THAT SH*T WAS TIGHT.
I don't know what happened. Perhaps, a tear in the space-time continuum opened up and swallowed up all the douches, leaving just those who -- hold on to your skinny jeans -- like to actually dance at dance parties because that's exactly what happened.
THE CROWD WAS NOT LAME.
In fact, when DIPLO would periodically give the occasional rhythmic shout-out to DC, it didn't even sound the least bit sarcastic. More unbelievably retardulous, I actually responded unsarcastically with a genuine WOOT! It was as if I had died and gone to Baltimore (which I'm still convinced, thanks to the likes of Dan Deacon, Claire Hux and a slew of other phenomenal acts that hail from there, is a little slice of heaven on Earth). And to save us all some time and unnecessary suspense, I'll just go ahead and say it:
I LIKED DC LAST NIGHT.
I really did. And at times I even loved it, like when I saw a man dressed like a giant slice of pizza surf over the crowd, or when a hot dog came up and started dancing with my friends and I:
By the way, the one who's not a hot-dog is my new friend Marcus, who is awesome because he also believes Claire Hux to be the best club act of all time. You can't refute facts.
It was crazy, in general, and
I did manage, however, to have better luck with the video mode of my sh*tty technology, which sort of captures a bit of what was going on. It's short because I couldn't stop myself from casting the visual media concerns of this blog aside and concentrating solely on having a good time (did I mention it's pretty much damn near impossible not to dance when DIPLO spins?).
Thanks DC. I hate you less!
But before I blow out the last proverbial speaker on the single-cassette-deck ghetto-blaster that is The Anti DC Live Music Week, I want to discuss a theory that came up in the comments section the other day regarding the 9:30 Club. Commenter Chris advised:
If you want to enjoy a show, stop going to the 9:30 club. For some reason that place attracts everyone in D.C. who doesn't like music.
Black Cat, RnR, DC9, Velvet. I've always had much better times at those places.
Looking back at my past experiences, I think I agree with Chris. Is it too much to ask for an audience that chooses to show up at a concert to actually listen to the act that's playing? Or, you know, cover up gratuitous ass crack? 9:30, I just don't get it. I'd say I'd see you in hell, but really, I'll just see you in December when Ghostland Observatory graces your stage. I guess I just never learn...