#32 __ closure

One consistently vexing aspect of my dance experience is a lack of closure.

Most nights, it’s not a big deal. I had a great time — I let off some steam, had some nice conversations, and it will be filed away as yet another successful night out. Not much to unpack. Go home and get some sleep.

But sometimes, I experience something incredible. I didn’t leave the dance floor for hours and hours. My heart is pounding out of my chest. Then the lights come on full blast and the bouncers herd everyone out the door like cattle. Here I am, covered in sweat, I just had a religious experience, and now I’m on the street in a throng of people that are mostly focused on getting their rides sorted out. Guess I’ll…get a sandwich and try to mentally unpack why the music hit me like a goddamn truck.

The incongruity of environments and emotions is hard to stomach — to go from such raw, sweaty delight straight into concrete indifference is disorienting, to say the least. At its worst, it robs me of satisfaction from the night. I feel like a chump for having given myself so completely to a dance floor that left me feeling empty-handed. It’s a cynical and false feeling — of course I got something wonderful out of the night — but the incompleteness is hard to shake.

I’ve been thinking about this more after the last Unter, which got shut down at 5am. It was the worst possible timing; the party was just hitting its stride. The whole night had been building in anticipation, ready to be unleashed, only to have it disintegrate instantaneously as the hideous fluorescent overhead lights flickered on. It was a cold and bitter shock.

But I went back to my place with some friends and put on my best ambient / chill playlist. We decompressed together, and it was lovely. Great downtempo has such a unique healing quality. The night was not a failure.

I realized that this is what I wish I had at the end of every great night. A yin to the yang of peak dance floor intensity. Music to help ease the transition away from the endless bass lines, which have become soaked into the joints after so many hours. A time to reflect, introspect, and share all the little details of the night. The countless tiny vignettes from chance encounters with strangers. Special moments with the music. Vent the bullshit and nonsense from toxic losers. Interesting and hilarious conversations, heart-warming moments of connection.

I’m sure I’d have this experience more often if I weren’t going out alone, but I just can’t help but feel like most nights we’re telling half a story. All climax with no conclusion. A shot without a chaser. Is there a way to offer a better ending? Not just a few sappy tracks at the end of the last set, but a time and place dedicated to unraveling the many hours that have just been spent accumulating intensity.

What could this look like from the vantage point of clubs and parties? It’s hard to imagine. The conditions for comfortable relaxation are generally incompatible with the qualities of a functional dance space. There’s not as much profit to be made from people that are explicitly looking to wind down. It’s difficult enough to get a separate chill-out room at a party, it’s another beast entirely to have an entire experience dedicated to ambient and downtempo. But I’d love to see more room and thought given to this side of the experience.

That’s all I’ve got for now. This one’s an incomplete thought.

Thank you so much for reading.

previously on outer ][ space:

• #31 __ the warehouse
• #30 __ the good old days
• #29 __ sustain-release