The Post-Club Conundrum – Part Deux

Brimming with glee... or grinning and bearing it?

Continued from Part Une:

After what seemed an eternity, the four of us arrived back at my flat, paid the flap of cardboard masquerading as a cab driver, and watched him drive his rusted ensemble of misery into the distance. Now it was time to get this party back on track. I had already assembled a shortlist of potential songs from which I would choose the all-important introduction to our night part two. It consisted of a choice between The Who’s rousing ‘Baba O’Reilly’, the Fred Falke remix of the Whitest Boy Alive’s ‘Golden Cage’ [Ed - kudos], Underworld’s epic ‘Cowgirl’, Lee Scratch Perry‘s ‘Jungle Lion’, or, for perhaps a more subtle approach allowing my guests to settle in, ‘Haiti’ by the Arcade Fire.

What a great tune to take your shoes off and get comfortable to. I was weighing all this up as I lead my friends up the stairs and along the corridor into my room. “Make yourself at home,” I triumphed with a broad face, as if I hardly knew them. Then, satisfied at seeing them take in all my cool stuff, I skipped along to the kitchen to fetch the beers and make that crucial decision. More songs came to me in waves of inspiration as I gazed into the fridge; ‘The Killing Moon’, ‘One Pure Thought’, ‘F.E.A.R’, ‘Last Post on the Bugle’, ‘Voodoo Ray’, ‘Float On’… oh the options! I was brought swiftly back from the realm of godly DJs by murmering from my room, and grabbing the six pack, I approached the arena proudly.

What horror I stumbled on nearly defies comprehension. My friends had sussed out my hi-fi system, a rogue iPod has been inserted into the dock, and the culprit, an acquaintance of mine for ten long and happy years, was about to press his finger of treason into the play button. He was stealing my big moment! The moment every host dreams of! The moment which had almost obscured my enjoyment of the club for the four previous hours.

“Check this tune out,” he smugly said, relegating me to the inferiority of audience, not maestro. I nearly let the beers drop from my hands. I decided in that moment that I would hate the song, whatever it was.

And then it happened. As I let my ears take in the song, the rivalry and resentment was swept aside. Audience became just as important as maestro. That magical feeling of falling in love with a song hit me… the voice, the percussion, the guitar… WHAT a tune! The power of music and the power of friends had forged an alliance and blown me completely away. My friend noticed my sudden enthusiasm, an experience he had planned and which I knew oh so well. As I glanced at him with wide eyes and gawping mouth, he replied to me with a knowing nod and a smile. Within seconds, everyone in the room was dancing.

The song was on another continent from the box, let alone outside of it, and is one I would never have guessed…

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