I wrote this a few years back on a whim, when house music had taken over my life. & i find myself returning to this state of mind a lot lately. I’m not sure what I miss about it so much lately.. well, it’s a few things.

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My research has shown that with regular exposure, the average subway rider becomes tolerable, and in some isolated cases, fond of, a person who dances to himself/bobs his head when that person has no possession or even awareness of a portable music device. (I do not own an iPod, not even fake white headphones.)  Especially considering I’m not really holding out a hat afterwards and suggesting donations, I seem to be pleasant-mannered at best, if not battling a mild meth addiction. Which is all I really ask of their perception. I move unabashedly, in public, whenever the music in my head demands that i do. The most entertaining form of schizophrenia in existence. 

Life is a music video, or it should be. Everywhere you go, beautiful people hanging out, breakdancing, excited to see you, stopping conversation only to pop and/or lock. Everyone in tune. Even not-so-beautiful people. Celebrities too. The subway ride will become a pre-party every morning; happy hours will never come crashing down with that drunk two-step to the subway station - instead, the party will just be getting started. What the hell is a dj anyways if not a conductor?

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I wrote that bit in 2006 i think. But i still strongly feel that way, if not more.

It’s the release. It’s more than just dancing. It’s listening, it’s observing, it’s people watching at its best, while your feet are moving. Whether you’re surrounded by a few or thousands of people, you’re surrounded by smiles. Yeah, a lot of these people are triacs. But for the most part, they aren’t. They’re letting loose. They’re learning freedom. On a dance floor. What i always loved about the house scene is that it was a home for a bunch of rag-tag individuals. The last word being the key one. Most places, clubs, whatever, they’re all predicated on top 40, shit-hop, random stuff that people can identify with in a popular sense & dance in groups. Or just troll for the opposite sex. You feel conscious, there’s a sense (stench) of social structure in the air. 

Not in our world, not in our church. The biggest idiots are the ones trying to grind & holler. They’re inefficient & are usually quickly weeded out to the fringes leaving the church pews free for the ones still praying. Doesn’t matter if you can dance or not. It’s not a competition, it’s not a battle (although those ARE fun). It’s a place of no judgment. Just come, listen, move. Any way you want. I found a home in that & a large part of myself in it too. All walks of life. 

(above: Limelight, a church in NYC that was a club. On the left back in the day. A fucking shopping center now, on the right. Jesus would cry.)

I’ll never forget going to Shelter in New York, 2004, Sunday morning at 7:30. Ahmed & Mira. We were coming off a night at Vinyl (i think). Winding down. Walk into shelter. Gospel House (it is sunday after all). My jaw fucking dropped at the crowd. Left far corner, b-boys of all colors. Left close, normal washed-up clubbers, much like ourselves. Guidos straight ahead. Close right, group of british business men & women, in suits. The best? Far right corner - 20+ Guyanese Indian aunties & uncles, in their 50s, fresh from a wedding in the city. Having the time of their life. Here’s the thing - you don’t stay out at 7:30 am on Sunday to impress anyone else. You do it for yourself. You do it because you’re with the best people you can be with at that time, great music, great fun all around. Not even sure if i’ve seen a room full of such happy hearts since that day. & that’s the best part about it - it IS fleeting. That moment will never exist again. I can’t tell you how lucky i feel to have been a part of it. Church of life, right there. 

And then Paul Van Dyk in Central Park, Labor Day 2003. Was a huge PVD fan, didn’t really like trance, still don’t. But loved him. Outdoors. In Central Park. Few thousand people. I shouldn’t have to describe what an amazing party that freakin’ was. But i remember near the end, PVD had a few new tracks out & just started dropping them. People going apeshit. Rolling their faces off. As was i. gladly. & this next moment isn’t the drugs talking - it’s actually what happened. He drops an anthem, i think it was “For an Angel”… lights shining down on him, his arms raised to a T on his sides, gesturing to the crowd. Except he looked like Jesus on the cross. & it wasn’t just me. To my right, 5 latino kids in army pants crossed themselves, smiling, unable to take their eyes off him. G’damn what a thing to see. 

(above: PVD @ Central Park)

There is such a mother fucking beauty in shared experiences. In hearing a track sneaking up on you, introduced slowly but surely. Your head cocks, a smile spreads. You look around, smiles creeping onto faces everywhere. Head nods, hands raised in recognition. Pre-cheering for the next track. DJ nods back, points, HE knows that YOU know. It drops. All of a sudden you’re on the exact same wavelength as thousands of people. In unison. Bouncing around, hearts, lungs, brain, legs filled with that vibe that emanates from the speakers, from the floor, from the person next to you. Hard to describe. Which is why everyone should attend one insane music festival once in their life & really just give in to it. 

Which is why i like dancing in public, dancing in general. There are very few raw, personal expressions using your body that you can make, create, explore; actually i’m not sure if there’s anything that captures that more than just moving your body. It’s about not giving a fuck & letting the soundtrack to your life move from your ears to your heart to your feet. 

I think living in a place where people often don’t know more than the mediocrity available to is starting to take its toll - especially when it comes to music & letting loose. I dunno, maybe it’s a different strokes thing. Like there are people here who seem to want to learn more about music, to hear better shit, who want a better venue, a music festival.. & not a single Pied Piper to take them there. That person is clearly not me. But maybe it’s time i kicked up this public dancing a notch.

my life isn’t particularly impressive on paper. 

but my life is fucking perfect in the way i live it.

living, hanging by a thread on emotions, experiences. letting that heart on my sleeve soak up everything in the air, flowing & filtering through each ventricle. 

the danger in having a heart on your sleeves is of course it’s easy to lose. which is fantastic. 

for the first time, this town actually makes sense. it’s a place i actually am looking forward to returning to. 

talking to my best friend in London. talking about life. about young punks. about how this guy is trying to ruin his life. (side note: me & that guy are great, great friends. he is cool as shit. like me.)

anyway. talk takes a turn to broader topics. london guy starts delivering some fcking gems. we start by talking about the practice of hating, & then he drops these classics:

if i put my hater side aside, i can fucking do anything i want. 

i’ve been trying to explain to my wife that my character is changing on a daily basis. 

the only way to survive in an office environment is “don’t take anything seriously. they’re all full of shit.” 

———

the only thing i could counter with in this massive barrage was “is your life turning into a simon pegg movie?”

weak sauce.

outclassed by a true progenitor of the form. those quotes up there? could easily be iconic. ironic, sorry. 

because hating is a competition. and if you don’t think so, you clearly lost.