What a great night! I will pull the strings of memories out of my head and try to convey the energy and vibe going on at Re-bar last Friday night for Produkt’s eleventh installment of Analog: Everything But the Kitchen Sink. I tend to not review the really good parties because I dance my ass off and pretty much just go into a DJ-induced trance and live in the energy of the dance floor. I lose track of everything around except the DJ and the beats, and a slap-happy gang of purple monkeys could run in behind me and go berserk and I would not notice. This is why there is no BreakBeatBuddha or Glitch Mob reviews, and I am a few days late on this one but I know you want it, so here it goes:

I was really looking forward to the night of breaks, dubstep, minimal techno and a little crazy rat bastard shit thrown in; the lineup was tight and the word was out. Analog has been getting better and better every month; May’s I Like Orange and Techno night was a freaky fun orange-a-thon complete with naked chicks, flying beer bottles, and a guy in his underwear jumping on the decks. 

But the theme for Analog XI was not citrus-laced hoohah; no, the mood was dark and dirty on the dance floor, starting out with the Milkman’s wobbly grime-laden dubstep. The beautiful Produkt dancers were all in black, a nice complement to the atmosphere. Asifa showed up in a big blond wig, and I didn’t even recognize her for about half an hour even though she was dancing right in front of me. By the time Noisemaker and Naha came on for their two-hour set, the scene was straight gritty and ready for some filthy bass, which the two poured over the crowd like a midnight waterfall. At some point an actual kitchen sink was paraded in, much to my delight (mad props for the sinkage to NickyJee, yet another of my bad-ass-up-and-coming DJ friends). Noisemaker effing kills it and the dance floor absolutely loves him; Naha threw down as well with the redonkulous rock star MC Anton Bomb doing his thing over the beats- the best that I had ever seen him.

So this is about where I put on my dance-trance-pants, so you are not going to get a lot of specifics on tracks or what-have-you. Rest assured it was a “YEAH” night for me- on the dance floor often all I can say is “YEAH” or “MORE”. It was “YEAH” all night long. After the crazy bass set, DJ Goner hit it thick like always with his wicked brand of minimal techno. GONER ROCKS. It was also my pleasure to hear him a little later in the weekend for several more hours, and I must inform you that Goner will be taking the Seattle techno scene by storm. He kills, always; he is as intense as his music which HELL! gets you moving. On Friday night the Night Train (Seattle superstar extraordinaire) played some mad harmonica over the deep techno beats. Think harmonicas belong on the range at home with the buffalos? Well then, you need to come out more. The Night Train always gives a twisted take over the electronic music, and with a smile no less.

So it should have been the end of the night, 2AM, last call and all, but wait- we were in for a exclusive appearance as Schlage hit the decks and the bar decided to stay open until 3AM. I really really love Re-bar; it is a dancing club FIRST with a giant floor and the crowd always comes to get down, which is a nice change from the usual Pioneer Square drivel. And to end the night in the sickest fashion, Noisemaker jumped back on the decks and fed us a little more sticky bass, of which we can never get enough. After closing down my fourth dance floor of the week, I went straight home to bed. That’s my story and I’m stickin’ to it.

What makes the Analog parties so consistently ON are the people who come out: the Produkt family always supports their people like mad, and those cats party like it’s the eve of the Armageddon. The dark and bass-thick music gave the dance floor what we wanted, and Analog XI was the best one yet.

This month is Analog XII: Meeting of the Minds (July 25th) where the big boys of four Seattle music collectives will be throwing down to another dance floor full of crazy dancing girls and boys. Jisaan, Ramiro, Mikey Tello, Michael Manahan and J-Sun will be out REPRESENTIN’ their respective crews and you can come out assured the night will go off with deep-house, tech-house, techno, and God only knows what else.

OK everybody- It is HOT, it is a HOLIDAY WEEKEND, and everyone will be out celebrating like fools that we live in an awesome, free country where the right to the pursuit of happiness is one of our nation’s founding principles. So do your civic duty and GET OUT THERE, GET INTO IT, and pursue your happiness, kids, unless he has a girlfriend. Don’t know what to do this weekend? Confused by all the choices? Go where I’m going- ‘cuz that’s always where the party’s at.

Like drum and bass? Tonight (Wednesday) at Pulse at Trinity there is a cherry-sweet lineup with no cover: DJs Jason Curtis, Aaron Simpson, The Dowlz, The Dub What, Contents, and Sonic MC will be giving you all the DRUM AND BASS! DRUM AND BASS! that you could ever want. Brad will be pourin’ ‘em strong.

Like minimal techno? BONKERS goes off this Thursday July 3 at Re-bar; you know you don’t have to work the next day so come out and get crazy with the techno-heads. With the deep, dark, penetrating, throbbing, beats you can’t go wrong. Ever.

Like art and music and want to go to the best party of the weekend? Want to see Noisemaker along with about 5 billion other mad DJs like PrEssHa, Theory, Von Dewey, Ben Shelton, Jisaan, Lovevirus, and B.Fly? See you Saturday night at the Columbia City Theatre for the much-antici…pated Collective Art Project. You will dance your pretty little face off- and oh yeah, there will be art and handmade clothes and HOLOGRAMS to buy, so bring cash.

Like freakish experimental nerdy brain-beat music from the future? Want to catch a glimpse into the evolutionary course of electronic music? Matmos hits the Triple Door on Monday July 7.

Like dubstep? Of course you do, you stoner. UK MASTER of dubstep Kode9 is at Chop Suey Tuesday July 8. Kid Hops and Struggle will be getting the party started; if you are a bass slut, your presence is required. We will be taking names.

Signing off,

DF5K.

If you would like to post this on your myspace profile or blog, please post the link back to this page rather than copy-and-pasting it. That will make Shilo smile.

If you would like to post a comment, please do so below.

If you enjoyed my review and would like to buy me a drink this weekend, that would be a vodka and soda with a lime.

HAPPY 4TH OF JULY!

Two hours east of Seattle this weekend a mountain of energy was created deep in the woods, far away from civilization, far away from everything except what really matters. Photosynthesis 1.0, presented by Collective Flow, brought together old friends and new, a stupid number of local DJs that we all know and love, along with a copious amount of hula-hooping, fire-twirling, bubbles in the breeze, giggling children, hours and hours of music and dancing, silly dogs, a deep indigo sky bursting with stars and framed by evergreens, legions of mimosas, body paint galore, and a naked guy. Now this was a party. Up on top of the ridge it was sunny and warm in the day, windy and cold as hell at night. I arrived in a sheer sundress and hours later had on not one but two pair of wool socks, June be damned, living the wisdom that there is no bad weather, only inappropriate clothing. Good thing I brought some.

Beats, beeps, scratches, and whomps found a temporary home in the forest and were sent out into the trees from three stages. The combination of the great outdoors and electronic music generates an incredible sense of enchantment; what should be an odd match of opposites instead creates an all-encompassing feeling of happiness, of wholeness, of everything being right in the world. I pitched my tent by the Main Stage, the Nama Stage, which gave me easy access to the art dome, the big heart-shaped campfire, and to the festival kitchen to whom I must give mad, mad props. A huge amount of time and effort went into the food preparation; nobody at the festival went hungry because heaps of people worked very hard to make sure of it. Every time I passed by the kitchen there was a flipping buffet of healthy food, made with love. Pho the first night, then veggie gumbo, a van-load of tamales, A ROAST PIG, fresh fruit, homemade breakfast muffins; everything I tried was absolutely fantastic. Mad, mad, props to the Sweet Peeps kitchen for their hard work and delicious chow.

The Main Stage rocked consistently for two nights with sick DJs from all over the Pacific Northwest. Novatron laid it down in the middle of the dance floor, his dog Ziggy running around like an idiot and the rest of us shaking our souls and asses for the artist. I never ever miss one of Novatron’s live sets, he is a master. My favorite player of the festival though (do I have to say it?) was the brilliantly original Noisemaker who played two random time slots around 5AM and 5PM. Come on now yall, this DJ belongs in the middle of the fire and frenzy and madness of the night. That is his home. Noisemaker had the freshest and most unique sets of the party; I really loved watching people stroll up who had never before heard his brand of crunk. They first look a little confused by the frog noises and Big Band music, then they start smiling, and then they start dancing. Curious DJs wandered up to check out his set as well, and one of my friends laid out the reason he loves Noisemaker: “It’s just like, ‘I’m Noisemaker. I’ll do what I want. I spin Britney Spears, bitch, and you’re gonna love it and you’re going to dance.” And dance we did.

The second stage out in the woods was Vex Village, where I spent the least amount of time, though I did catch the unbelievable KJ Sawka set on Friday night; could he possibly be a more bad-ass drummer? No. He couldn’t. And do the ladies love him or what! “Blah blah blah I love Kevin Sawka” is all I heard that night. I was also lucky to catch Von Dewey on the second stage as well who laid down quite a fat set of beats for the crowd.

The three stages were a nice walk apart from each other, but traveling the cold path between them birthed ample opportunities for random social encounters. I love being a nomad, wondering around in the dark woods by myself (sorry Mom), meeting strangers and strange friends in the night. On the liminal path, that dirt space between worlds and stages and social circles, anything can happen- there are no rules.

My favorite home of Photosynthesis 1.0 was the rock-strewn dance floor of the third stage, the Orca Sound Lab. When I came upon the area the first evening, it was nothing but three speakers on the grass by some trees. The following day however the wooded area was transformed into a sacred circle of dance. The beats started out strong there Saturday afternoon with Awggie and the Mendicants, and then HOLY FREAKING TECHNO! Can I say it again? HOLY FREAKING TECHNO.

What had been just three speakers in the forest became a temple of unrelenting beats that continued deep and deeper into the night as one DJ after another ripped it in half, a blazing lineup that spiraled through the forest into a incessant explosion, a rampage, a frenzy. The stage was on fire the whole night; this is the reason I don’t mention any of the headliners of the festival in my review. I was possessed by the techno. Nordic Soul ignited the madness with quite the ridiculous set; he cannot hide the fact that he thoroughly enjoys what he does to the dance floor as much as we do. I am in love with this DJ. The techno continued its unabated aural penetration as the evening continued; the one-hour sets went quickly and we were treated to a succession of gifted electronic artists. Manos was laying down straight crazy, dubby shit; Panty Control, Milkplant, Brian S., Jesse, and to all the DJs that night who I met and can’t remember your name, you guys destroyed us there in the middle of the forest. The sloped and rocky dance floor did not stop the party from giving it up to the Dance.

I danced in the forest all night and into the morning, not a creature of my own volition but a slave to the music. The beats go inside of my body and move it for me, I have no choice in the matter. The incongruent blend of electronic music and campfires puts something in your soul that cannot be explained, it can only be felt. And can I shout out to the DJs who dance? I absolutely love to see you guys on the floor getting down. I love it. I nourish myself with the symbiotic relationship between the DJ and the dancers and the energy it creates. Music changed my life, music saved my life, music is my life. There is no one in existence who can say that music has not contributed positively to their world, and most of you probably even agree with my three hippie-face declarations above.

However at any festival or party there always seems to be one DJ who completely destroys the dance floor and whose name is on everyone’s hungover lips the next morning around campfires and smoke circles. At Photosynthesis 1.0 it was Ctrl_Alt_Del. This boy absolutely rocked the minds and bodies of everyone who heard his set late Saturday night, his own as well if I am not mistaken. I don’t know crack about minimal techno, but my body does. I feel the energy trapped in the pulsing beats, the intense throbbing that stays just below the surface, rising and falling and threatening to bubble uncontrollably to the top of our minds. Ctrl_Alt_Del kept us on that threshold; speaking to our subconscious desires and the nethermost chasms of our very beings with the pulsing undercurrent. Techno rouses the ID, the animal inside of us all who just wants to grab the person dancing next to us and run off into the woods naked and screaming, social-circle cohesion be damned. Ctrl_Alt_Del woke up this beast on his dance floor, and short of going raving mad and frothing at the mouth and howling at the moon, we danced. We danced all night in the woods like our ancestors did for hundreds of thousands of years, warming ourselves with the fire and our feet.

Which, of course, is why we go to festivals; to dance on the earth with bare feet, to experience the feeling of walking up on a campfire encircled by strangers in the middle of the night, to see children playing free in the forest, to wear feathers in our hair, to walk paths drenched in falling light alone. Time returns to it’s true and undefined nature and exists only as a DJ lineup. For a few days, we commune with the earth and each other as humans have done long, long before the time of texting and Myspace and traffic. We share food, and water, and energy, and life. The weekend was almost perfect.

Sunday morning I woke up and found out that a boy had died. His name was Shawn-e. I met him the night before, he was fishing for ravers with a pole and a glow stick. He caught one; it was me. We said our hellos-my-name-is and went along our separate ways in the dark forest. I really wish I could leave this out, that I could skip this unpleasant part of my annoyingly positive review, that I could keep the weekend lingering in your minds as singularly and wickedly beautiful. But I can’t. That morning as I sat at a friend’s campsite with a circle of strangers sharing a bottle of warm Champagne, a sound met our ears, the echoes of a girl weeping in the woods. The small circle of humans froze. Our eyes locked; we were strangers bound together by the sound of the absolute despair of one of our own. Once again this weekend we were reminded that we are all connected. We all live together and we will all die.

But you are alive, right now, reading this. So guess what? You have to live for Shawn-e now. All of you. You have to dance a little harder, you have to sing a little louder, you have to live a little more. You have to devour every new experience that presents itself to you and is good. You have to suck out the marrow of life just a little more now, not just for Shawn-e but for all of your friends who drop away from this world. Add Shawn-e to the long list of reasons why you refuse to have anything but an absolutely incredible life, rich with experience and human connections. My heart aches for the friends and family who knew Shawn-e well; know that I met him but a few tiny moments on this earth and in that brief encounter, he made me smile and laugh.

The music was turned off, the campers slowly left, and the energy dissipated, carried away bit by bit in each of us to be dispersed around the Pacific Northwest. I packed up the car and went to pay my respects to the dance floors, finding once again that the third stage was just a few speakers sitting in the middle of the woods. The only evidence of the party mania and techno fever the night before was a charred campfire and grass stomped away by dancing feet. Ashes to ashes. I made a huge trash sweep over the forest campground and found only one gum wrapper on the grounds; this place had been well-loved and taken care of. I walked away from Photosynthesis 1.0 filled up, with renewed inspiration to live every single day as fully as I possibly can.

Heading home over a rock path with a few wrong turns and a late lunch at random cafe #3 in Cle Elum (complete with deer chandeliers and a bear skin rug on the wall), my carload was salivating for more electronic music. Seriously. Drool was dripping off our chins. Thankfully I had a downloaded CD of Ctrl_Alt_Del in my car- however it only plays when my navigator has not jammed a second disc into my car’s stereo system. Alas, for the two-hour ride home, we were stuck in radio hell, which is no mild exaggeration after a weekend of such mind-melting music; going back to Top 40 was pure aural torture. I have a bad habit of screaming at DJs to drop the beat when they hold out too long, which is what I was yelling at my radio by the time we reached North Bend. Jazzy-F Lips on KE-whatever didn’t seem to hear me, but somehow I made it back to my favorite home-of-the-moment, Seattle.

I am satiated with positive energy from this weekend. Thank you, thank you, thank you, to everyone who shared this time in the woods with me, every single one of you: the people who worked hard to give us a party, the new friends I made, the people whose names I’ve already forgotten, the ones of you I didn’t get to meet and the one of you who will not dance again. To the girl in the woods, I wept with you. Thank you for sharing your energy, all of you, and in exchange I give you my words and will share my filled-up spirit to everyone I meet.

Damn I sound like a hippie.

So what is this techno music I keep going on about? Pulsing? The ID? The undercurrents of penetrating electronic beats that moves your body and fills up your head and will not goes away? Find out this Tuesday at Vito’s when Oi Vay gets MADE: Struggle, DJ Eddie, and Jeromino will be spinning a lovely evening of techno in an Italian mobster cafe; come out and dance and live a bit more than your normal weekday night. Who knows? It just might change your life.

If you would like to comment on Photosynthesis 1.0, or my review, or on some of the amazing DJ sets I missed because there are not two of me, please comment below. I would love it.

Click here to read more of my show reviews; click here to read all of my random blog posts.

I went to see Moby’s DJ set at the Showbox at the Market last night for a few reasons: sheer curiosity regarding his DJ skills, a $20 ticket price, and an insatiable desire for new musical experiences. I figured I would just chill out at a smooth Sunday night show, grab a beer and a seat in the back, perhaps even take a few notes.

Yeah, right. Like Moby was going to allow me to maintain any illusion that didn’t involve me being front and center and dancing my face off. I had a much better time than I expected to, and the music went straight inside of my body and moved it for me; I had no choice in the matter. The DJ brought out a very diverse group of Seattleites; I adore the random swirling currents of people at a show like this where you see a few regulars from every scene you hang out with in addition to a thousand other people that you have never seen on a dance floor before in your life. Where do they go every other night of the month? It’s a Seattle mystery.

I arrived around 11:30PM, too late to catch any but a couple of songs from the openers. Sadly I missed my favorite opening DJ Nordic Soul’s set completely; Colby B seemed to really light up the masses though, and I responded most to Bret Law’s energy- he really loved the what he was throwing down, hand gesturing and even putting his headphones on to the beat. Ah, unbridled enthusiasm! Passion is what humans respond to. DJs, take note: we love it when the you get into it! If you do, so will we. There is nothing less inspiring than a DJ who is so intent on twisting knobs and pressing buttons that he or she rarely looks up or smiles or interacts with the audience.

Moby did not disappoint in this area, or any other. For this first-timer, I somehow had the impression from his music and videos that he would be a serious-faced DJ, concentrating emphatically on his equipment. Maybe it was because Moby reminds me of that nerdy bald kid in we all knew in high school who was very artistically talented but socially inept. This is not the case. Moby was all smiles last night, clearly enjoying the effect of his beats on the crowd. He came out to touch the hands of the audience three times, driving the girls around me on the front row wild. I do want to state one truth regarding the front row at any show: if you get pissy because people are jumping and dancing and screaming around you, guess what? You don’t belong on the front row. Sorry to break it to you. I don’t go back to the bar area and go nuts, so don’t come to the front and go lame. The girl beside me actually sat down on the stage at one point during his set. Party foul, yo. Par-ty foul.

Moby’s eclectic set definitely represented his appeal to a wide variety of people, all present in their multitude of music personalities. A little dirty bass, a little more house, and a lot of techno; at various points in the show you would see different members of the audience going slightly nuts. Just a little bit though, as the crowd was mainstream-heavy, which I measure by the amount of “crazy girl” looks I get in a night. At hard core electronic music parties people on the dance floor understand and appreciate my unmitigated enthusiasm for the music, my raging dance fever, because they have it too.

Moby did sample some Moby, and of course we loved it; he laid down a choppy version of Porcelain, my favorite song off the album Play. With the beats parsed in, the song wasn’t quite so damn sad and heart-breaky. At the end of his set he walked up to the screaming crowd, soaking in the energy we were giving him, arms raised and eyes closed, for almost a minute before leaving the stage.

But the definite highlight of the night (besides getting to shake his hand three times) was the encore; Moby took us home. Home, where the grass is green and the girls are pretty. That’s right, Moby slung some good old G&R much to the delight of the crowd which was in just the right age bracket for Axl’s guitar riffs to stir up some potent coming-of-age verve. The beats started and Moby gave the hand signal: the cue to get-your-ass-up-on-stage-and-dance. He was waving us in! Without hesitation I jumped up onto the stage first, thinking for a split second I might be alone for the get-down, only to be joined a moment later by a mass of people who knocked to oblivion any drinks left on stage in the rush to get closer to the DJ.

We all rocked it like no one’s business mere feet away from the electronic superstar, and Moby was loving it. I was crammed against the DJ set-up at the very front of the mass of people pushing onto the stage, and thought during the heights of the encore frenzy that I might be crushed into the oblivion of the decks and merge forever with the music. However all 5′4″ of me has experience getting down (I’ll show you my scars from Rage Against the Machine’s moshpits later) and I held my ground. Usually my dance motions are upwardly oriented, of the bouncy sort, but during the last of Moby’s set I was completely leaning back, using the weight of the pushing crowd to support me as I grooved. It was absolutely thrilling to be in the epicenter of such deliriously positive energy.

Over a thousand people turned out for Moby’s DJ set; selling out the Showbox at the Market and prompting those outside without tickets to declare loudly on the streets, a là Eminem, “Moby, you’re too old, let go, NOBODY LISTENS TO TECHNO!”

The white boy is right. We don’t listen to techno; we live it, and Moby does too- with a big fat smile on his face the whole time.

Do you know someone who went to Moby’s DJ set at the Showbox? Might they help me figure out the mystery of the disappearing Seattle dance maniacs and where they hide out the rest of the year? Please forward a link for this post to them. United, we can ignite the Seattle electronic music scene and conquer the world, one beat at a time.

Thursday night on Capitol Hill class was in session and the bumpin’ crowd at Neumos got schooled proper-like by two professors of pimpin’, ?uestlove and Black Thought of The Roots. Hot off the opening stage for Erykah Badu at Marymoor Park, the two hip-hop superstars laid down the lessons of life for an eclectic crowd. The show drew people from all different scenes in Seattle- the electronic music kids, hipsters, hip-hopsters, dance freaks, nerds, curious skateboarders, innocent bystanders, and Blake Lewis, who is everywhere. They all came to enroll in Hip-Hop High; you might want to take notes because there will be a test. And get out your history textbooks because what went down last night was Old School, straight up and down like six o’clock.

Lesson 1: Give the ladies Biggie. During the opening DJ’s set, a gorgeous woman who could have been mistaken for Ms. Badu herself came up and asked me if there was any way to get the DJ to spin some Biggie; she was hungry for some East Coast flavor in her Thursday night soup. “Aks him,” I replied, and helped her out doing the deed myself (I have no fear of DJs; they only rarely bite). “Can you play some Biggie? This beautiful woman wants to hear him.” The DJ seemed to acquiesce to my request only to fail to drop said Biggie beats. DENIED! The hot chick was quite disappointed until the real show started and ?uestlove proceeded to show quite a bit of love to the East Coast and Mr. Smalls himself. And we didn’t even have to aks.

Lesson 2: Session Lager comes in really big bottles. Forty ounces for eight dollars. Drink it fast or you will find yourself in warm beer city.

Lesson 3. Black Thought is the quintessential MC; he brings meaning back to the two letters. This man had the crowd going nuts, reaching out over the front of the dance floor and dusting the fingertips of his fans with magical MC power.

Lesson 4: ?uestlove CAN SPIN, even when he is really, really, stoned.

Lesson 5: You cannot bring bottles of wine into Neumos.

Lesson 6: Everybody still really loves that Biz Markie song; just sing it to yourself to get the full effect: “OH BABY YOU, YOU GOT WHAT I NE-ED…” (and now it will be stuck in your head all day).

Lesson 7: The front of the dance floor is where it is at. This holds true at every show but in particular at this one; the sing-along effect was in full force, championed by the ladies with big smiles on their faces and arms waving in the air. Only happy people put their arms above their head; this is a well-documented cross-cultural human trait. Also only happy people sing along to Old School anthems by Eazy-E, the Beastie Boys, and even a classic anthem from E.U. (Google it; this is a family website). You can take the kids out of the 80’s but you can’t take the 80’s out of the kids.

Lesson 8: The source of all of ?uestlove’s power is THE PICK.

Lesson 9: Neumos’ capacity has recently been drastically lowered, thank you Mayor I-Hate-Rock-and-Roll Nichols. Although it was nice to be able to leave the front of the dance floor and find a little space in the back of the room to cool off (impossible at many previous shows), I worry about the implication of this recent development and what it means for the future of not only Neumos but other venues and dance floors (my home) around Seattle.

Lesson 10: CultureMob.com freakin’ rocks, and not just because we got to hang out with ?uestlove and Black Thought. CultureMob is now open in the San Diego, Phoenix, and Boston markets in addition to our existing sites in Portland, Denver, and Seattle. CultureMob.com is the next generation of online social networking. We take it one much better step further than Myspace or Facebook by giving you information that gets your network OUT, a place that is far spicier, louder, more colorful, more fun, and most importantly more real than the internet; it is a place where you can touch and smell and hear and actually engage the people you have been stalking online. Welcome back to reality.

CultureMob.com thanks ?uestlove and Black Thought for the killer mixes and raps, and we thank you, the people out there enjoying life last night.

Did I say there was going to be a test? Here it is: Get out there this weekend, Seattle. Get out there, and get down.

(AND YES, I DID MEAN TO SPELL ‘ASK’ LIKE ‘AKS’ . For more information please refer to the album “Doggystyle” by Snoop Doggy Dogg. Thank you.

I wish I could write a review of Atmosphere’s performance at the Showbox SoDo last night, but I can’t. I never saw the show, because I was thrown out due to a case of mistaken identity. For real.

Let me ’splain:

I had been trying to get a ticket to the sold-out show for about a week and a half, with no luck. Then the night before a friend texted me that he had an extra ticket to Atmosphere, and did I want to go? My reply was two words, and the second one was ‘YES’. I had never seen Atmosphere before and was excited as I had heard great things about their live shows, and I love the Showbox SoDo’s warehousey feel.

The crowd out on the warm Tuesday evening for the much-hailed hip-hop duo from Minnesota was dense and all-ages, with a bit more mad-dogging and less open smiles than I am used to in my usual electronic music crowd. If you like rap though, last night the Showbox SoDo was the place to be, and I was stoked to be swirling around in the mix.

Arriving late, of course, I had missed the first act and Abstract Rude was up on stage laying down rhymes and steadily working up the crowd in front of a big banner proclaiming, “When life gives you lemons, you paint Seattle gold.” 

I watched all this with my friends and our beers, caged off like the animals we are in the drinker’s section. When Abstract Rude finished up we all headed outside to check out one of my friend’s new pimp van, actually, the pimpest van EVER in the history of the universe and sweetest ride you ever saw, with running lights, a drink table and DOUBLE privacy shades. Straight pimp, straight up and down, like six o’clock.

After the fresh air/smoke break we headed back inside; Atmosphere was about to go on! Stamps on the wrists we walked up to the entrance, but the bouncer took one look at me, flashlight to the face, and would not let me pass. Whaaaaa? I held back, my friends went on in, then I tried again and he still wouldn’t let me in. I thought he was just being a jerk so I went around to the other entrance, which unfortunately was already closed for the night. The ladies there directed me back to the bouncer, who still wouldn’t let me inside. He said I had started a fight earlier inside the club, kicked some girl’s face in, knocked over a bunch of tables, then ran out screaming F you! F you! F you! to the bouncers.

Uh, yeah. This was not me. I am a peace lover, which is exactly what I said to the bouncers. “I’m a peace lover! I’ve been outside hanging out with my friends!” They were not having it. 

“Well, it was some girl who looked just like you,” the bouncer admitted, though still not waivering in his duty to keep the crowd safe from short, blond, table-trashing maniacs. So apparently last night a 5′4″ girl in a blue tank top, black skirt, fluorescent yellow fishnets, black and white striped legwarmers and a giant fuzzy fake fur coat beat someone up at the Showbox SoDo, knocked over several tables and did not take names. And because of that, Shilo missed the show.

It would have been funny if it didn’t suck. My friends all assumed I had gotten back in to the packed club and was dancing up at the front- after all, why wouldn’t the Showbox Sodo have let me back in? I cabbed it home and was in bed by midnight. Now I am all about new experiences, and this was a certainly a new one for me, but when said experiences interfere with new music, I get a little ticked off.

So how was Atmosphere? One of oppressive security at the Showbox SoDo, of bouncers who must not score very high on the job-satisfaction list, of people who need to CHILL OUT. The energy at hip-hop performances is palpably different from that at other shows, fomented in large part by the security forces who prove the cliche true that if you are looking for trouble, you will find it. 

But last night they made a mistake. The Showbox SoDo kicked out a peaceful dancer, someone who calms down violent drunk guys outside of clubs, marches in anti-war protests, has a peace sign tatttooed on her forehead and happens to write for a Seattle entertainment website. Oops. I’m guessing the party in the van was the best of the night, anyway.

So if you are wondering how the performance really was, here’s a message I got this morning to whet your appetite: Honestly the show was kinda mediocre, definitely very rehearsedly-adlib-like. Tried to play it off that ‘just because you’re Seattle and you’re holding it down’ but it was pretty scripted… didn’t sound mixed very well either. Kinda mixed like they’re trying to impress you with loud more than feel or good sound. Anyway, um shit stop throwing tables and getting kicked out of places alright?”

So there’s your review; now I gotta go clean this blood off my knuckles. Just kidding- I think the Showbox SoDo owes me a show ticket AND cab fare. Anyone else out there actually see Atmosphere perform and want to add their two cents in?

If you are heading to the Nas show at the Showbox SoDo this Friday night, tread lightly- and watch out for those crazy table-throwing blond girls- they’re everywhere.

Last Thursday I showed up to Midtempo Madness at the new Pioneer Square nightclub Crimson C at 10PM, my normal time of arrival, being the total nerd of the club scene and all. I fully expected to, like usual, be the first one on the dance floor and get the party going. Pushing my way past the smokers outside to the heart of the club, I realized that this party didn’t need me to get it going- the dance floor was already packed! It had started like wildfire with NoiseMaker on the decks and this was no ease-into-it night: to my thrill, everyone was getting down. My purpose in life is to get people to get down, on the dance floor or otherwise, but this crowd, with a stellar female presence, needed no help from me at all. The sheer excitement for the lineup had everyone buzzing and smiling and dancing, club nerd one and all.

After yet a-whompwhompwhomp-nother inciting and enticing set from Seattle’s funky crunkbrother NoiseMaker, rapper Souleye and DJ team BLVD proceeded to lay it down thick; the dance floor went wild and minds were blown right out of that little club. You can always tell when the experience of new music has gotten under the skin of someone: moon eyes, mouth hanging slightly open, distinct lack of articulate vocabulary, palms upturned in a gesture of thrill and disbelief: what do you MEAN I have never heard these guys before? The combination of Souleye’s gritty and organic rap lines laid over the twisting electronic loops of BLVD is an anti-match made in deep in the human consciousness; we crave this variety. Sameness is a safe and warm feeling, but we don’t settle for contentment. We want to be on fire, and to light it we need originality, diversity, and risk. We need this music.

I can’t explain electronic music, but I can explain what it does. In this case, your mind starts drifting off to the ether-sphere of sound with the long, guitar-studded electronic mash of BLVD and then is brought back to earth by the gritty and genuine words of a poet. It’s the mix, the to-and-fro, the take-it-away and give-it-back-again that takes music from being a constant good thing to being absolutely great. The boys of BLVD and Souleye have discovered this thrilling melange of earth and ether. It speaks so well to the human audience because we too are part heaven and part earth, part spirit and part body, part electronic sound waves and part rap. The dance floor of Crimson C spread right up through the tables and bar area as no one could resist the hot gooey bass. And damn that boy can rap!

Then, holy Thursday night, came Vibesquad, a producer whose bass takes no absolutely no prisoners whatsoever. I thought the whole of Crimson C was about to shake right down to rubble, leaving only the dancers and DJ there- and no one would even have noticed, so powerful is the spell of this DJ. The twisted, mutated sounds; the crackles, beeps, growls, and thumps don’t just speak to us alive out here in the world, they insist that we open our eyes and move. In the presence of Vibesquad, you have no choice but to exist in the present. Everything else goes away and we lap up the sounds, like starving refugees from society, our bodies as our spoons.

I am an unofficial ambassador of crunk, you might say, and had been telling my friends about this show for weeks and insisting they go. All through the night people kept coming up to me saying, “Oh wow, Shilo, you were right, this is AMAZING! I can’t even believe it!” Then a little shake of the head and the aforementioned glazed look of new music discovery. That is also what I live for- to share with others the transformative power of music that I have experienced in my life. Why do I, why do we, love it so much? Why do we love the thick, dirty bass and the filthy beats so much? I may not be able to explain it but I sure as hell can understand it. I want you to as well, but be warned- once you go off the deep bass end, there is no going back. Once you put on the suit of Captain Crunk, no other electronic music will quite do it for you: not drum and bass, not dub step, and certainly not house.

So what is this blond girl going on about? Why is she so ’bout it-’bout it with this music which doesn’t really have a name but is seeping up and over the nation from the West Coast and Colorado and conquering dance floors wherever it goes? Find out for yourself at Dirty Velvet May 16 at Nectar when Noisemaker, Novatron, and Kraddy and OOah from THE GLITCH MOB start a musical riot in Fremont. Buy tickets now; the show will sell out, and it is quite possible that people will be falling from the balcony, going into spastic dance fevers, twitching their minds all the way over to new dimensions, and having so much fun their hearts explode and they wake up in their yard. It might even happen to you, so get ready for your next life-changing music experience.

Do I have to say it? See you on the dance floor.

The opening night of Cirque du Soleil’s Corteo found me in the twelfth row of Le Grand Chapiteau, a frozen monkey with mouth agape, sitting in a stilled silence except for occasional bursts of laughter and sighs of amazement. Now I am not the silent and still type, AT ALL, and it takes a big experience like the Big Top to render me so. My heart however was pounding like a giant psychedelic clown was attacking a tympani with a rubber chicken, only stopping it’s mad march for moments of absolute antici……….pation as I waited in a trance-like state to see what the superhumans on stage might do next. Would they spin in a hoop like a living metallic-blue Vitruvian man simultaneously with five friends? Grab onto a chandelier and swing up into the sky in their skiivies? Slowly walk a mile-high tightrope, upside down? Float out over the audience for the most graceful crowd-surfing experience Seattle has ever seen? Join a languid parade of playful angels, Tuba players, and ballet dancers from the most bizarre dream EVER?

Physical and dramatic performing artists who are the very best in the world create the incredible spectacle that is the Cirque du Soleil; it is an acrobatic, gymnastic, dancing, theatrical, musical, comedic, sparkling, magical, childlike parade of sensory enlightenment, an epic French feast of ‘Wow!”, a near out-of-body celebration of the absurd and the beautiful. The amazingly talented and no doubt insanely hard-working athletes make every tumble and turn seem effortless and just an extension of their humanity, like you and I might tomorrow flip backwards from bed to bed in a pillow fight out of childhood fantasy.

Corteo is the show now playing at Marymoor Park in Redmond under a fat yellow and blue striped Grand Chapiteau or Big Top that has seemingly sprung from the colorful mind of a five year-old, a mind that we all once had. The character Corteo is a ghost-clown reliving his better years, and while he revisits his childhood antics and purity of perception, you follow along with him, just as entranced as he is by the once-lived escapades.

I absolutely cannot believe I that had never been to the Cirque du Soleil before. Why didn’t anyone ever shake me and give me a swift kick to the rear and say GET THEE TO THE CIRQUE DU SOLEIL? In a land where the likes of Avril Lavigne and Britney Spears qualify as ‘performing artists,’ the insatiable American consumers of entertainment dismiss terms like ‘eye-popping’ and ‘jaw-dropping’ because we have heard them describe everything from new flavors of yogurt to random celebutante #9’s fashion choice for the afternoon.

So let me shake you and light a fire under you, because at the Cirque du Soleil your eyes WILL pop, your jaw WILL drop, and your heart WILL pound, certain that either your senses are deceiving you OR that someone’s about to bite it, bigtime. The Cirque du Soleil is a thrilling and unique entertainment experience that can never truly be described, only lived.

So live it! Here are a few tips for making the trip to Redmond’s lovely Marymoor Park a bit easier:

• Allow PLENTY of time to get to your seat; traffic gets backed up and you will want a few extra minutes for buying balloons and cotton candy and running around the big top screaming and jumping…well, for hitting the gift shop, anyway.
• Parking is $15 payable in cash and cannot be avoided unless you hike in like a creature from Lake Washington lagoon.
• Take your mom! She will just LOVE it, you know she will, and Mother’s Day IS coming up, you know.
• Get a sneak peek of the action right here, and read Cedric’s take on the Cirque du Soleil.

CONSIDER YOUR FIRE LIT.

At Sasha and Digweed’s DJ extravaganza last night I fell back in love with dancing after a week (a whole week!) of not going out, I remembered why I never ever wear jeans to shows, and was thrilled up to my eyebrows to see so many electroheads out on a Tuesday night!

I really like the ShowBox SoDo and was stoked to experience mythic DJs Sasha and Digweed. I thought the show was sold out only to be informed early that morning that I was wrong, so I bought the $35 ticket with a what-the-hell attitude; that’s a lot of dough for cheapskates like me who try to get on every list they can. After forgetting the ticket print-out in my car (which of course was parked practically at Castle Starbucks) I returned, ready to dance, and never even had my ticket looked at! The workers did search thoroughly through my bag and we did the frisk-dance, leaving me standing there holding my $35 piece of paper, saying, “Hey! somebody look at this!!!” They never did.

DJ Kazell was the opening act and I was really impressed with his take on the bass, so much so that I actually was pulled away from the line at the bar, losing my space so I could go dance. I didn’t want to miss a minute the fat track that the DJ was laying down, not even for a buzz- now that’s powerful music. The big bar areas of the ShowBox SoDo were stacked with people trying to down several beers before the headliners came on, lots of people bobbing heads, and my friends, gettin’ down like no one’s business and making me proud. I am never a huge fan of all-ages shows- what can I say, I like to drink and dance, but sometimes the scene has to throw a frickin’ bone to the 18-21 year-olds.

I made my way up to the front of the dance floor as Digweed was about to come on. People were starting to freak out, and the anticipative energy of the crowd was close to spontaneous combustion in the middle of the floor. Now progressive house and trance aren’t my favorite electronic music genres; for me the tracks and sets never seem to climax, leaving me in a prolonged state of liminality. But like all electronic music, these beats are damn danceable, and I can recognize when the shit is going down even when it isn’t 100% my cup of tea. Aku, local DJ and my friend told me that Sasha and Digweed were the reason he started making music- now that means a whole lot. My ears perked up and I could tell that many others in the audience also held up these two DJs to the legendary status that they should deservedly claim. The whole place was rockin’.

A shortie like me can’t see very well, even at the front of the dance floor, but I could hear the chants which turned to, “Sasha, Sasha, Sasha,” as the night progressed. Like I said I am not firmly in the camp of crazed fans for these two Brits like most of the audience but I danced my face off last night at the ShowBox SoDo for hours. And then I danced some more. Making people shake and move is just one raison d’etre that inspires DJs to exist, (getting girls is another) and Sasha and Digweed found believers last night. Hot and sweaty with my jeans rolled up to my knees, I left the front of the dance floor to find a little space and air at the back. Not possible- the whole place was packed with Seattlites shaking what their mothers gave them. A Tuesday night like this is what I’m talkin’ ’bout- hundreds of people all moving together, having fun, and devouring the energy created in the musical exchange.

Of course, there wasn’t enough sticky bass pour moi, however I try not to review music too harshly for the same reason I don’t write up reviews of Mexican food restaurants in Seattle. Let me explain: I’m from Texas and eat whole jalepenos for breakfast so every write-up would go like this: “Not enough spice, not enough heat, not enough mind-mashing fire.” The same goes for most electronic music; there’s rarely enough sticky, thick, whompy bass for me, unless it’s an event like the upcoming Glitch Mob show at Nectar. When I dance I usually go into a mini-trance and can only say one of two words: YEAH or MORE. Yesterday evening was a MORE night for me, but I still had a thrilling time dancing and a really great experience, no doubt.

And sometimes wanting more is a good thing which even a hedonist like me can recognize; crazy things happen when you’re left on the threshold. Everyone left the show a little happier than they came in and the party continued to Contour for afterhours and we all got down for a couple more hours to DJs Jason LeMaitre, Dev, and the aforementioned Aku who was absolutely on top of the world after hearing the great Sasha and Digweed lay it down. Seeing people so inspired by and passionate about music thrills me to no end and reminds me that we are all kindred spirits in the arena of music’s effects on the human psyche.

Speaking of kindred spirits, there were hundreds and hundreds of dancers out last night, and I want to know where they go the rest of the time. Last Wednesday? Next Tuesday? Where do you go, oh mysterious dancing crowd? I want to know, and I will find out, and then I will drag them out to enjoy life. SO WHAT ya gotta work in the morning? There is a sure excitement in the air that the Seattle electronic music scene breaths, and I think we should nurture it and light it on fire. Let’s blow it up. Whose with me?

The Dalai Lama has hope for humankind. His Holiness, the 14th reincarnation of the Dalai Lama, thinks we can make it if we put down our guns and wallets and realize that we’re all the same; we all want a warm bed at night, food for our brothers and sisters, a peaceful future for our children, and someone to hold our hand and/or light a fire under us when things get tough. The Dalai Lama believes this, despite the fact that his country has long been usurped and his people are dying. Right now, his people are dying.

If the Dalai Lama has hope, I do too.

Friday afternoon at Key Arena the Dalai Lama met with songwriter Dave Matthews, journalist Ann Curry, and a fat Seattle crowd to kick off the Seeds of Compassion event, going on right now all over the city. I had never seen His Holiness in person before, and what struck me the most was the grace and moreover the humor which radiated from his being, his very essence. Easy smiles and laughs bubbled out of the cute 72-year old man like a stream (I said it, what? A bodhisattva can be adorable). Ann Curry helped steer the direction with a good journalist’s inquisition and a bad-ass woman’s confidence while Dave Matthews, always quite the freak (the biggest complement in my book), squirmed awkwardly in his seat; his twitchy nature, bizarre facial expressions, and clothes from the bedroom floor putting all of Key Arena at ease.

The panel spoke of many facets of compassion and the room was silently respectful of the wisdom incarnate that sat in front of us, leaning forward in our seats in order not to miss a word. Ms. Curry brought up the very tough question: how do we love and show compassion to our enemies, to those who have harmed us and the ones we love? How do we forgive and forget? The Dalai Lama answered that no one ever really forgets transgressions. We all this truth, but for some reason this idea of “forgive and forget” gets a lot of playtime even though we know it cannot be; it’s another myth we tell ourselves to make life better, like the Tooth Fairy or the idea of ‘closure’. His Holiness recognizes this and spoke not of forgetting, but of remembering with no ill will; a much easier goal than amnesia. We cannot forget but we can let go.

The Dalai Lama also emphasized the importance of females, especially mothers, when it comes to creating a compassionate world (as all the women in the audience nodded of course). Evolutionarily speaking (or back in cave-person days, if you prefer), it was much more important for females to create and sustain a stable community if they were to survive. Males could go out and hunt or forage for food on their own with no need for another person’s help; however when a female had four kids hanging off her whining for more Mastadon meat she didn’t have the choice to be a rugged individualist. To survive, she had to get along with others and make sure those others got along too and didn’t get pissy and storm out of the cave. This is of course a gigantic generalization but even today we have scientific signs of this survival mechanism: female humans have much higher levels of oxytocin, the “let’s-just-all-get-along” hormone. All around the world, the vast majority of people caring for the weak, for children, for the elderly, and for the sick, are women. Higher levels of oxytocin in the human female makes us want to hold families and social groups together; it also makes us hurt more than males when those relationships end. When science and the Dalai Lama agree, it should at least make you think. However this is not just a pretty flower in the bonnet for us ladies out there; yeah we have the skills but do we use them? Females of the world should take the Dalai Lama’s words as a call to action, for compassion without action means nothing; intent is useless unless it is backed up by behavior. Women must act and use their naturally evolved gifts to create a better world.

Another big topic of the evening was the relationship between music and compassion. The panelists agreed that when you speak of empathy and caring for others, the words go into your brain first and are processed, sorted, labeled and tucked away, an organizational byproduct of human existance and our need to categorize the world around us. A musical experience, however, is sensory- it skips your brain and all of it’s hangups and hookups and goes right into your body and through to your soul and to your spirit. You embody the understanding, you become a part of the sensory experience. All of you crazed music lovers out there are shaking your heads, going yes, yes, yes, music changed my life! It is true; I always say dancing is my religion and it’s not just a clever Myspace comment; when I am on the dance floor everything else in my life goes away. I transcend. Dave spoke of dancing by the fireplace when he was young, and his children bouncing on the couch to music these days, and truly if everyone could share this musical transcendence the world would be a happier place. Can you imagine if President Bush took a couple of hours every day to crank up some tunes and dance barefoot in the grass? Music makes everyone’s life better, and as a tool for compassionate action, it has no match.

This is the message as I understood it from the words of the Dalai Lama. No doubt every other person in the room took a slightly different idea home, but we all got the point: compassion leads to inner peace, and inner peace leads to world peace. And every single one of us has the duty to create this compassionate world for each other, for our six million brothers and sisters.

After the hour-long convo and a short break, Seattle’s band-of-the-moment, Death Cab for Cutie, took the stage in a surprise appearance. I had heard talk of an Eddie Vedder or Pearl Jam showing, so I was a bit disappointed as I am not a big fan of the emo genre. I find it depressing and just want to slap those kids and tell ‘em hey: cheer up! Even the Dalai Lama is laughing despite his problems which are no doubt bigger than yours: have you heard of China? I gave Death Cab another listen but left after a couple of songs and went to Mecca Cafe for some fried cheese sticks and Mac & Jack’s.

Back at Key Arena after avoiding the screaming protesters outside (’cuz compassion SUCKS) came Dave Matthews and Tim Reynolds who somehow create and express emotions you didn’t know you felt with two little guitars and two giant talents. If you have not heard Live at Luther College, a recording of a Dave and Tim show, go online right now and acquire it. The combination of Dave’s genius songwriting skills and Tim’s redonkulous abilities on the guitar create a new animal that is greater than the sum of its parts. Friday night the jam began with Bartender, a Dave Matthews Band song about how the divine is found not in some far away universe or on a mountaintop, but within every single one of us. Crowd favorites Dancing Nancies and Everyday were complemented by newer songs like Eh Hee, and the show was wrapped up by carpe diem anthem Lie In Our Graves, which goes like this:

I can’t believe that we would lie in our graves, wondering if we had spent our living days well; I can’t believe that we would lie in our graves, dreaming of things that we might have been, could have been, maybe…

What a perfect theme for Seeds of Compassion! Do you use your gifts and talents to make this world a better place? Are you acting with compassion towards others- not just your friends (that’s easy) but to all humans, even those that don’t look like you or eat the same foods or have different beliefs about the world? Do you create positive, compassionate energy that makes those around you have a better day? Are your actions in line with your words? We can’t become the Dalai Lama overnight, but we can all strive to be such a caring, compassionate human being in small steps, every day.

The talk was inspiring, the music was thrilling, and the night was one of the best of my life (and I have a lot of great nights). My only small complaint (as usual) was that there was absolutely nowhere to dance in the nosebleeds at Key Arena; somehow I got stuck in the section of crowd who didn’t want to stand up at all so I felt like an ass when I got up to clap and cheer and dance. The set played by Dave and Tim was also much shorter than their usual shows, about half the songs that they usually play. I wanted more.

The real question is, will this whole big workshop on compassion make a difference in the world? Will people really change their actions and be more compassionate? Today driving downtown I happened to get behind His Holiness the 14th Dalai Lama’s motorcade, backed up by Seattle’s finest. Paying attention to the little parade instead of the road, I cut off the driver in a Hummer behind me. Looking in my mirror and expecting a honk or a one-fingered hand signal, I received instead a wave and a smile. Yeah, it’s small, a tiny traffic transgression forgiven, but it’s a start. Seattle is a kind city, a polite metropolis, and a leader in this country when it comes to progressive thought and smart people. Let’s put all that to work to create a better world; let’s make sure that the Seeds of Compassion grow and blossom into a movement of kindness and actions of empathy. It starts today, with you.

On Saturday evening at the Pacific Science Center there was not a lecture on chemistry, a school bus tour of the Science Playground, or a 3D show at the IMAX. Seattle’s science museum was instead filled with the kinetic energy of hundreds of dancers, musicians, and artists who came together to raise hell at the annual event Kinetic, produced by Infinite Connections. The night was a living, breathing, dancing mix of beats and butterflies, dinosaurs and digital remixes, tide pools and trance, electronic music and museum madness.

This year’s Kinetic III was a much anticipated party; Northwest Tekno had over 1300 posts (BUMP! SNAP!) devoted to the event, lasting from 9PM to 4AM. The dance party started off with a flashy fire performance and for the first three hours all of the exhibits in the Pacific Science Center were open; everyone ran around like kids checking out the big museum. In the Tropical Butterfly House girls with glittery green hair caught bright blue butterflies on their pink fishnet-covered palms and boys with fauxhawks and chains in their faces gently pet starfish and nudibranchs in the Saltwater Tide Pool. Some of the ravers brought pillows and blankets to lay on the floor at the midnight laser show, and plenty others brought cash for the three bar areas set up, one incongruently in a children’s play area. The outside smoking section was huge and stocked with tons of picnic tables so the dancers could catch their breath and a Camel in the cool night air under the glowing purple arches of the Science Center and spaceship Spaceneedle.

But this party is all about movement, and music and dance dominated the Kinetic experience. In fact the kinetic energy produced by the dancers could probably have powered the museum for a week. The three main stages played trance, house, and electro; everyone could find their home groove and everyone did.

The Uniting Souls animal house was the first music room encountered, and househead deejays Ramiro, Derrick Deepvibez, and Jay West put four on the floor with live music accompaniment from Ari Joshua on guitar and Sklobot on saxophone. The crowd responded well to the mix of electronic beats and live instrumentation; it’s a melange many don’t get to hear too often though they should. Around the corner in the Insect Village was the IOSIS Art Party with an intriguing variety of visual art and all the trance and psy-trance you could ever want to freak out to. Blue Spectral Monkey and Osiris Indriya amongst others kept the dance floor freaking out for hours, only the Madagascar hissing cockroaches seemed indifferent to the progressive sound vibrations saturating the room, which is probably a good thing. For chilling out, the Dinosaur Room was the place to be with floaty, dreamy downtempo provided by the Chickenhed Crew.

I found my home for the night on the dance floor in the Broken Disco Electro Playhouse; the lineup from the four music collectives Decibel, Fourthcity, Sensory Effect, and Shameless was on fire and the dance floor was straight going off for hours. Novatron vs. Shapeshifter was a battle where everyone won; Jerry Abstract and Nordic Soul spun as Abstract Soul and the crowd loved it, especially the glow-stick girls in the back. Headliner Knifehandchop from Toronto did not disappoint but the killer set of the night was delivered at 2AM by Naha, who lathered her side of the museum into a fevered frenzy with her eclectic breakcore style and energetic, inspiring performance. Packed with smiling faces, flailing arms, and crazy legs, the mad delirium on the floor was the best dance riot of the night thanks to Naha’s potent beat flinging. Such was the consensus at the afterparties which raged after Kinetic III for hours and hours; most people’s comments went something like this: “OMG did you catch Naha’s set? It was F*ING INCREDIBLE! INSANE! My legs are so sore now. Can you pass me a beer?” etc. Missed Naha? Catch her this Saturday night at Photosythesis 0.2 at the Transcendent Church of Bass battling glitchmaster Noisemaker which will be a supersick war of whomps, a blitzkrieg of bass and a barrage of booty shakin’. I wouldn’t miss it if my feet were missing.

Parties are always more fun when there is something anarchistic about them, the fun lovers who go out and dance for hours every week aren’t your typical black- and beige-wearing limp celery sticks on the bus going home to watch sitcom reruns. We want unconventional experiences and atypical nights that will add up to amazing, unique lives. Mainstream is a dirty word; average days are unacceptable. Closing a museum like the Pacific Science Center for a giant party is like throwing a rave in a church; bucking the establishment reminds us that we’re not all clones, no sheep here, we are alive and we dance all night to remind ourselves that life is short. Like children, our priority is to play and have fun, and the positive energy and happy hearts produced at the Kinetic III prove that just maybe we are onto something.

And no one at Kinetic III will ever forget that night; most are no doubt already planning to attend Kinetic IV as well as Magnetic IV this fall, Kinetic’s sister celebration hosted by the same music collectives. The party was a bit pricey, $21 presale and $30 at the door, but well worth it as you not only receive a huge musical experience to imbibe but also have the whole Pacific Science Center to explore. My only tiny moan about Kinetic III is this, and I think you will all agree: the party should last until 6AM. Then again, they don’t call me Dance Fever 5000 for nothin’.

Do you agree with me? Think I’m full of it? Whose set did you think was the best, and how would you make the next Kinetic even better? Comment below and let me know!