#23 __ the narrative

thunderfunking
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4 min readApr 17, 2019

Imagine going to the movies with your friends. As soon as you arrive, everyone splits up to go see different movies. Thirty minutes in, you decide you’re not into it and switch over to another theater for a different movie. You bump into your friends in the hallway and share your struggles trying to find something compelling, griping about the bad acting or weak plot; nothing seems to be drawing anyone in. At the end of the evening, none of you saw the same movie, or even any one movie from beginning to end.

No one would ever do this with movies. But we do this all the time with dance music.

I remember the thrill back in November when I learned of an enormous New Year’s Eve warehouse party with five distinct dance floors, each captained by different promoters. I imagined a night where I could find exactly my vibe at each moment, sampling a variety of styles and genres like fine wine, the cacophonous beauty of a dozen different crowds mingling together, cross-pollinating, sharing their unique passion for their beloved scenes.

But I found myself wandering, bouncing between different rooms, looking for a sound that would capture me. At moments, that did happen; I‘d be gleefully locked in for a few tracks, then in a lull I would find myself wondering where friends and familiar faces had gone. Turns out that’s a wickedly hard question to answer in a football field’s worth of fog and flashing lights.

When I contrast this against my most recent night with Unter, which offered just one room, one dance floor, one vision for the evening — the experiences are worlds apart.

Everyone’s on the same wavelength, the same journey, for better or for worse. There’s no itching curiosity in your mind about what might be happening in the other room. When the music isn’t what you want it to be, the only choice — aside from leaving the party — is to accept it and try to understand what the DJ’s intent is, or perhaps to ask yourself what you want from the music that you aren’t getting.

One thing all great dance music has in common is narrative. A story is being told through the music, but you won’t hear that story if you aren’t willing to stay a while and listen. It takes a few tracks to set the stage, a few more to build anticipation, and yet more to unleash that built-up potential, subvert expectations, to surprise and delight. But if you take these moments out of context, all you’ll hear is beeps and bloops, the relentless thump-thump of the 4/4, the endless crash of the amen break.

When you talk to other people at a party with one lineup, connection is easier because you’re drawing from the same set of experiences — you have something in common. You can celebrate or commiserate together, maybe even enhance each other’s appreciation or offer alternative perspectives. I’ve had a great time at terrible parties because I was able to share that experience with others. Together, we could acknowledge the shortcomings and make the best of what we had, finding joy in laughing at the awful crowd or hilariously bad mixing. Other times, I’ve sat down in frustration with what I thought was a terrible DJ, then found myself challenged a few minutes later by a friend to listen in a different way. These moments simply won’t happen in an environment where people aren’t participating in the same story.

A party is a story told through each DJ’s set. A good promoter understands the style and range of every DJ in the lineup, and orchestrates the running order to provide a coherent and compelling narrative arc across the course of the night. This is what makes it possible to be completely enthralled by music for 10 hours at a time, to go home after sunrise still craving more. Like any great TV show, once you get caught up in the story, you never want it to end.

Thank you so much for reading.

My writing has been a little more sporadic lately, so here are my weekend events through May.

Then I’ll be in Detroit for Movement.

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