The Evolution of Nightlife

Unwavering fans of my previous column have been coming up to me to whine nostalgically, “Where is your column ‘After Hours’?!? We want to read about Nightlife~~~!!!!” Poor bruised souls, feeling that I have forsaken them and their lifestyle. Do you honestly need to read about the Gucci afterparty gossip year after year? (Um… that doesn’t mean I don’t want you, dear Gucci people, to not invite me next year!!) Frankly, I’m feeling quite been there, done that. I simply can’t be bothered to go out and party it up EVERY damn weekend. Sometimes I’d rather stay at home and watch Kamisama Dolls on Animecrazy.net; or curl up in bed and read a scintillating tome on sociolinguistics.

As I’ve said two weeks ago in the first “8 Down,” I’ve dedicated myself to Nightlife for over a decade. Correction: I have devoted myself to club culture for over a decade. And Hong Kong is still, alas, just a party town with not much focus on clubbing culture.

Yes, bitches—partying and clubbing are totally different things. London, NYC and Tokyo clubs pay great attention to the music. Both DJs and clientele in those cities have an intensely in-depth knowledge of the global electronic music scene. In Hong Kong, though, music to most comes second to getting shit-faced and getting laid.

In the age of iTunes, why do idiots insist on going out to listen to the shit that you listen to on your iPhone 24/7? Where is everyone’s curiosity or respect for the DJ? It’s as if you ONLY eat bangers and mash at home, and then you go out and eat bangers and mash, and then you complain when the establishment offers you foie gras on the house.

Props to the courageous DJ collectives in Hong Kong who stick to their genre of choice, whether it’s soul funk or nu-jazz, underground electro or drum’n’bass. No-frills basement club XXX’s emergence in Sheung Wan is a much-needed antidote to the slick sickening of Hong Kong’s party scene. (Yes, clubs are bigger and brighter, but is expansion really the same as quality?) And I’m delighted to know that the last bastion of pagan power, Drum Jam, after seven years at the Fringe, has found a new Tuesday home at Club FLY (that psychedelic floor-to-ceiling LED wall’s pulsing light graphics go really well with the throbbing organic rhythm).

I worship and lick Gaga’s feet, but screw you little monsters who just want her, Rihanna and Top 40 bullshit all the time. I guess my pleas will literally fall on DEAF ears if you’re a partier with a predilection for the lowest of sensory titillation. You simply haven’t moved onto a higher plane to feel the vibration yet. Music is just background noise for your mating ritual. You come out to fulfill a baser need, not union with God.