We’d been playing a series of live sets under our Jagged banner when Leila from Dekadance invited us to perform before Sven Väth at Grosse Halle, Reitschule Bern. This was around May 22, 2010, part of Sven’s Sound of the 10th Season World Tour. Even thinking about opening for Sven got our adrenaline pumping. I had my white-label copy of Round Table Knights’ “Calypso” in my bag, hoping to hand it to him. I knew it was a powerful track, but I had no idea how important it would become that night.
Before the show, we were invited to a barbecue at R3s3t headquarters, conveniently located across the street from Reitschule. We laughed, shared stories, and fueled up on good food. It was the perfect atmosphere: a lazy late afternoon, the aroma of sizzling grills wafting through the air, music echoing from speakers—a peaceful warm-up before the chaos of a big gig.
Finally, it was time to head over to Grosse Halle. We began our live set, the crowd was responsive, and everything felt magical. Then, mid-set, Leila came rushing over, practically shouting in my ear to be heard over the pulsing bass:
“We’ve got a problem! Sven’s running late, and we need you to keep playing. Can you go longer?”
I exchanged a quick glance with Sandro. We figured we might be able to stretch our live set by about half an hour, but not much more than that. Leila groaned; she needed a real solution. “You’ll have to DJ after that,” she told me. But none of us had brought any additional vinyl—our focus that night was our live setup.
That’s when the idea clicked: Oli Hofer. The R3s3t Market team had hosted the barbecue, and Oli was there afterward, busy tidying up. We knew he had a huge record collection and serious DJ chops—despite being more on the reserved side. But now, someone had to dash across the street and convince him to put aside his cleanup duties for a surprise set in front of a massive crowd.
Without a second thought, Marc volunteered. Sandro and I stayed onstage, restarting our live set from the top, weaving it differently to keep the energy fresh. Meanwhile, Marc dashed through the back exit, sprinted across the street, and disappeared into the shadows toward the R3s3t headquarters.
I later heard the story from Marc: As soon as he stepped out of the venue, he spotted Sven Väth in the street, looking frustrated beside a car with its trunk wide open—and empty. Sven was giving the driver an earful. Apparently, the driver had forgotten to pack Sven’s record bags back at the Zürich hotel. Usually, Sven had a seasoned driver who never made such mistakes, but this time it was a substitute who didn’t realize how critical those bags were. Worse still, Sven hadn’t double-checked the trunk before leaving.
Back inside, Sandro and I looped through the early part of our set yet again, pumping out deep chords and crisp percussion to keep the dance floor alive. The crowd was huge, and they were expecting Sven soon, but we had to stall while Marc was off on his rescue mission.
Over at R3s3t, Marc found Oli in the backyard, scrubbing the grill with a wire brush. Marc breathlessly explained the situation: “We need you at Grosse Halle right now—the crowd is massive, and we have no records!” Oli stared at him in disbelief. Then, apparently after a moment’s pause, he nodded. “Alright,” he said. “Let me grab some vinyl.”
Marc waited impatiently, second-guessing whether Oli truly understood the urgency. Finally, Oli emerged with about 25 records tucked under his arm. The two of them hurried back across the street, slipping through the back entrance to the stage. Sandro and I were still holding it down, reworking familiar tracks in new ways, sensing the tension in the audience growing with each additional loop.
When Oli took over the decks, you could feel the crowd’s initial confusion—everyone was expecting Sven Väth. But Oli guided them expertly, and the rave took off. Initially, he mixed a few of his own deep cuts, staying cautious with the energy. That’s when I remembered the white-label “Calypso” still tucked in my bag. I approached Oli, leaning in so he could hear me over the bass:
“Hey, I’ve got something here that might fit. Give it a spin if you think it works.”
He smiled and dropped the needle on the B-side first, “Drop the Dow,” which resonated beautifully through the hall. After a few more minutes—and still no sign of Sven’s missing vinyl—Oli decided to flip to the A-side.
The tension built during the breakdown, and when the beat finally slammed back in, thousands of hands shot up in unison, sending an instant jolt of euphoria through the venue. The roar of excitement was overwhelming. In that moment, I felt a surge of pride and gratitude flood over me. Even though “Calypso” was officially a Round Table Knights creation, I had poured a great deal of my craft into it, guiding it toward the track now thundering across the venue. Seeing that mass of people locked in the same pulse—arms raised, feet moving, faces lit with pure joy—I knew we’d tapped into something extraordinary. For a fleeting second, it felt as if time stood still, and all that mattered was the beat uniting us all under one roof.
I’ll be sharing more about the making of “Calypso” in a dedicated blog entry soon, offering a glimpse into how this track came to life. It’s moments like these—unplanned, borderline-chaotic, yet utterly transformative—that remind me why I keep doing this.
Eventually, Sven’s record bags were delivered from Zürich. He thanked us for bridging the gap and keeping the audience locked in the groove. I handed him the white label of “Calypso,” not sure if he’d ever spin it in one of his sets. But that hardly mattered compared to witnessing the power of music to unite a dance floor in a single, perfect moment.
And that night, it was Marc’s quick thinking, Sandro’s seamless extension of our live set, Oli’s willingness to step up, and one forgotten trunk-load of vinyl that turned a near-disaster into a legendary memory. Even now, when I hear “Calypso,” I can’t help but picture the Grosse Halle erupting in pure, unfiltered joy. It reminds me why we do this: for those shared moments when everything aligns—planned or not—and the music just takes over.
