A party in an Oporto? A club night at a nudist beach? Yes! Erin Moy gets down with the DJs and promoters making Sydney one helluva place to dance

The doors of the glitzy Double Bay Ritz-Carlton have long been closed, but on a Sunday night last winter I watched on as 1,000-or-so club kids shook the walls of the hotel’s abandoned ballroom. There were canapés and glasses of champagne, but not a Viennese Waltz in sight. Instead, girls in maid outfits swayed to soaring disco and twisted techno, the room’s ornate lights were barely visible through pulsing strobes and smoke machine fog and bass notes sent shivers through scattered armchairs and endtables. It should have been weird. But the only thing strange about partying at the Ritz was that it didn’t feel strange at all.