to the point, I felt good for the rest of the day - trashing yourself is not essential -  This is an outstanding revelation for me.  Alcohol and drugs really take away your social inhibitions in these type of situations, but you actually can do it without them.

This, like all the good photos, I stole from the NYC Daybreaker series

However, as we walked out into a beautiful Tel Aviv morning, I felt really happy that I made the effort to do it - and happy for the organisers that it was such a success - completely sold out, and packed to the rafters (literally - the pole dancer was right up at roof level).  But as I was revelling in the buzz of the morning activities, there was something that felt uneasy, something in the back of my mind, something not quite right.  My friend put it best as we walked out the door....."Dancing is heaps more fun when you're on drugs". 

Fucken oath it is love, let's face it everything is more fun when you're on drugs.  But in the words of Louis C.K; I never ever do drugs anymore.  Never.  Ever.  Therefore, when I do do drugs they work really really well.  But, my advice in between benders?? -  Get up at sunrise, grab your yoga mats, stick your mouth together with almond butter, view a vagina or two, drop a crowd surfer, chat to a business man, stay away from killer disco balls - and get your arses to the next Daybreaker when it comes to your city.  I fully recommend it. 

Yo!  Man In Blue - I wouldn't not be dancing under that instrument of death if I was you