SUPER EGO All of a lately, my inbox has been flooded with so many bangin' all-night underground party invites — real underground, not just some dude from Ibiza who doesn't play Afromaus or whatever — that I've had to hike my virtual pants up to my gloriously toned calves. I look like a Williamsburg 2k7 thrift store hipster, minus the neon shutter shades. (Well, at least we're not in clamdigger territory ... yet.)Read more »
Guy Gerber is blowing his nose. A lot. He's also trying to talk to me, through a massive hangover, over the phone from NYC. His chopped-up vocal snippets, mashed into long expulsions of compressed air, spiked with a woman's giggle, rustling sheets, and clanking bottles somewhere in the background of his room, could almost be one of his driving, hypnotic, yet always surprisingly human, techno tracks. Good lord, even this protean dance music creator's phlegmatic exudations are musical.Read more »
SUPER EGO A dream, a mirage, a miracle, or what? Am I not down off that pill? Deep in the Tenderloin, right where White Walls Gallery used to be... suddenly, there's a full-on dance music record store, brimming with hundreds of vinyl gems. Pristine classics from Westbam, Frankie Bones, Masters at Work, and Jeff Mills up through smoking-off-the-press releases from L.I.E.S, Laether Strip, Delroy Edwards, even black metal act Raspberry Bulbs, because why the hell not — nothing's real, right?Read more »
Meanwhile, there are more and even more parties, Halloween or no. Your soundtrack is this four hour-recording from the final Honey Soundsystem weekly party last Sunday, which starts with a deep tribal-disco vocal performance by the legendary Jorge Socarras, the musical partner of deceased gay electronic music wizard Patrick Cowley, and continues through many amazing stages of musical pre-grief. Including! A wedding proposal! So wonderful and weird, we'll miss you Honey:
According to recent findings, it would take 4.85×10(15) years to teleport a complete human at 30GHz. That's 350,000 times longer than the universe has existed. And almost as long as the clothes check line at the Powerhouse.
How will I ever get to all these parties???
Darn you, science. I'm guessing I'll still at least have one or two out of body experiences at the following, howevs.
"Underground" doesn't just mean night, doesn't just mean music, doesn't just mean hip/trendy byword. If you want a jolt of that old-fashioned DIY charge that parties used have in San Francisco, I highly recommend a stop by Zinefest this weekend in the County Fair building in Golden Gate Park. You'll feel punky, nerdy, hip, creative, and cute all at once. The only thing missing is "loud" -- but you'll be shouting in your head how neat everything is.
Oh, and if the Twirl and Dip ice cream truck is nearby, you can dance for joy with a giant sprinkle-topped sundae. Who needs clubs at all? Well anyway, here's some parties.
As always, the party cup overfloweth in SF as burners make their annual migration into the sea of funfur and sparklepants. Besides the great shindigs listed in the paper in this week's Super Ego nightlife column, here are a few more stones to throw at your Exodus hangover ...