Moshing to Electroby Tim van Rensburg, images by Stefan Jordan-Rozwadowski / 06.04.2011
I spent my last 20 Rand before we even got to Town Hall and had the munchies like a motherfucker. A certain apprehension grips you when you don’t have money for a party. You find yourself wondering if it will be fun without the ritual social lubrication. Everyday consciousness seems blasé when compared to the lowered inhibitions of the flailing drunkard. Thankfully I don’t think anyone could maintain a normal state of consciousness when having their face blasted off by Designer Drugs? Town Hall has always been a smash for me and Saturday night was no exception; it was sheer mind obliterating carnage.
The dark parking lot gives way to bright flashing lights and blasting music as promised by the bass induced vibrations coming off the corrugated metal roofing outside. To walk in is to be hit by warm air and the smell of people dancing. Nasal recall incites the memory of parties past and puts an instant smile on my face. We make our way to the front and embrace the booming bass and feel the music with our bodies; there’s nothing quite like having your entire body vibrate to the oscillations of the air around you. I could feel it mainly in my chest, when I opened my mouth I could feel the air rushing out at the same frequency; I imagined each person as a small speaker, little tweeters each adding to the overall volume of the music.
Sedge Warbler is up and Expensive Dranks is offering up free Jaeger. There’s pushing and shoving but I manage to get a face-full and I’m suddenly very conscious of how tipsy I am. A bit of coffee tequila at a car bar and a few sips of this and that here and there. I’m doing quite well actually, but mixing drinks is one of the many things my mother warned me against. And one of the many things I am habitually guilty of. Sedge Warbler is really something else. I have never heard anything like it before. I have heard all the elements before, but never heard them put together like that. A true fusion and it works so well. At one point Expensive Dranks is telling all the women to point their vaginas skywards and I find myself chanting along. By the time he’s introducing Designer Drugs onto the stage the crowd is mental.
They start off by pouring some Jose Cuervo down the throats of the people in front. Looking back on it I have a suspicion that the man on the other end of the hand holding the bottle was Theodore Paul Nelson, the non-glasses wearing, taller member of the duo. If it wasn’t him, then I didn’t see him the entire night because the hand and the man along with it disappeared for the rest of the night, leaving all of the DJing to Michael Vincent Patrick. He pulled it off magnificently. Shimmying back and forth along the board of knobs and buttons; pushing, tweaking, touching, fiddling the digital clits to push music and the crowd into a climax. Each break has us writhing and squirming; an orgy of auditory stimulation expressed through dance.
MVP makes it clear that he’s only got a few songs left. And then he drops it. “Smells like Teen Spirit.” We went nuts. MVP is crowd surfing and his shirt is ripped. Whiskey is splashing my face and it feels like we’re about to mosh to electro. It was fantastic. Just before anyone has a chance to even think the party’s over Haezer jumps in with his heavy, baked in bass music served with a side of “what the fuck was that?” Now he’s showering us with tequila and throws one of his, “COMMERCIAL MUSIC IS DEAD” T-shirts into the crowd. I stretch and feel the material as it’s suspended in mid air, I wrap my fingers around and it pluck it out of the reach of others. It’s mine! I scramble out of my shirt and put it on. The sleeves just reach the top of my shoulders and it’s stretched tight around my torso. It’s a lady’s shirt. Thoughts of exchanging the shirt for sex later flicker across my mind as I once again scramble to take my shirt off. No sex for me though. I get stupid drunk and end up with my head in a toilet at 4 in the morning; ankles aching and ears ringing. Each spasm a reminder of how much fun I had.
All images © Stefan Jordan-Rozwadowski.