Tonight I’ve danced to some old Garbage (#1 Crush, Milk), some Portishead (Wandering Star, Glory Box), Crystal MethOD (Trip Like I Do), Dirty Vegas (Days Go By), managed to get a little ego on strobes enjoying the disconnect, counted a whopping seven more dollars in this dead club. Onward to go see what’s next.
When I’m bored, I request “the peaches song” (Presidents of the US) and “the million dollars song” (Barenaked Ladies). Once in awhile, I laugh like hell dancing to Get Big (Dorrough) or some Steel Panther (Stripper Girl, Community Property) if I’m just in a fuckitall mood.
Mostly, I dance to the slow, sexy shit at the beginning, some old stuff (Beatles, Rolling Stones, The Doors, and so on—classic pop, classic rock, classic wtfever), techno after that ‘cause it’s not allowed after midnight, and top 40 whatever’s-currently-overplayed after that. Unless, you know, I get a sense of humor.
My music folder is filled to the brim with, “did this chick get loaded and pick music at random or WHAT?”
I call it versatility.