Breaking News — I’m Washed
A few weeks ago, I went to Houston with my best friends. During our five-day trip, we ate BBQ for breakfast, tried to avoid melting to death, and went to the clubs. Since the pandemic, I haven’t been wracking up hours in the club — and the last time I did, I caught COVID.
Unsurprisingly, I knew 50% of the songs played in the club, with the other half forcing me to question my relationship with current music. As I watched the overwhelmingly younger crowd passionately react to artists and songs I’ve never heard, I wondered if my time in the club was approaching its expiration date.
Most clubs we went to replaced dance floors with rows of private seating that made space tight. When I occasionally knew a song, I swayed side-to-side out of necessity as the few non-VIP areas restricted any other form of movement.
Over the years, I’ve taken to Caribbean music because of its unmatched ability to ignite energy and movement among people. In Houston, the clubs prioritized getting a private section and being stationary.
There is beauty in going out with the friends you’ve had and the ones you make along the way, even if for a moment. Music has the ability to make us feel seen and connected to people we will never know. My friend was overrun with joy at a day party as “Drift” by Teejay blasted through the speakers. The euphoric moment was only amplified by others dancing beside him to the popular dancehall hit.
Personally, it’s difficult to move in unison and establish brief bonds with strangers as the DJ mixes NBA Youngboy and Kodak Black. Maybe I’m at fault for not keeping up with the trends and expecting clubs to cater to my ear or definition of fun. As the gap between me and contemporary music grows, my days of finding enjoyment in the club become further numbered — if they haven’t already ended.
