All I wanted was a real filthy, freaky, nasty Brooklyn dance party.
I went looking for it on Dec. 17 at Brooklyn Bowl’s sold-out Neon Indian show, but I was sorely disappointed. Why? Because the local scene wasn’t local at all. I spent two hours chatting up people before the opening act, and practically everyone in the packed house had taken a train from the city.
Worse, someone must have slipped Haterade into their Brooklyn Lager.
“Williamsburg wouldn’t even have a venue if it weren’t for Manhattan,” one West Village girl sniffed as she fumbled with her mom’s credit card at the ticket window. I had asked her whether she was from Brooklyn, and she turned on me like an undercover narc at Burning Man.
“I don’t understand why Brooklyn people have to represent so hard anyway.”
Here’s why: Because all those head-bobbing, Facebook-updating Manhattan cretins spent most of the night with their fists in their pockets, even during a killer set from the opening act, Tigercity.
I couldn’t find any of my borough brethren. Did Williamsburgers waste their pocket change at Neon Indian’s last two shows in Manhattan — or is the band just not Brooklyn enough?
I’m guessing, the latter. After all, this band is having a horrible identity crisis right now. Its Myspace page lists its home as “Brookyln/Austin, Texas” (yes, they spelled it wrong), and the band told Pitchfork that it aspires to move to the borough, oh, sometime around February.
I’ll believe it when I see the outrageously overpriced lease.
And even if no one wanted to fork over hard-earned Brooklyn bucks to see some faux Texans, why didn’t anyone “represent” for Tigercity, the only truly local (and most dance-party qualified) band at the show? At least the up-and-comers got a few people wiggling, which is better than the headliners could say.
But I digress. When I go out, I want a dance party, and I know it can be done with a little Brooklyn-based love. And when the house is full with our crowd, all those West Village scenesters will be jealous that they forgot to remind mom to buy them tickets.
Until that day comes, I’m stuck in Brooklyn with the bridge-and-tunnel crowd.