Fuck Ravers Lets Dance!

Dazzling and dancing across my subconscious, notes link and interweave in a cacophony of bliss. Melodies harmonize with rhythms, folding into one another; back and forth, back and forth… As the crescendo comes to a culmination, my fingers wrap the steering wheel tighter and tighter in an amalgamation of the metaphysical; my right foot growing heavier as it presses through into the canal of Hades. With each blasting riff I cry for more, more, more! Not all too soon, the frenzy subsides and I am brought back down, a setting sun, from my pious voyage of mind and body, only to be reunited as the next song clicks through.

That is with my music.

Whenever I drive with friends and they take the helm as DJ, the whole experience cannot be described so eloquently. It is more like one of Dr Mengele’s sick experiments, testing just how far the human body can go, my ears straining for solitude from the relentless bass and gratuitous eighties movie one liners. “Let me out,” I scream, “I can’t take any more!” However, my friends remain stead fast with their torture, only escalating my frustrations by singing along with the “lyrics”. Turning the bass up, I begin to feel sick. I pray for forgiveness from all the deities I had blasphemed, or at least that they crash this car and kill me before I suffer any more. Oh shit; it’s an essential mix. Well Bloody Beetroots, if I go down, at least you’re coming with me.

How is trance music so popular? In the mid nineties, trance fans were much easier to spot. I liked it that way, anyone over twenty sucking on a pacifier with a glow stick in hand would make for an easy target down the barrel. Today, trance fans blend in with normal society, dressing like you or I in an effort to spread the Pro Tools plague. Unfortunately, it seems to be working. It’s like agent Smith in the Matrix, reproducing trance fans perpetuating the lifespan of this disgusting trend. Luckily for us, Neo had a chain gun.

Now, in no sense am I condoning the massacre of these sort of p….. Hang on….. Yes I am! I think I may need to give Keanau a call and see what sort of artillery he has lying about the prop room. I’m not too sure how down for the cause he would be though, his trench coat sunglass ensemble screams “Pro Tools Junkie” to me. I’ll give Samuel L a call, he’ll help me out. Regardless, when I am accepting my Nobel Peace Prize for the hailed Stereo Sonic Massacre, I will let the people know, “Don’t turn to me, turn to the Matrix.”