Burnin' Chancla 005 dance floor recap
The phrase I use most often for how I feel after going out dancing is that "my brain has gone through the washing machine." James Murphy really did have it right when he talked about dancing yrself clean—the combination of darkness/stimulating lights, unpredictable music, and maybe some intoxicating beverages will always hit my personal reset button.
My freshman year of college, I took Intro To Neuroscience to fulfill my school's general science requirement. (I'm not really a science girl, but I wanted something that would spark my interest a bit more than the apparently breezy Intro to Geology, aka "Rocks For Jocks.") A concept I remember from that time is neuroplasticity, the brain's ability to rewire and re-arrange itself in order to adapt and change to new environments and unfamiliar situations. It stuck with me; I like to imagine that giving the gray meat in my skull a poke or two will help me continue to be a growing, changing, evolving kind of person. Not in an Andrew Huberman neurohacking humanmaxxing way. Just, like, a not-getting-stuck-in-my-ways...way.
And going out dancing really...squeegees...the old mind palace. Last weekend Chris and I went to the latest edition of Burnin' Chancla, a hi-fi vinyl-only party thrown by people who have a strong sense of what makes a good dance floor. We went to one a while back and it was a beautiful night, and since then they've built out an even more sophisticated setup that we were happy to partake in. It was in a DTLA warehouse, and from the moment we showed up, I knew it was going to be a special time.
I have been to some warehouse raves in L.A. that feel like they are VERY MUCH flying by the seat of their pants. Security an afterthought, no places to chat, volume cranked to uncomfortable degrees. All of this poor infrastructure causes a cascading wave of lame behavior: people yapping, people on their phones, people doing anything other than enjoying the music. And Burnin' Chancla seems to know that beautiful dance floor times start from the top down.
I could see clear inspirations from the James Murphy/2manydjs sound system Despacio (dramatic lighting of big disco ball; really nicely calibrated speakers; a de-emphasis of the DJ as The Star Toward Whom Everyone Must Face and Genuflect) and from New York City's finest club, Nowadays (a speech at entry delineating the dancers' code of conduct; dance floor monitors you can flag if you need; a no phones on the dance floor policy!). The inspirations gelled into a wonderful night.
Shit was pretty Balearic* in there. Awash in the 100ish bpm disco / funk / soul music, something happened to me where I started dancing like John Travolta without the baggage (or maybe the silhouettes in the Superbad title sequence). I was trying moves I hadn't tried in my entire life thus far. There was a lot of toe-tapping, a lot of shimmying. The ample room on the dance floor made it possible to get a little experimental. Also I don't know if it was the original version or a slightly adjusted remix but they played "What's Going On" by Marvin Gaye and I felt like I 'got' it for the first time.
Embedded a couple of the songs that Chris's auto-Shazam picked up in this post. Our Uber driver who ferried us home told us about a business he was starting that used AI to help you make data-driven decisions to help your life, or something. I don't know about the AI data stuff but I have a soft spot for people starting new businesses. (I'm down with LLC, yeah you know me.) Woke up with one of the HOT stickers they were giving out at the door—side note, I feel like I Enjoy Music stickers would crush at such a party—on my inner arm, my sole photographic evidence of the night. The thing about a phone-deemphasized party is you gotta take my word for it that it was fun.
*I like the definition of Balearic quoted from the book Last Night a DJ Saved My Life in this Magical Dancefloors post: "The Balearic spirit is a willingness to try anything in the service of your dancefloor."
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