GOO-etta
Once upon a time in a magical land called Pacha…
Enter the real world of zombies. Such universes, urban foxholes, where investment bankers, doctors, writers, critics, cooks, you name it, dive in head first donning chewable glow sticks, blue wigs, light-up sunglasses, and wife beaters to dumb out to deep bass pumping and the occasional foghorn. Everyone is attractive and everyone is aggressive. Cambodia-style trampling is not out of the question.
This is the world of David Guetta and in my opinion could be aptly, succinctly, described as psychedelic social catharsis and exponentially overrated. Do not interpret this review as negative, necessarily. It’s simply an observation. Apparently, going into Guetta expecting to hear anything remotely familiar is wildly optimistic and borderline naïveté. The number of recognizable songs “played” by Guetta could be counted on one hand. Once I accepted that my “American Top 40!” chant pleads were falling on deaf DJ ears, I resorted to my own vocal call outs and free-styling for entertainment. Luckily, fun was had due to the extravagance of the occasion; enthusiasm was palpable. Yet, I’m left wondering, David Guetta what exactly do you do? You do nothing. How do you get famous for standing behind two turn tables, fist pumping with both hands, and playing simple repetitive bass beats to a massive crowd of dry humping musical sheep?
PS- Pacha is more intense and thorough than going through customs. 5 floors, absolutely enormous, don’t expect to find anyone, and plan on losing at least one valuable item, maybe an electronic device. You may not even leave with both shoes on. (Yes. One member of the party did manage to leave missing a left shoe).
Portishead - Glorybox
Sarah always sends me good stuff... como esta
pretty cool. Thanks W
have Miles put you to sleep
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