I love the show of going out on the town, the classic formula of buds, beats and booze. It starts at my apartment, where hours before the night starts, I blast music and dance around my room as I get dressed and put on my face. Then I continue the dance to the kitchen where I make a cocktail, enjoy a well made drink at home because I expect nothing but High Life and shots of yager at the bar. Then we pregame. And oh do we pregame. The bar is clearly the second stop of the night but we enjoy every minute of those three hours. I chat. I drink. I dance. I wait for the after party so I can have real coversations and chill on real furniture. We gain and lose people over the course of the night, an adventure in cabs and cars. Then I stumble home and greet my warm, comfy bed (and soft husband if he was MIA) with exhausted limbs. You know I do it all over again the next weekend.
But lately, I feel as if I've been floating from night to night in Boston - until this past Friday. I saw Justin Martin and Tanner Ross at RISE, two DJs relatively unknown to most of my friends but whose mixes were on heavy rotation in my ears for weeks. To the suckers who cringe at RISE - you missed one hell of a dance party. It was the first night I went dancing in months. And I'm not talking about getting trashed off cheap beer and singing embarassingly loud at My So Called 90s Night or The Pill. I'm talking about nasty beats you feel from your toes to your head, the pulsating bass that compells you to move even after your feet are numb.
I missed that feeling of being utterly lost in the music. My friends know I can get my dance party on almost anywhere. But nothing compares to the beauty of pure electronic music. I never noticed the difference between picking and playing records until a friend recently commented on a crap electro night he went to where the DJs were utterly useless. Forget those DJs who simply pick records (or CDs, those traitors) and let the needle do the work. When Justin Marin hit the decks, I remembered what electronic music did to my feet. A true DJ plays records like any instrument - he manipulates those sounds to move you. He tweaks and scratches and slides until the sound escaping the speakers is entirely different from the vinyl spinning round and round. He makes fucking music.
And that's what kills me about the "real music uses real instruments" argument. Who's to say a record isn't an instrument? How is plucking some strings on a guitar any better than sliding effects on a mixer? But I wasn't always this cool and open minded. I used to be grossed out by electronic music. I was on a diet of classic and punk rock - everything else was boring and sacrireligious. Then I met a boy who couldn't believe I didn't like dance music when I told him I love to dance. He took me to my first party where I found myself really dancing, arms in the air and sweating from every limb. It was love at first listen.
Supposedly, Boston is experiencing an revival in electronic music. The kids love neon "electro", but I only wish these new fans would attend techno and house nights - underground will live forever, baby. Plus, maybe then I wouldn't be stuck with mediocre music on the weekends and great music during the week. Is it so bad for a girl to want mind/body/soul pumping haus musique on a Friday night? Am I really doomed to excessive covers and unnecessary dress codes to hear my favorite DJs? Boston, I love you, but the scene is killing me. Fashion, substances, venue - none of that shit matters when you've got proper house or techno flooding your senses.
Let's leave this post on a positive note. Behold, mixes. Your ass will thank me later.
Justin Martin - Go
Tanner Ross - Tales From the Darkside
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