What: EMI Presents Alison Wonderland and Friends
Where: The Standard
The Exosolution Surface. How The Early Stages of the Party Emulated the Initial Stages of a Plinian Volcanic Eruption:
- Unlike the majority of the ARIA Week’s parties, the crowd started hot. The EMI party began without the usual clumps of 100% cotton and squared toed leather (and general lurkers like yours truly) sweating apologetically against the bar for the first few hours. It was palpably, instantaneously (and somewhat inexplicably) better looking. More denim and elevated footwear; the sort of attire that functions as jewellery rather than a shield against any kind of weather event.
- Small bubbles of industry and friendship emerge, splashing sporadically between the upstairs bandroom and the mid-level balcony
- This end of the party exhibits the general noise and confusion of a high-pressure environment, but with too much unfocused movement to result in true eruption.
Some Examples of How the Two Simultaneous Projection Screens Acted as a Visual Translator For Someone On Heavy Psychedelics:
The Reality of the Two Simultaneous Projection Screens:
- Zero interaction between the two operators, despite being less than a metre away from each other.
- Both use the same program, ‘Modul8’, a VJ program where “the only really important thing is this [points], the live time wheel”
Altar Number One at Which I devotedly Worshipped:
- Spicy Sailor Jerry (A house made—or at least house-assisted—chilli infused concoction).
Alter Number Two At Which I Devotedly Worshipped:
- The DJ desk (a SOSUEME DJs and Alison Wonderland concoction).
Snippet of Paraphrased Conversation With a Total Stranger At Least 15 Years Older and Technologically Wiser Than Me:
HER: I’m here because I re-tweeted something and won a ticket. Why are you here?
ME: I’m a writer [I brandish my anachronistic pad and pen]
HER: So I checked out Alison Wonderland before I came…she categorises her music as ‘party’. Is that an actual genre?
ME: I don’t think so… it’s more…
HER: And why isn’t anybody dancing??
ME: Uh,I think people are too dispersed…There needs to be more people milling with more intent…some sort of critical mass. Modern dancefloors are kind of seismic in nature… [It’s so loud that I’m forced to yell this pretentious bile at her with maximal force. It goes poorly.]
HER: Do DJs still get requests? When I used to go to clubs we’d ask the DJ to play a song we liked, then we’d dance to it…
ME: Yeah that still happens in a lot of clubs, but with DJ’s who have a ‘name’ or are known for a ‘sound’, they’re more monuments of taste, style…
HER: More like musicians?
ME: Sort of…
How Alison Wonderland Illustrated the Nature of The “Sort Of”:
- By playing five original tracks and segueing seamlessly into a DJ set
- By matching raw vocals with shiny electronics backing instruments, creating not only a disparate sonic palette but also a mutant blend of very human nerves in her singers and the wild extremes of confidence inherent in dance music production.
- In the way human vocal guests were wheeled out programmatically song for song, and Alison’s most animated moments were had behind a DJ consol, aglow with buttons and knobs. A pretty interesting paradox to witness in the flesh, but certainly not unfun.
The Fragmentation Surface. How The Median Stages of the Party Emulated the Median Stages of a Plinian Volcanic Eruption:
- The small bubbles of friendship and business have begun to percolate through the venue, starting to move more purposefully towards the top band room
- The fragmented crowd pours into the top band room, creating an immediate response from the hired security (called ‘HALO’), compounding the pressure environment of the venue. Especially given the vaguely paramilitary swagger of the HALO security team
Ballistic Trajectory. The Point at Which the Party Erupted:
- When Alison Wonderland moves from Danny Brown’s ‘Dip’ into Ginuwine’s ‘Pony’
BEST QUOTE OF THE EVENING:
- From the older stranger, when a dance remix of ‘Heart of Glass’ comes on.
WORST QUOTE OF THE EVENING:
- From a much younger stranger, who, when seeing my ‘My Disco’ T-Shirt didn’t say “Hey, I love that band” but instead starting emphatically repeating “It’s not your disco mate, it’s my fucking disco” and tried to win back my friendship by talking about Alison Wonderland.
For Cool Accidents