Spring sort of didn’t happen, we all know this. It was more or less post winter, what with the ark worthy rain we have had this year. Sadly, I did nothing to harvest and purify said rain water in preparation for the heat apocalypse to come. No, despite warnings that it would be ninety degrees on this fine Memorial Day. Now, summer is here, there is no question, and surely this one will be treacherous with it’s heat/tornado combo. The world is a volatile place and getting more and more volatile daily so instead, we dance? I have to admit, I enjoyed the electronic music back in the day, without dating myself, there was a glorious time of youth where acid house was king. We would gather to dance weekly, sometimes more, and work out any issues on the dance floor. Long before there were dance offs, there was simply the euphoric joy of going dancing. As with any youngster I suppose, dancing was fun, unselfconsciously so. I have lamented the loss of the dance on this page before so I shan’t travel down that path. Instead, I present you with the First Days of Summer – Exhibit A.
It was decided my friend and I would go out foraging for food today, and that we would go on our bikes. I don’t think I rode my bike last summer, as the joy of bike riding has been replaced by the fear of a closed head injury. I lived in a time of no helmets, and while it is I suppose a foolish way to go, I am an animal, it is all I know. I wasn’t wearing a helmet when I came careening off the pedestrian bridge on my bike and smashed into another small town rider heading up to the bridge. Instead I took a gravel slide, full of cuts and scrapes, whined a little about it, and got back on and headed home. In Detroit however, you just don’t know what the drivers are going to do. For the most part they seem aware, but it’s the 2% that just don’t give a fuck that worry me. I dig the new bike culture and often give a hearty Huzzah! to bikers I see pedaling their way around town, year round. I do this from the comfort of my car, where it is fully in my power to destroy them. So today, I took a leap of faith, it was time to get back on the bike.
Naturally, the flag had to go up prior to leaving, despite it not yet being noon and me not having a flag pole that would enable the obligatory half mast stars and stripes until noon, when it is raised to the top. I feel however, that a flag on Memorial Day is better than no flag at all, so allowed this one discrepancy to slide. Then I headed off on the somewhat deserted streets to meet my friend and forage for food. Thankfully Honest John’s was open for business, and egg whites were gloriously obtained. After we opted for a bikeabout and cruised past the normally mellow Old Miami. It was shocking to see a ridiculously long line outside the Miami and hear the thumping dance music emanate from the back yard. There were all kinds of crusties in line, and it got me thinking about what drives one to attend an electronic music festival? I mean, as I mentioned before I do love to dance, though I seldom do it any longer feeling a fraud. And yes, my love of electronic music has set me apart from my Detroit Garage crew. But putting the two together into a social event with a thousand of your friends seems altogether terrifying. I guess I did not get the Ibiza gene. It was tragically left out of my DNA, and replaced with the insidious Bergen (I suppose it could be construed as either Norway, or Ingmar, and both a relatively similar) gene. Rave culture perplexes me. I get the the idea of the music affecting one, and even could go as far to say that I believe trance music could be used for mind control, but I don’t get the wanting to be around a lot of sweaty groping people, gurning, tripping and generally smelling bad. It’s about as appealing as an invitation to be detained at Guantanamo. For the rest of my holiday, I muddled around in my head what possesses people to go to electronic music festivals? Having been to thousands of rock shows in my lifetime, and a fair share of them in the electronic vein, it isn’t as if I have no understanding of this subculture. Is it solely for the Pagan ritual of the dance? Is it for the sex? Is it actually fun? I don’t have the answer here, merely the questions. Likewise, what is appealing about the Downtown Hoedown?
Perhaps this summer I will take to exploring these things and reintroducing myself to the large crowd. It is highly unlikely as it is yet another gloriously sunny day and I sit inside at my keyboard, not unlike a German Electronic music artist. Slowly composing my words of wonder as to what makes all these folks tick. Perhaps it is I who is the oddity, the non joiner, the misanthrope.
