Gizmodo mentioned the WSJ report that the Barclays Brooklyn Arena is getting a brown/green roof over it. This is kind of a stunning admission considering the idea was proposed & then tossed 6 years ago. Though, while the WSJ doesn’t believe it, I definitely agree with Gizmodo that the primary purpose for the roof has nothing to do with providing a High Line or a green space near Atlantic Avenue. Barclays is loud. As anyone who has moved through the neighborhood it’s in while a party happens can tell you, shit is not ok all the time. I’m all for bomping parties and making the experience as awesome as possible, but like, let’s be respectful. Especially with new developments in the neighborhood every day, it’s just going to get worse. Just imagine if Borgore or Skrillex sold out the stadium. It would vibrate the subway.
So, in a weird offbeat story, it seems someone got the herp from some Rihanna-branded lipstick. Rihanna’s gig at the Barclays Center on May 7th involved the concert’s “officially endorsed” MAC Cosmetics pop-up shop. Someone who was working the booth didn’t seem to remember that you have to apply fresh lipstick to each person’s mouth to prevent the entire population that patronized the store from essentially making out. They didn’t change out in between people and supposedly a 28 year old waitress woke up with a big-ass oral herpes sore on her lip 48hrs later.
While that’s going to be fucking hard as hell to prove, it’s tragically hilarious you can go to a concert, not hook up with anyone and still get oral herpes. The woman is suing for damages and the local news media have jumped on it. Some Saturday lulz for you.
So there I was, surrounded by 15,000 intoxicated people, all dressed in white, seven years late on the other side of the world. I’d missed my last chance to catch Sensation when I was backpacking through Europe in the summer of 2005. While my experience traveling through a dozen countries (including a particularly excellent weekend in Ibiza) was all that and a bag of chips, there was always that one missed party. That is, until this weekend.
The speakers & sound system did not disappoint. It was massive arena with stadium seating above the totally packed GA floor, filled with ravers, euros, hippies, brokers, club kids, junglists, chibi goths, bridge & tunnelers, guidos, creepers, jocks and thousands upon thousands of the same pair of white jeans & yoga pants. The chaos of large festivals like Ultra or Electric Zoo seemed utterly absent, as there was pretty much one choice of beer readily available (Bud Light Platinum), and there was one stage, so if you weren’t ok with at least one of those things, you probably shouldn’t have swung by.
Dennis Ferrer’s sound was starting to explore the speaker system and the people shuffled to a sexy, groovy, organic house sound. About thirty minutes into his set, an astonishingly funky remix of Come Together started tugging on the room. Each verse & word, drawn out along this infectious bassline with a remora of a staccato twang, drew more of the floor into unison, as people from across the world slowly recognized the Beatles lyrics, clicked into the beat, moving with it and the rest of the room.
Some people were impatient for some sort of break or drop, but five minutes after people found themselves dancing to the pre-drop tune, they seemed to forget that the music needed to go anywhere as long as it sounded this good while it was there. The set remained funky & groovy, without cheesy disco standards or any confused attempts at injecting R&B into moments that doesn’t need it. The former is annoying, while the latter just kind of quietly sad/creepy. While his set was neither of those things, I was getting a bit hungry, so I swallowed my fear and headed over to see what manner of sustenance I could find and whether I would need a co-signer to pay for it.