The gentle miasma of the night calls me (and often). Normally I’ve learned to say no when needed, but succumbed this weekend without a second thought as if it were a siren’s song. Took in two music events of the variety that doesn’t happen often in this city anymore and enjoyed both immensely.
A party dedicated to Synth sounds and Terror Movie scores at Zubar and then a straight up off-beat impromptu House Music house party at Incense and Peppermints were the weekend’s fare. Instead of giving you a run down with a wall of text, I’ll give you the follow with just a few words to illuminate the unknown.
- Friday the 13th at Zubar:
- Incense and Peppermints:
-Feet and bodies moving in conjunction (but to their own beat) as the music swells, dives, and grows again in an unrelenting manner.
-Feeling seen in the faces of the unknown throng ranging from cheer, joy, wonder, disgust, amazement, and surprise as the pulse of the evening raced between 80 to 140 BPM through a varied soundscape of limitless scope.
-Moments of overlapped reality where celluloid, the imagination, and reality became one as the soundtrack of a million films became one long, undying song leading the night chorus by chorus.
-No stars, no cognoscenti. Just souls united in getting down.
I’ve been wearing my photographer hat for a while, but even decided to take it off for a spell to enjoy getting down with all the other folks at both events. It feels good to cut loose and be fancy free from time to time. I’m glad to know that others think the same in this city. You’ll never get out of this life alive (as I learned from Ferris Bueller years ago), so don’t take life so serious ALL the time.
I’ve taken a few more chances in life and asked a lot more questions than I once did before already this year. I figure the worst that will happen is I will get slapped or killed. That’s the worst that could happen.
And here I am still standing (and without any palm prints on my face).
If you are wondering what the soundtrack of the night sounded like, here’s a taste. Take a Marvin Gaye sample, pretend you are about to take it to the Crisco Disco, layer it with affection and vocal stabs, and serve to a dark, packed dance floor willing to embrace the beat like churchgoers do The Word at Sunday morning service: