By Kevin Bracken

How could anything, no matter how spectacularly fabulous, live up to the two years of hype that preceded the opening of CiRCA? Here’s how.

Opening night was a whirlwind of disparate crowds, haphazardly but harmoniously thrown together, from New York fashionistas, aging club kids, electroclash hipsters, rich older men and their younger girlfriends, and plenty of curious members of the public. When it seemed like our invitation was going to add up to naught, we were tapped on the shoulder and ushered inside. Very Studio 54. Most people spent the night exploring the venue’s many theme rooms; some hung around the Sensacell nook, experimenting in awe at the dynamic light-up bar. Others played with the interactive webcam screens. Visitors were surprised to stumble upon a live jazz band in the ballroom, where costumed actresses put on a Vaudeville burlesque show. A golden Elvis crossdresser sat on what is colloquially known as the “Queen Street bling bike” to those who speak Queenese, posing for gawkers and making gestures reminiscent of The King.

Perhaps the singular thing that makes the average Clubland experience so awful is the fraternity-style conformity that seems to define the scene, complete with all the worst stereotypes and a drab, graph paper-patterned uniform. Anybody with an ounce of self-respect or an iota of discerning taste strives instead to avoid the mass-produced, corporate club experience that characterizes a night in one of Richmond or Adelaide’s many offerings.

CiRCA has artfully transcended this trap by reigniting the cult of individuality, which seems to be worshipped universally by CiRCA’s brand new devotees. The only thing better than limited edition (like the many small-run Kidrobot toys on the third floor) at CiRCA, it seems, is one of a kind (such as the massive Munny statue that you can draw on). A new hierarchy has emerged to replace the usual mandatory (and often racist) dress code at other venues, one that cherishes creativity in style and personality. CiRCA, like the mashed-up, remixed beats that boomed out of the speakers over the weekend, is the future dance experience.

The real treat of the weekend, without question, was A.D/D.’s inaugural Randomland. The holographic flyer gave curious party-goers a glimpse of what the night might be like: strange, colourful characters walking on a rainbow to Toronto, covering it with bright paint when the flyer is moved slightly. The story goes something like this: Somewhere in space exists a place called Planet Random, filled with all kinds of cute and wonderful creatures, like giant bananas reminiscent of Peanut Butter Jelly Time, vaguely Aqua Teen Hunger Force-esque milkshakes and boxes of french fries, and human-sized stars, for example. Every week, they journey toward Earth on a “rescue mission” to save us from “boredom and inhibition.” A ceremony at midnight with confetti, balloons and the “CiRCA anthem” introduced about a dozen or so of these festive alien visitors. Mission accomplished. Randomland seems, to us anyway, like an evolution of A.D/D.’s “Club Filth” parties, with fewer midgets and penis costumes, and more unadulterated cuteness.

The choice of programming is brilliant: the standard progressive house nights that attempt to pack as many people as possible into large lakeshore clubs have become downright offensive to music lovers in Toronto. Instead of drawing suburbanite, 905 crowds that one might see at such clubs, A.D/D. pulls its attendees from places like The Social, The Chelsea Room, Tiger Bar, The Mod Club, and the Drake Hotel. With a healthy blend of cutting-edge electro, mashups, dance-punk, and rock remixes released just days ago, and a surprise 1 a.m. techno set that had everybody in the place nostalgic for the 90s, Randomland lives up to its promise of “dance rock revolution rave.” The sound of A.D/D. is the sound of 2008, and CiRCA may very well be the club of the decade. We may be able to regain all that we’ve lost in dance music culture, just maybe.

The flyer for this week’s Randomland, complete with its bleeding eye-cute “Happiness Assemely [sic] Kit,” which features painfully saccharine pink clouds, revives that “wish it were the weekend” feeling that accompanies a massive, one-off special event. Starring Montrealers Nu Ravers on the Block, this Friday is a must. There’s nothing more to wait for: the verdict is in.
All photos by Air`leth Aodhfin.