Drums and Bass
My apartment. Wednesday, April 12th. 8:44pm.
I just got onto the computer. One hour has passed since I was last here. I’m desperately waiting for the next big thing to happen. The big party, the big story. Hell, the Big Bang would do the trick. Occupy my time. Busy me up for the next one to two hours before I make my rounds. Speaking of which, I’m behind schedule.
First, I venture to the hotmail account. “H0rny h0usewives,” and “Nike Golf Offers.” Been there, done that. Then, it’s to the Gmail account. Nope, nothing new in this old dump. Finally, it’s off to the UCLA account. Ah, what’s this? A new email already? It’s only been minutes since I last checked. Must be fresh off of the information highway. Sent at 8:38pm! This one’s still smoking. I check over both shoulders to make sure anyone isn’t around. It’s clear. Just a few posters on the walls, prying with their constant eyes. I pull my chair closer to the screen. Silently, I read:
Yo yo check it, boo yaka, oh gosh...
Thats right, Funktion is bringing DnB at the Vanguard tonight. 21+ and $10. It should be sick. We'll be headin down round 10. Get ready for da rewind!
Houck
Hardcore, you know the score!
Funktion? DnB? Surely there’s been an error. Perhaps, spell check mistakes. I call Houck to confirm the details. He confirms. I’m confused. “Meet at my place around 10,” he says. So I do.
*
We arrive at the Vanguard parking lot smashed with six people in Eric’s ‘95 Camry. We walk around the corner to notice a line of other happy-go-lucky’s on this uneventful Wednesday night. I suppose everyone’s just looking for their fix. Looks like the right place to do it.
The club doesn’t have any signs. Grey concrete runs along all four corners of the building. A stone box. There’s a small entrance, illuminated by red neon lights, that distinguishes this place from your average slaughterhouse. Once I get to the front of the line, I meet the first of many four hundred pound body guards. The behemoth sized sasquatch tosses me to the next bodyguard on the assembly line. “This guy ain’t 21,” Sasquatch number 2 growls. He picks me up like a sack of potatoes, and chucks me back to Sasquatch number 1.
“’Course he’s 21! Can’t you do the math dummy?” Sasquatch number 1 says shortly after launching me back to Sasquatch number 2.
I’m standing at the entrance of the club. The bass is crushing. The floor beneath me is jumping. My heart is pounding. It’s tearing my chest apart. I can’t stop it. There’s no control. Boom, pause.... Boom, pause.... Boom.
As I move in, the audio gets turned up thousands of notches. The volume crank has just snapped. The membrane of my ear drums fluctuates viciously in and out. My head is in a state of shock. BOOM, shake.... BOOM. shake.... BOOM. Suddenly, as if descending from a high altitude, my ears pop. But not just once. It’s a crackle moving into a ripple. They’re being shred apart. I realize the bass isn’t stopping, its moving faster. Quicker. Harder. I’m being slammed by an invisible wall of sound. My feet are losing touch with the ground. The lights are shuttering in and out. The DJ yells, “When I say Drums you say Bass.” “Drums!”
“Bass!”
“Drums!”
“Bass!”
I realize my gait is crooked. I straighten out and try to move with the rhythm. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. Try running into a game of double-dutch, but imagine the ropes are moving so fast they can’t be seen. You know they’re there. But you can only hear them slicing the oxygen of the room in half. Imagine being slapped in the face by the rope, it’s the kind of fear that makes you stand still. It’s the feeling of helplessness.
I start moving, but it’s not good enough. Faster, I say. Still moving three beats behind. Faster. I see others furiously shaking there arms back and forth. Faster. I’m almost there. Faster. The DJ is yelling again. Faster. The beat is in sight, almost. Faster. I’m inside. Jumping at a hundred miles per hour. I can’t even feel my heart. It hasn’t caught up yet. This feeling that I’m feeling, its strange. Like a state of weightlessness. Timelessness. Something seizes my chest. I begin to slow down remembering I am not made to move this fast. Back to Earth time. My chest is still beating. I feel the crash of my heart against my ribs. This is intense. Fuck your played out definition of intense. This is indescribable. No words could match this. I feel weak. Scared. I look behind me to see how the others are doing. I see a girl on the floor. She just collapsed. It’s Zorina. What’s going? What’s happening? Matt pulls her off the ground and picks her up. Her arms and legs are dangling. Her neck is lifelessly stretched back in my direction. “What happened?” I yell. The drums are exploding. Everyone starts running back towards Zorina. They’re taking her off the dance floor. “What the hell is going on?” The bass is thundering. I hear something. It collects underneath the vibrations of the boom.
“Her heart stopped.”
I just got onto the computer. One hour has passed since I was last here. I’m desperately waiting for the next big thing to happen. The big party, the big story. Hell, the Big Bang would do the trick. Occupy my time. Busy me up for the next one to two hours before I make my rounds. Speaking of which, I’m behind schedule.
First, I venture to the hotmail account. “H0rny h0usewives,” and “Nike Golf Offers.” Been there, done that. Then, it’s to the Gmail account. Nope, nothing new in this old dump. Finally, it’s off to the UCLA account. Ah, what’s this? A new email already? It’s only been minutes since I last checked. Must be fresh off of the information highway. Sent at 8:38pm! This one’s still smoking. I check over both shoulders to make sure anyone isn’t around. It’s clear. Just a few posters on the walls, prying with their constant eyes. I pull my chair closer to the screen. Silently, I read:
Yo yo check it, boo yaka, oh gosh...
Thats right, Funktion is bringing DnB at the Vanguard tonight. 21+ and $10. It should be sick. We'll be headin down round 10. Get ready for da rewind!
Houck
Hardcore, you know the score!
Funktion? DnB? Surely there’s been an error. Perhaps, spell check mistakes. I call Houck to confirm the details. He confirms. I’m confused. “Meet at my place around 10,” he says. So I do.
*
We arrive at the Vanguard parking lot smashed with six people in Eric’s ‘95 Camry. We walk around the corner to notice a line of other happy-go-lucky’s on this uneventful Wednesday night. I suppose everyone’s just looking for their fix. Looks like the right place to do it.
The club doesn’t have any signs. Grey concrete runs along all four corners of the building. A stone box. There’s a small entrance, illuminated by red neon lights, that distinguishes this place from your average slaughterhouse. Once I get to the front of the line, I meet the first of many four hundred pound body guards. The behemoth sized sasquatch tosses me to the next bodyguard on the assembly line. “This guy ain’t 21,” Sasquatch number 2 growls. He picks me up like a sack of potatoes, and chucks me back to Sasquatch number 1.
“’Course he’s 21! Can’t you do the math dummy?” Sasquatch number 1 says shortly after launching me back to Sasquatch number 2.
I’m standing at the entrance of the club. The bass is crushing. The floor beneath me is jumping. My heart is pounding. It’s tearing my chest apart. I can’t stop it. There’s no control. Boom, pause.... Boom, pause.... Boom.
As I move in, the audio gets turned up thousands of notches. The volume crank has just snapped. The membrane of my ear drums fluctuates viciously in and out. My head is in a state of shock. BOOM, shake.... BOOM. shake.... BOOM. Suddenly, as if descending from a high altitude, my ears pop. But not just once. It’s a crackle moving into a ripple. They’re being shred apart. I realize the bass isn’t stopping, its moving faster. Quicker. Harder. I’m being slammed by an invisible wall of sound. My feet are losing touch with the ground. The lights are shuttering in and out. The DJ yells, “When I say Drums you say Bass.” “Drums!”
“Bass!”
“Drums!”
“Bass!”
I realize my gait is crooked. I straighten out and try to move with the rhythm. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. Try running into a game of double-dutch, but imagine the ropes are moving so fast they can’t be seen. You know they’re there. But you can only hear them slicing the oxygen of the room in half. Imagine being slapped in the face by the rope, it’s the kind of fear that makes you stand still. It’s the feeling of helplessness.
I start moving, but it’s not good enough. Faster, I say. Still moving three beats behind. Faster. I see others furiously shaking there arms back and forth. Faster. I’m almost there. Faster. The DJ is yelling again. Faster. The beat is in sight, almost. Faster. I’m inside. Jumping at a hundred miles per hour. I can’t even feel my heart. It hasn’t caught up yet. This feeling that I’m feeling, its strange. Like a state of weightlessness. Timelessness. Something seizes my chest. I begin to slow down remembering I am not made to move this fast. Back to Earth time. My chest is still beating. I feel the crash of my heart against my ribs. This is intense. Fuck your played out definition of intense. This is indescribable. No words could match this. I feel weak. Scared. I look behind me to see how the others are doing. I see a girl on the floor. She just collapsed. It’s Zorina. What’s going? What’s happening? Matt pulls her off the ground and picks her up. Her arms and legs are dangling. Her neck is lifelessly stretched back in my direction. “What happened?” I yell. The drums are exploding. Everyone starts running back towards Zorina. They’re taking her off the dance floor. “What the hell is going on?” The bass is thundering. I hear something. It collects underneath the vibrations of the boom.
“Her heart stopped.”