I didn’t delude myself believing I’d find parking near Crobar. Though the weather was miserable, a cursory pass of 10th Avenue and 27th Street, showed the area was still hopping with activity.
Five long blocks away from Crobar, I parked on 23rd Street. Five blocks made longer with the rain. I had an umbrella which I was prepared to toss once I arrived. A momentary pang of guilt washed over me. I hated being wasteful. On cue, a gust of wind snapped the umbrella in half, in my hands.
Well, no guilt now.
I trodded up 10 Avenue, battling the rain and wind with only half of the umbrella to hold on to.
Turning on 28th Street, I walked past the seared meat street vendor to the end of the queue and took my place. A jovial crowd for people waiting in the rain. I shared my battered umbrella with a few guys, along side of me. A handsome quartet, cool but innocuous, we chatted briefly about the crowd, our mutual surprise at so many people being out. We took turns holding the umbrella. Once we got to the front, I ditched it on a pile of umbrellas. I wasn’t the only one with that idea. Poor umbrellas. I moved into the pat down area and picked up my ticket, moving quickly inside. I lost my line friends. No matter.
Moving directly to the main dancefloor, I passed the Bamboo Room. Some form of hip hop or Top 40 nonsense was being played. I didn’t register it long enough to commit it to memory. I’d mentally noted to avoid this room this evening.
The entry tunnel to the main floor was packed. I delved right in and cut my way through. The crowd was young, extremel young. They were dancing in the main thoroughfares. Not too bright or considerate. It had to be the young crowd. No sensible clubber wants to dance in the way of others.
Peering over the crowd’s heads, I could see that the DJ was not Danny Tenaglia. Young face, no signature DT ballcap. He was having a good time, but didn’t sound so good. I’d describe it as, trying to the fill the room with the sound of one hand clapping. What he was playing was monotonous and thin. He needed to do some more progamming, layering and less pumping of the fists in the air. Sure, people were enjoying it, but they didn’t have as discerning an ear as me.
The young, uninitiated club crowd was terrible. They were extremely rude and very, very pushy. I was ready to deck someone. They were putting a dampener on my experience.
Ultimately, I landed on the dance floor, right of the DJ booth in front. I’d found a large group of DTourism messageboard members, groupies, DT fans, DTourists, like me. It was nice to find them because as yet, I hadn’t found Frank if he was even here.
J, one DTourist I’d been friendly and corresponded with some time ago (strictly platonic as he’s straight, it think, more on that later) but we’d since lost touch, was there too. I was happy to see him, giving him a handshake and a hug.
He reciprocated tenatitively. Strange.
After we let go, holding me outstretched, he asked, “Do I know you bro?”
I was a little embarrassed. I told him my name. He screwed his eyes on me for a moment. The look of realization was classic. He screamed and grabbed me.
That made up for everything.
“Holy Shit! Look at you!?! What happened to you? When the f*ck did you grow these?” he said as he punched my chest. It was all very flattering (I think) and cute. Definitely a highlight of my night, to reconnect with someone.
Meanwhile, the rest of the DTourism crowd had a collective puss on their faces. They were impatiently waiting for Danny to take the stage but not expressing it strongly. The opening DJ was one of our own, a DTourist. Criticisms and displeasures were kept to a low roar. He wasn’t all bad. He had some moments where I’d thought he’d breakthrough. But he would squander it, meandering back to mediocrity. Crumbs.
So Finally, Danny arrives (rain/traffic). You can feel the crowd grow anxious as he’s hanging on the stage. He’s letting the opening DJ finish up. You can also hear the sound of the opening DJ change. He knows he can’t just throw a record on in front of Danny, so now he’s working it.
I’ve finally got something to move to.
When Danny takes the steel wheels, we’re chomping at the bit and he takes us right out. All of the evening’s bad things are completely shut out, forgotten. The newbie crowd has also thinned out, leaving the veterans to enjoy themselves.
It was a great set by Danny, minimal, techno and progressive. I danced alot but it wasn’t his best. He had some wildly fantastic moments, where I couldn’t stand it (that’s a good thing) and then he went totally minimal, losing me. As one of the DTourists put it, “He was in a strange mood.” Being an old Vinyl/Arc head, it was fine. We were spoiled hearing him week after week and we could read his moods each time. He was always different, always reinventing himself. I miss that.
Except for “Welcome to the Tunnel” intro into Elements, I can’t name a one tune. Everyone went crazy for this classic. Ho-Hum… I was enjoying not knowing a thing.
Oh, Frank. Never did find him. I’d concluded he wasn’t there. I saw some of his friends slinking around. Figured he would’ve been in tow. Shrug. Oh well.
Fortunately, I’d found the DTourists and they kept me company. J, while he says he isn’t gay and I believe him (sort of) was giving me a weird vibe all night, as was his friend. I need my gaydar recalibrated.
I left around 8:45AM. Tired, exhausted. The rain had stopped so it was a pleasant walk to the car. I arrived at home, neatly at 9:15AM.
Epilogue:
10:45AM…
Hey baby, it's Frank, I'm sorry I overslept. Hope you had a good time. Call me later. 
