My unfinished review of Sublime Rewind (24/03/2016) @ Home Nightclub

I started writing this silly review of Sublime Rewind the morning after arriving home. I was rather drunk when I started typing it, and eventually fell asleep with my laptop on my lap… Anyhow, here it is. Enjoy (what is there at least)

 

Right, so… where do we start?
Let’s start at the club. You arrive not long after doors open. Something is different. While you can’t quite put your finger on it, something is the same. You know this routine, you’ve been through it before, many times. The faces may be altered, the procedure has changed, but somehow it feels familiar.
Here they are, asking for identification. You provide your credentials, they scan and photograph your appearance. This may be new, but somehow it wasn’t unexpected. They read your ticket, while uncommon and not part of the weekly ritual, tonight is special, so you let it pass, think nothing of it and proceed.
The doors open, you enter. Everything comes rushing back. Suddenly you feel home. The sound, the vibe, the atmosphere. What do you think of this? Do you reflect on the past? The good times or the bad? The blurry times, or the moments of clarity?
Every
Single
Detail
The lighting, the vibration, that person next to you, their emotion, their look. The way they impact those nearby. What do you make of this?
You move slowly throughout the crowd, do you go front right? Why always front right? You pause for a moment to take it all in. You need to absorb your surroundings briefly before that feeling takes over.
There it is, the rhythm. That beat, the melody. You know this track, you’ve heard it before, many times. Likely in this same place, on the same night of the week, broadcast by the same artist. You have forgotten the track, your trainspotting ability is lacking, but it doesn’t matter. You know the breakdown, you know the lyrics, if there are any at all. It is implanted in your mind, no matter how altered it may be, your response is second nature. Slowly, you grasp your fingers. They form a tight fist, you squeeze them together, thrust them forward as you realise what is happening. Your first fist pump, there it is, out in the open for all to see All to appreciate and all to follow. Your arm moves back and forth, others follow, or are you following them? Who will know, who really cares?
Now comes the interesting part, your lower body begins to move. First you move slowly up and down, as time goes on your knees bend. Your feet stay planted but not for long, what happens next is anyone’s best guess. One foot forward, one back. As it all comes rushing back, something overcomes you. You lose control. The music takes over. The DJ is in charge now, your body is ready, and there is no stopping them. With each and every track they slowly unwind the many years that have passed. Suddenly one becomes self-aware. What is this place, who are those faces?
The once pasty white companions have filled out. Their skin is slightly toned, indicating exposure to the elements. Their body, once fragile, resembles that of sound structure. The non-stop party girl you remember dancing with has adopted what one may call “birthing hips”. They have grown up, matured, but have they moved on?

You don’t know these faces. Either you never remember, or they are new to the scene. They must be new, you recall a time in the past, dancing alongside your comrades. A time in which there is no possible scenario they existed. Who are these people? Do they say “sorry” whilst weaving throughout the crowd, NO!
What has become of this place? Have we lost all hope of salvaging that moment, however small it may have been?
No, you tell yourself. You smile, and move on. Analysing every last detail. The dickheads you remember, have they changed? One out of two perhaps. They have lost weight?, possibly. Or perhaps they now apologise whilst negotiating a crowded venue. You smile politely, with any luck they smile back.

At this point you recall a time in your past. A time where all faces were familiar, but no names were necessary. You told your life story, every little detail. Explored personal issues, divulged private information to complete strangers. You weren’t looking to reinforce your reasoning, you simply spoke and they listened without question.
Conversations were had, laughs, times of complete bliss. Who were these people? How did the fit into society? Did you really need to know? Could they be trusted?
No, you tell yourself. They were there for the same reason, the reason you hoped all were there. To hear that track, see that artist, watch that production or simply take everything in. They embraced those moments, just like you. Your minds went blank, you did not think, you simply listened. Eyes closed, your concentration was solely on the sound and what it meant to you.
Now, slightly aged, they were here again. Ready to be there with you. To enjoy the moments, pat you on the back, offer you water, get the thumbs up, or a simple OK. The rest is history. The specific details of which are irrelevant. You don’t remember the month, let alone the year, but at some point they took the initiative to ask. Ultimately that is all you required. To know someone was there should shit hit the fan.

Your mind flows back to the party, the local resident is playing an all time classic. 70% of the audience responds, thrusting their arms, legs, heads or entire bodies in a specific direction. Another 25% looked confused. Amateurs you tell yourself, but is this what you have become? Another 5% would probably struggle to know their left from right, you monitor them closely, ready to spring into action should the situation turn south.
The mood is changing, and so is the temperature. Making your way to the bar, you repeatedly say “sorry” as you come into contract with fellow punters. Nine times out of ten they acknowledge your apology for disturbing their evening and respond with a simple “all good”, “You’re right” or “no problem”. Little can be said about these individuals, and that is a good thing.

Arrival at your temporary destination, you scan the bar for familiar faces. How many are there? Three? Two? Perhaps even one?
One is all that is needed, they don’t remember you but you remember them. You remember them pouring you a drink, trying to make sense of your gibberish at 5AM that one time. You swear you said “lemonade” but you ended up with cola, and JD on the rocks. What were your actions? You scan your brain for information but little comes up. All you recall was that smile, and that is all you require.
Highway robbery they call it. Maximum two drinks at a time, plastic cup (primarily filled with ice), trace amounts of alcohol may be found. This is what we call the nanny state. Gone are the days of random walks around Cockle Bay at 4AM on a warm summers morning, they want us in bed by now, but we will not go gentle into that good night.
To us it is religion, to them it is a sin. We want to sit by the harbour, feet ever so slightly immersed in the cool water. It may not be pure, in fact it is far from pure. Do the veins in our feet, the tips of our toes care for such a thing? In a scenario such as this would could possibly tell.
The night is at its peak, the special guest arrives with an aura that dwarfs all who dare approach. How will they open? Will it be perfect, or will a single element fail to align.