i am the girl you know can’t look you in the eye;
i am the girl you know so sick i cannot try.
LOVE shot by Hedi Slimane / LA-08.
Nero + the Philharmonic Orchestra in the most epic of jam-sessions.
Masterful. Goosebump-inducing… you might even cry.
Anonymous asked: Why are you so pretty?
Why are you so anonymous?
Third single dropped. Love Alana’s vocals in this one - Nero never disappoints.
Free download, here.
How it should be.
Anonymous asked: your a fantastic writer - an absolute treat to read! post more stories plz (=
Thank you, thank you! The first step to being a “fantastic writer” - learn the difference b/n ‘you’re’ and ‘your’ ;) … just being facetious. But really, I appreciate your readership / will be posting more stories soon, xx.
“Revolution Means A Revolution of Consciousness”
The Underground original exhibition poster, 1969.
(62 x 85 cm)
I’ve never known Sarah Plue to be raucous or impulsive.
A pretty girl, yes, but a party girl? No. She’s always been sweet and somewhat reserved… my polar opposite; my best friend…
She doesn’t really drink, never really smoked and was a virgin until last summer—not that that inducts her to sainthood. She’s had her share of one-night stands since then and dabbles in the devil’s lettuce on occasion. “I never really get high, though,” she says. “And it sucks.”
Sarah is 22 with long honey-blonde hair, alabaster skin and eyes so blue they look backlit. She’s wearing a blush-coloured button-down with a white camisole and acid-wash jeans that fit just right… a preppy, slender girl-next-door-type, literally…
Sarah has been my neighbour since we were 10. After high-school, I moved to Toronto and she stayed here, sheltered in suburbia, to study dental hygiene at the local college—and boy, wouldn’t you know it! Every perfectly straight, perfectly white tooth in her mouth is on display as we sit in her room laughing and chatting about tomorrow. Tomorrow is Boxing Day. Tomorrow night is Deadmau5 live at the Guvernment. Tomorrow night is Sarah’s first rave.
I bought my tickets two months ago at $50 apiece, but my +1 bailed this morning and so I’ve offered her the stub. She’s no electro-music junkie but her mind is open and she loves to dance. In fact, she’s at it already as we crank his latest banger.
Borne from Toronto’s underground, Joel Zimmerman (or Deadmau5) rose to electro prominence just three years ago; his upward trajectory beginning in 2006 with the release of ‘Faxing Berlin.’ The track, a clever fusion of trance chords and house beat, found its way into the hands of Pete Tong who played it on his BBC Radio-1 show. It was an instant success.
Zimmerman has since produced five albums; built up a music label; received a glut of awards and nominations and, last year, Beatport named him the “most influential, forward-thinking person in dance music.” Now, his songs get constant airplay and his shows sell out worldwide. He’s welled up in the mainstream; known for the giant mouse-head he wears at live performances… it’s a digital marvel… and the only reason Sarah’s heard of him.
“SARAH! SAR-RAAAAAAAAH!!! I’ve told you six times already to turn it down!”
“Sorry Mom, we didn’t hear you—”
“—Well no kidding! You have that crap on at full blast! What are you doing listening to that drug music anyway?”
“Yes, drug music, for people going nowhere in life. And it’s enough to destroy your brain Sarah Jane!” she says, raising a skinny, veiny hand to her temple, her every nail French-manicured.
She rounds on me: “Do you actually enjoy this noise Jessica?”
“Yes. I rather like it, in fact.”
“Do you now? And does your mother know?”
“Yeah. It’s just music—”
“—just music?” She cuts me off.
“—MOM! Enough! I’ll turn it down, okay?”
“Well I’d rather you turn it off but I guess we can compromise.” There’s resentment in her tone and expression as she stands in the doorway… “Listen girls. I wasn’t trying to insult you. I know you’re not like those freaks that go to raves… no daughter of mine would be caught dead at one of those…”
Her voice trails off as she walks down the hall.
“You mean you didn’t tell her where you’re going tomorrow?” I ask.
“No, I mean, I told her I was going downtown and all, but she thinks we’re going on a pub crawl.”
“Sarah Plue, it astounds me that you still have to lie to your mother.”
The front door swings open for the umpteenth time. There is no buzzer. No one knocks. People are in and out so frequently that newcomers go unnoticed.
Sarah and I and 10 to 15 others are in a 900-square-foot penthouse that’s home to my dear friends Martin and Christian—the inseparable, fresh-outta-Deutschland techno-enthusiasts known for throwing hip, pre-show shindigs like the one we’re at now… Sarah and I and 10 to 15 others…
The curtains draw to reveal an absolutely marvellous view of the city and a couple out on the balcony taking it all in. The CN Tower stands tall amid the sea of white lights and skyscrapers, all sparkling, shimmering. An icy breeze flows in through the window providing the only non-alcoholic refreshment in the room.
There is a lot of keen conversation going on, speculations, reviews, reminiscences:
“I caught Deadmau5 at Kool Haus back in June. It was the most intense light show I’ve ever seen…”
“…did he have his cube?”
“What’s the cube?”
“… this giant rubix studded with lights that generates trippy projections. He mixes from on top of it… it’s unbelievable…”
“…but I hear he won’t have it tonight…”
“It said ‘unhooked’ on all the flyers so yeah, no cube—”
“—who cares? We saw him in London about a month ago without it and he was still incredible!”
“He’s a god!”
“…the absolute best…”
… Joel Zimmerman! DEADMAU5!
(Photo: Jeff Moorley / 2010)
I make my way around the room, Sarah in tow, introducing her to Nick—a tall, spindly kid with mousey features and facial hair that grows in patches. “We call him Santa,” I tell her, “he always comes bearing gifts. If they’re not edible you can guarantee they’re smokeable”—and then Dylan, a loveable stoner who’s rolling joints in the kitchen. He pauses to give us high-fives. “I don’t think he’s stopped smiling since we got here,” Sarah whispers. “He always is,” I say, “it’s contagious.” She meets Devon and Corey and Matt who are sitting around a hookah, blowing more smoke into the already hazy apartment; and then Jeff—a scruffy, plaid-clad player who hits on her immediately… there’s flattery, a proposition… Next up is Ryan, who’s as burly as he is brusque: “You’ll wanna stay away from that guy,” he says with a grin and a nod at the former. “The only thing looser than his tongue are the girls he takes home” … comradely laughter ensues…
I introduce Sarah to Kayla and Kristin and Alana, the trio of raven-haired beauties twirling around the living room; and then to Shannon, who’s by far the most eccentric of the girls. She’s a blue-eyed, flaxen-haired girl-next-door turned raver queen, dressed like an aerobics instructor from the eighties—long honeydew legs in neon-green knee-highs and booty shorts and sneakers; with a sports bra and sweatband to match—and probably for good reason. “I buck the hardest of us all,” she says proudly, every perfectly straight, perfectly white tooth in her mouth on display…
[ buhk-ing], verb, -ed
–verb (used with or without object)
1. Slang. To dance energetically, especially to electronic dance music.
2. To move, free of inhibition: To go buck.
And then there’s Colin Jenkins, who’s wearing glow-in-the-dark contact lenses that he’s just soooooooooo eager to show off. He runs back and forth between his post and the light switch, flicking it on and off, on and off… and every time the lights go out everyone knows it’s ‘cause he’s flaunting those lenses!
He’s pale as a ghost, with beady little eyes and a nose that’s pierced and pointed. His face is shiny, riddled with acne and his long brown hair is corn-rowed. He wears a long black trenchcoat and is an obvious standout. No one really makes an effort to talk to him—he’s been invited here for one reason and one reason only: he’s got our MDMA. Ahhhhhhhh! But of course! Colin Jenkins is here to sell drugs to the beautiful boys and girls… without him, their night won’t be nearly as magical as it could be!
(Photo: Dylan Jones / 2010)
I guide Sarah towards Martin who’s hunched over a MacBook Pro queuing up songs on his Traktor—a program used for deejaying. They get to talking about tonight’s show.
Sarah tells him: “This is a first for me! I’ve never done the whole rave thing before…”
“Waaaaaaaait, you’ve never rolled?”
“Yeah, rolled… dropped… taken MDMA…”
“You mean ecstasy?”
“No, not really. E is cut with sketchy fillers like meth and coke and other garbage. You never really know what you’re getting. But M is pure. Just one substance. The one that gives you that euphoric feeling…”
Euphoria. Sarah’s eyes widen with curiosity.
“So what will it—”
“HEY!” interrupts a blonde, weaselly fellow in a black t-shirt that reads ‘Wasted 416 Youth.’ “You’re Jess’ friend aren’t you? Sorry I haven’t introduced myself until now. I’m Christian…”
“Sarah. You live here, right?”
“Yeah, with Martin.”
“You guys have a nice place.”
“Thanks!” he says with an awkward nod, “I like it. So, are you excited for tonight?”
“Definitely! This’ll be my first rave…”
“Wild! Are you dropping?”
“We were just discussing that actually, right before you cut in,” says Martin. “She’s never—”
“—OH MY GOD!” Christian interrupts again, “DO IT! It’ll be the best night of your life!” He throws his arms up excitedly… comradely laughter ensues…
“I might actually. What’s it like?”
“Well… it takes a half-hour or so to kick in but eventually you’ll notice that everything gets brighter, more beautiful. You start to feel the music rather than just hear it… you get progressively happier and realize how much you love everyone around you, even strangers. It’ll hit you in waves, for the most part, but there’s a peak and that’s when shit gets reaaalllly crazy. You won’t be able to stop moving… the energy is contagious and everything just feels so fucking perfect!”
“Sometimes there’s a small bout of anxiety,” says Christian. “Martin and I get it every time but it’s only temporary…10 minutes tops…”
“—Yeah. At first it can be a bit overwhelming. You have to remember not to panic… don’t fight the rise, just embrace it…”
“And keep in mind that most of us are doing it tonight, too, so we’ll all be in the same boat,” Christian adds.
“How long does it last?” she asks.
Martin answers: “It really depends on the person. You’ll peak for like an hour, maybe two, but the overall high can be anywhere from 3 to 7. You need to drink a lot of water too ‘cause you’ll be dancing and sweating like crazy… don’t wanna overheat…”
“…or you could pass out from dehydration…”
“…not to scare you or anything.”
“—And chew gum because M makes you clench and grind your teeth,” Christian adds.
Sarah’s expression betrays her consternation.
“—You’ll be fine,” Martin assures her, “like he said, most of us have done it before and are doing it again tonight, not to pressure you or anything. Do it only if you want to but know that, whatever you decide, we’ve got your back.”
Christian nods and looks down at his watch—a Movado… so sleek, so shiny, stainless steel… “It’s almost 10:30. We should leave soon before the line at Guv gets huge.”
He starts to round people up.
“Oh, and Sarah,” he adds. “That guy in the corner over there has a bunch of extras on him if you’re looking to buy.”
But OF COURSE! Colin Jenkins…“that guy in the corner”… with the glow-in-the-dark contacts and cornrows and the acne, is here to sell drugs to the beautiful boys and girls. Without him, their night won’t be nearly as magical as it could be. He’s got two pockets full of pills at $10 a pop and Sarah’s got a twenty to spare.