Shut Up and Groove
My Type of Party (Shoutout to Dom Kennedy)
I’ve partied on remote islands in Asia, fortresses in Serbia, and celebrity VIP sections in Miami Beach. But nothing holds a candle to turning up in the middle of a deep, pitch black forest, somewhere near Prague, Czech Republic. *Disclaimer, my momma called me and asked that I tone down the lewd language in my blogging, so I will keep the profanity to a minimum. Not making any promises though. ;)*
Every assumption I had about this night was wrong. Thought we were going to a park, turned out to be undoubtedly the forest where the Blair Witch Project was filmed. Thought it would be some chill house music featuring some lady singing renditions of “I’m Every Woman” over the record. Nah G. Turned out to be some deep DEEP dark and twisted techno preluding the end of the world. Now I don’t listen to house music that much at all, let alone deep DEEP dark techno, so not much to my surprise, when homie on the track started chanting “enter the void, the world is over and you are starting” or some shit (oops, love you ma) like that, the fact that I didn’t belong became painstakingly apparent.
Looks of disgust were shot my way multiple times as my body struggled to catch the pipe dream of a tempo. Simultaneously, I’m unconsciously commenting out loud on how I’m not really feeling the music, and I can tell that people just want me to shut up and groove. But hey…I get it. I grew up on southern rap, RnB, gospel, and soul music. If I took one of these people who listen daily to this “life is empty, paranoia is bliss” type of music to a party where Pharrell’s singing “because I’m happy, clap along if you feel” blah blah blah, then I wouldn’t be shocked if they didn’t rock with it either. And Lord forbid I take em to church with some Chance the Rapper.
Anywho, I like to believe that if you listen closely to any song, you will eventually find a rhythm to rock with. Music to me is one of those natural miracles with which we have the pleasure to witness and engage. It’s solace for some, salvation for others. I have to respect every form and fashion in which it comes. Anyway, to say that less ostentatiously, slowly but surely, I started vibin to the beat.
When the Night Calls (Shoutout to Travis Scott)
The night begins to grow old, and I become more and more entranced to the music and the constant ‘boom, boom, boom’ reverberating from the speakers throughout my chest and feet. I got energy, gotta lot of energy, so it became an all night affair. I was committed to seeing it through, although in the dark I couldn’t really make out anything. I saw a few faces and silhouettes, maybe one or two cute women, and the rest was probably my imagination. I’d convinced myself to stay as close to the DJ stage as possible, but there were inevitable lapses of other people’s activity that kept me distracted.
For one, there are two guys wiggin out on the right and left side of me. The guy on the left — let’s call him Jamal Baratheon just because — looks as if he is literally having a seizure. I lowkey was about to help homie out, but I remembered my context. I am in Europe, at a techno party in the woods, surrounded by Czech people — that’s probably just how they get down.
*Kanye Shrug* and moving onward, the guy to my right — let’s call him DeAndre Bolton — meanwhile is twirling fire while his homie’s homie (Tyron Tyrell) is throwing his backpack at the speakers. Y’all…I kid you not. These folks were wild ‘n out and were the most lit group of people I’ve seen since middle school pep rallies. Amidst all of this commotion, there is someone— let’s call him/her Viserion (RIP) — directly behind the DJ stage in the bushes making weird gestures, while my homie with whom I rolled to the forest is somewhere entertaining and feeding squirrels…like bruh??
The Sun’s Tirade (Shoutout to Mr. Isaiah Rashad)
This night terror went on for 7 hours. 7 hours. But when the sun rose, the sight that I witnessed was indistinguishable from the opening scenes of Blade 1, 2, and 3 combined with I Am Legend. Some people just aren’t meant to be day-walkers. Smoke from the multiple fires started earlier in the night swelled throughout the air, as my vision came to and I realized I survived Armageddon. Makeup smeared and hair scruffed, people stumbled to find their shoes, shirts, and dignity.
So I pulled my homie away from Alvin and the Chipmunks and skedaddled out of there, back on the forest trail from which we came. But before I made my final exodus, I took one last ill-advised look back at Sodom & Gomorrah’s mosh pit of demons and vampires (as my good friend Josh describes them lol) and had to rub my eyes thrice because what I saw could not have been real:
It was in that moment, I knew I f̶*̶*̶*̶e̶d̶ messed up.
It was a long walk back to civilization before we had cellular connectivity to find an uber. During that time, I had the chance to contemplate a few things:
- Never listen to Matt again (well at least for a few weeks). Those of you who know Matt know what I mean. This mane didn’t even come with us to the forest even though he suggested it smh.
- If there are woods behind a suburban neighborhood, there are probably folks wilding out in that junt.
- God is good!
- Jon Snow wasn’t lying, the Night King is real.
Nonetheless, after the long night of what was nothing less than a unique and unforgettable (traumatizing if I’m being honest) experience, I decided to spend the morning exploring Prague while flooding my ears with nothing but jovial, upbeat music. Got some dope pics while I was at it too.