Things I Learned Friday Night in Da Club

Deep House is way, way more entertaining than glitch/clicks-n-cuts/tech-house/whatever you wanna call that smarmy self-important Euro shit.

Said smarmy clicks shit hasn’t gone anywhere new in a solid couple years. Artists working in the style aren’t having enough fun with it, Akufen, mixing in old soul and disco and such. Instead, they’re mixing all the faux-seriousness of electroclash for a mechanical, awkward (even for a techo subgenre) sound that most folks couldn’t dance to for more than 30 seconds at a time. And I’m not the only cat in the DC “experimental electronic music” scene who’s getting tired of it: Richard was feelin’ the deep house too. Dance music should be fun.

I can’t dance alone anymore. The last time I did and had fun was back in my raver days, and I’ll let you infer why an activity that would otherwise be kind of sad was acceptable in those circumstances. But now I can’t happily dance alone, and I don’t have any close female just-friends I could go dancing with for the purposes of groove-thang getting-on. Note to self: future relationship prospects music enjoy dancing.

There is, apparently, a whole world of “nu soul” remixes of Top 40 rap/R&B out there. Like, enough that one of the DJs spun almost exclusively such things for his entire set. Bizarre.

Related to the not enjoying dancing alone: I’m don’t think I’m going to bother with dance nights, even “experimental” dance nights, until I’ve found a femme. You can’t really meet people at them: it’s loud, folks come as couples or groups or come to dance alone (cough ondrugs cough), and I end up leaving feeling alone, smelling of smoke, and out about $7 for the door and another $5 for a sugar free Red Bull plus tip. That’s a lot for smokiness and loneliness. And a Red Bull.

Big black women from Baltimore have way more fun in clubs than pretty much anyone.

I think that’s everything.