“…but which version, Sam?”

Whichever you like, dear reader. The album version with its protracted dance intro, the trippy monster mix that wastes no time in bustin loose on the dancefloor, or the video version, curt and fierce, a tactical emotional nuke. Like The Cure’s Fascination Street, Insomnia is a song that I love in all forms.

The first one I heard, and I sure am not the only one to say this, was the video version. Maxi Jazz’s gaunt look, his sad eyes, the intensity of the high contrast black and white imagery. A video for the ages of Cool Britannia losing its veneer.

A friend of mine called Hector was a fan of electronic music and we used to gush over this track for ages. He was a DJ on his spare time and had access to the single, which he lent me as -everyone say it loud!- CDS WERE FUCKING EXPENSIVE IN MEXICO BACK THEN.

Phew. I do repeat myself a lot in these posts.

My first time at a club was in autumn of 1995. I didn’t like it. Wasn’t my thing, really. Still, it was an sponsored thing from Diageo for the team I was part of. You see, uni had a wide city rally, think Michael J Fox’s midnight madness. We all received Captain Morgan t-shirts, as it was a new-ish product in Mexico. The drinks were good, but the music was utter drows. It wasn’t until 1996, after learning more about electronic music and choosing clubs smarter, that I finally enjoyed dancing. People with plastic pacifiers on their necks. Glow sticks fascinated me, forever keyjangled by pretty colours. The light shows, the well amplified rumbling of bass.

What I loved about clubbing was how easy it was to get lost in the darkness and dance by yourself, no one looking at you, the sound system always adept at keeping your feet and tummy rumbling. Music that I wouldn’t listen on my cd player I would dance to in a club. Because the context was having fun, not trying to keep some sort of indie credibility you realise it’s bollocks after you hit 30 or so.

I managed to survive the rave scene based on my dislike of drugs and my reluctance of drinking anything I didn’t prepare myself. Didn’t have the fitness for it, though, I think keeping a BPM closer to my ideal heart rate was the safest decision.

Back to Faithless. Any time any version of insomnia came up at a club, I would feel possessed. I would recognise which version due to the lyrics changing. Both lyrics reflected how I felt, how insomnia was eating me up for years and years and how I tried everything to remove it from my life.

Maxi Jazz was master of his trade. His flow was as perfect and brutal as the fiercest rapids you’ve dared to canoe in. God is a DJ, Reverence, We come 1. All timers. His voice was gone too soon. His poetry at least recorded for us to commune with.

I eventually managed to stave off insomnia thanks to coffee. Go figure. I abandoned the club scene slowly, and I remember the last time I paid to get into a club was a silent disco event in 2010, on a leaving do event for Lucie, a Czech roomie. She had just finished her PhD and invited us all out. Last song that night at silent disco? Insomnia. Monster mix. House lights and it’s back to the icy night, lads and lasses.

The streets of Sheffield were foggy that night and although I was explicitly invited to continue the party somewhere else, I had other things on mind. I waved everyone goodbye and hugged Doctor Lucie goodbye. She said something in Czech, I replied in Spanish. Safe bet neither will ever know what the other said.

-Sam J. Valdés López