I paid $30 dollars for this experience. I attempt to remain cool, acting like this is what I want right now, this is where I need to be.
I tell myself it is about the music. Live New Zealand electronica from some of the best on the scene. I am here to support the music; it is all about the music!
The anticipation builds, the crowd moves quickly, surging to the non-existent front. Is there going to be a mosh pit? The event starts, nothing really changes. People keep pushing past, some guy talks constantly, men fondle their girlfriends, people don't dance, they just kind of wiggle in their space. There is no connection.
Now it's getting sweaty, smells of unwashed hair battle with cheap perfume. Entering smokers leave trails of acrid tar, club kids leave smears of sweat. Punters attempt to deliver expensive drinks to the front-line, demanding space with elbows and sneers.
Is this really clubbing? A period of sustained discomfort. The show finishes and the club clears like smoke. The music in my mind is drowned out by my ringing ears.
