Boys Noize and More

Seeing Boys Noize/Kid Alex

-or-

Two nights, two bottles of champagne, four beautiful ladies, not a single kiss.

A sweet duo came to visit me from the dreaded southern urbanity of T. on what would turn shockingly out to be a weekend of general decadence, in the likes of which Your Humble Narrator is bashfully not loath to indulge. Ho hum. As it were, I was so preoccupied giving said sharp beauties new haircuts that we neglected to buy the booze on time. At midnight, with no rum and little drugs, we lumbered grumblingly off to a horrible armpit known as Mile End Bar. If you’ve had the dentistry-like experience of being there, you’re probably already reaching for the little x up in the corner of the browser, but fear not, for this is a happy story. Unfortunately, it’s going to get worse before it gets better, thanks to the host DJ, who shall heretofore be referred to as DJ Asswheel. It’s amazing how fast you can swill an eight dollar tumbler of gin and charge squealing out of a bar when necessary. As gutted as we were to have been forced to miss Boys Noize, the good people at Epsilonlab had a suitable backup party organized for just such a doldrum, conundrum, or unforeseen awfulness. On the way away from Mile End Hole we saw a few of The Usual Suspects with similarly misplaced hopes for the Boys Noize gig. We duly commiserated later that night at the SAT.

Now, as we all know, there are some doers and shakers around town who wouldn’t see such a burgeoning talent’s laudable boogying services go lost on a crowd of 32-year-old fatsos. As such, on Sunday night, just as I was about to head off to meet some stunning associates of mine for some hornswoggled drinking, The Good Thomas Von Party sent me a telegraph proclaiming that I would have yet another chance to see the Kid Alex at yet another shitbox, shmancy bar: Wunderbar. For the record, the W is actually cool from time to time, regardless of the fact that nor you, nor I, nor any self-respecting beatnik can afford to get drunk there. At least they never charge cover. It took some convincing, but the artist girls agreed to attend, so we were off after a brief swilling of free booze at Coco Bongo (long story…). Now to cut to the chase:

It didn’t take us too long to snag us some unwitting millionaires to bottle-service us vodka and champagne, so the drink was covered. Luckily, there was also enough low-grade narcotic floating around the joint to keep us satisfied. Purrrrrfect. When Boys Noize hit the scene, it all made sense. It was one of those moments when you’re like, ‘what the crap am I doing?’, only to be slapped in the jaw with an ‘ohhhh, yeah, that’s the reason I go to the bar so often!’ I recall a moment when Wildman LPR called the set ‘okay, except he keeps playing all these big club hits,’ only to be informed that the Kid actually produced all of said bangers. His scenester-approved tracks were all the more enjoyable when in the precise hands of their creator. My head exploded when I heard his wicked reprise of my favorite Bloc Party track, and the in-betweens were comprised of that wonderful flaky Euro-Dance-Minimal that hovers somewhere around M. Oizo, Jackson AHCB and New Order. Other scene fanatics in attendance had similarly enthusiastic responses, including the words ‘Electro God’ from respected local partyhound, G.

A wonderful show all around, even if I still hate that Kaiser Chiefs Boys Noize remix that Tiga and everyone else keep playing. The original track is so much cooler. My first words to the kid when I met him later were, ‘Whoa, dude, we need to get you a warehouse full of 500 clubbers.’ Happily, that’s exactly what Neon has planned for Friday, September 1^st, so get your tix, droogies!

Jack Oatmon:
Music. Disco Volante
Politics. Mercurius Dystopia