Skip to main content
 
2
Fabrik
9

WHO'S up for a rave pilgrimage, then? "Where to?" you ask with your eyes bright and ears pricked. To the place all discerning clubbers should travel to, my pretties. Where crystalline lasers blind and sonics ring sweet, where disco balls hang like large shiny haemorrhoids - the way you'd think of God's as big. There's no place quite like Fabrik, Madrid? Okay, so the club's location may not be all that - an industrial park an hour or so away from the many fashion boutiques and swanky tapas bars of the city centre is hardly idyllic - but once inside, none of this counts one iota. Decked to the rafters with carnivalesque paraphernalia and shrouded in mind-blowing laser trickery, Fabrik's gargantuan air-hanger of a room is an all-consuming barrel of hedonism, an epic laserdrome of sound, colour and energy that swallows you up and flips you head-over-heels only to spit you out onto the concrete outside eight hours later as a dishevelled, runny-nosed mess.

The music ain't bad either. As well as underground label showcases for the likes of Cadenza and the odd party for Space Ibiza, regular events at Fabrik include Supermartxe, Code, Vertigo and Goa - the monthly festival-sized party, which starts on Sunday afternoon and finishes up on Monday morning. In the last twelve months the club has welcomed dOP, Richie Hawtin, DJ Hell, Steve Bug, Luciano and Carl Craig to fill the cavernous space with deafening noise. Convinced?