Light a candle. Draw the required sigils. Now, raise your arms above your head and slowly, gently, exhale your soul. You won’t need it here. This is Audioccult, and it’s time to get low. Illustration: SHALTMIRA
“God damn the sun,” shrieks Gira into my ears, but he never had to suffer eternal Berlin winter. The heat and light bakes my soul scabby, and I cover my mouth to deflect a taco burp. Six brahs on the train are screaming, “DAFT PUNK,” in each other’s faces… what year is this? Guess what, it’s the year of Daft Punk and I’ve already booked a stay in the Rave Cave. Blinking shades and a ripped tee that says “TOUGH CUSTOMER” on the front and the back is a receipt for a motorcycle (allegory for hating authority). 28 pounds of outdoor lighting strapped to my torso and I wish I was dead.
“This place is cra-I SAID THIS PLACE IS CRAZY,” is abruptly ejaculated into my face as I pass through the huge iron pillars. I don’t know the name of the shooter, so I give the twerp a look. His blinking sunglasses (2009 model, old starch bullshit) shifts into liquid metal form when mine flash the strobes and he backs off. 16 new texts arrive simultaneously as I hit the dance floor, the DJ looking blankly into the distance. His booth is flanked on either side by 60-foot crows shrieking like air horns, nearly drowning out the insistent loop of totally sweet Daft Punk classics. Haha, wow. Amazing. I remember this song. This one’s a classic. So cool. Listen to that guy play his synthesizer; good shit. Fire off a flurry of CAN U BLIEVE I GET PAID 2 WRITE THIS to 16 whoevers, toss that glasstic bullshit to the sky and disappear amongst the swaying, sweaty placeholders.
///#FLESHWORLD#/// booms the bass; which one is this? Oh yeah, that’s my fave DP track for sure. I better pump my fist extra hard in the air; that way people who are looking at me will see that I enjoy it. I better yell too; that way even if they aren’t looking at me they’ll hear and be pleased with my enthusiasm. Crank up the torso spotlight to maximum, this is can’t-miss dancing!!! The strobes are flashing, the crows are screaming. You think you’ve tasted Becks before? You haven’t tasted Becks like this. I wipe the blood from my ears and nod to the bedazzled, bedenimed sewer-woman next to me. This is it. This is the life. At last, I can dance.
Published April 18, 2013. Words by Daniel Jones.