There are few things more reliably capable of killing a night out than the feeling that you should be having a better one. Aimlessly standing in line for the DJ (or the bar, the toilets, or the cloakroom), the people filming themselves dancing, the price of a watered-down cocktail… Somewhere along the way, going out stopped being a place to let your hair down, and instead became something to occasionally endure for the sake of an ‘aesthetic’ Instagram Story.
Manumission, Ibiza’s notorious club night, has a different idea. On Saturday 26 September, after an 18-year hiatus, its founders Mike McKay and Claire Davies brought their creation back to the island with 12 hours of dancing, drag, theatrical debauchery and absolutely no phones. There were no VIP tables, either. Instead, five interconnected stages took over 528 Ibiza, turning the venue into a sprawling, slightly deranged tribute to the summer of 1998.
Manumission has always been about more than a particularly good party. Born in Manchester’s queer club scene before making its way to Ibiza in 1994, it built its reputation by bringing dance music together with performance, provocation and a healthy disregard for convention. Its latest incarnation sought to recapture that spirit for a generation who might know the mythology but have never experienced a night quite like the original.
At the centre of it all was the Manumission Motel, a three-storey recreation of the infamous establishment where the party’s original story reached its most outrageous heights. Inspired by Claire’s memoir, The Motel: High Times in 90s Ibiza, it staged a world of its own, populated by drag queens, acrobats and choreographed dancers who took over the space throughout the night. “And I think this is what we were looking for at that time in the ’90s: mixing this shocking performance with art and beauty too,” Claire shared. “Remind them that they are alive. Anything can happen at any moment, especially in Manumission.”
Under the moonlight, performers moved amongst the crowd while the motel’s inhabitants brought its feverish fictional universe to life. Elsewhere, two Manumission veterans could be spotted sporting LED sparkling hats, a tiny but telling reminder that this was as much a reunion as it was a new beginning. Old regulars, first-timers and younger clubbers circulated together, with no velvet rope dividing those who knew the lore from those discovering it for the first time.
This is what we were looking for at that time in the ’90s: mixing this shocking performance with art and beauty too. Remind them that they are alive. Anything can happen at any moment, especially in Manumission.
Claire Davies
The dress code encouraged guests to arrive in appropriately 90s attire, with masks for after dark and an open mind. Unsurprisingly, the resulting outfits leaned into the sex-positive excess that first made Manumission famous. But the atmosphere felt less about shock value, and more so the freedom to dress provocatively and dance without worrying about who might be watching.
Mike and Claire were keen to preserve that sense of collective experience. Mike described the party as “the antidote to VIP culture and DJ worship”. “The DJ is there to serve the party. The decor is there to serve the party. The performers are there to serve the party, making it more enjoyable for the DJ as an artist,” he explained. “No DJ hangers-on were allowed with the DJ; it was just the DJ and the audience, which made it more intimate – not the DJ and a large entourage behind them.”
The line-up was cleverly kept under wraps, with David Morales and Carl Craig among the few announced names. “We deliberately didn’t post our lineup, and the feedback was incredible. No names; it was not the primary focus,” Mike said. It’s a deceptively simple idea, and one that feels particularly welcome in an era when nightlife is often sold through increasingly elaborate production and the promise of proximity to someone famous. At Manumission, there was no single focal point demanding everyone’s attention. You could watch the dancers, follow a performer through the venue, or abandon one room and head for another dancefloor.
Of the five spaces, the Forest stage offered perhaps the clearest expression of Manumission’s ethos. Curated by island party collective XTRA under the banner Bedroom Bondage à la Japonaise, it brought together queer DJs, artists and clubbers beneath the trees, with a giant inflatable bondage doll looming above the stage. Its mission, in XTRA’s words, was to “Make Ibiza Queer Again.” The atmosphere was loose, welcoming and gloriously strange. It felt like a reminder of the queer underground that helped shape Manumission in the first place, and of the communities that continue to make nightlife meaningful long after a particular party becomes legendary.
Across the venue, the Motel smelled of lingering late summer, with the music and performances blurring into something resembling a queer utopian fever dream. It was an elaborate production, but its theatrical flourishes worked best when they gave the performers room to inhabit the world themselves. Claire handed significant creative control to the next generation, while the founders’ three children contributed to the costumes, graphics, production and music. Their daughter Tallulah even played Claire in the theatrical production, at the same age her mother had been during the original Motel era.
She also took Barcelona’s drag queens to vintage emporium Holala! Plaza and its warehouse, asking them to select three looks to shape their own characters: baby doll, vintage swimwear and bondage. “The first time we saw it come together was when the show opened on stage, and there they were in pastel baby dolls, killer heels, and bouffants on one floor. Black negligees on another. Boys in black Adidas. And then, our ‘New Orleans sex performer ’ strutted on in a cerise wig and not much else.”
The production itself was built around the memoir, rather than simply borrowing the look of a generic 90s night out. Claire described it as “a pop-up book meets psychoactive extravaganza”, with choreographer Jodie Blemmings reading her memoir three times before designing his routines. “Once Jodie had selected sections to choreograph to, we set about writing the rest of the show, including vocal soundbites taken from our audiobook,” Claire said of the night’s soundtrack, which took three months to develop.
Of course, nostalgia has its limits. Recreating the atmosphere of 1998 cannot bring back the Ibiza that existed then, nor should it need to. The island’s relationship with club culture, tourism and financing has changed considerably, and the original Manumission’s mythology can sometimes threaten to overshadow the people who made it special. A return like this could easily have become a greatest-hits package for those who were there the first time.
Instead, its most compelling moments came from letting that history collide with contemporary nightlife communities. The night didn’t require anyone to know the mythology before joining in, or to document their experience to prove they’d been there. For a few hours, being a part of the party was enough to enjoy an unforgettable night.
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