No statement can better account for the events of November 14th than the following—I fell asleep still wearing my bandana because the sweat I had excreted from the night of dancing made it impossible to untie. The next morning, I showered wearing it.
It was an evening that was buzzing with constant motion. I had only just sauntered in the front door when I realized that this was one of the best atmospheres of any show this year. Every person in the room knew each other within just a few degrees of separation. These conditions can often lead to some pretty incestuous scenes around Vancouver, but Richard’s on Richards was the exception that night. It was a diverse cross-section of characters and groups that had all come to hang up their egos, throw caution to the wind, and just dance.
The Presets opened the night as an electro-clash dance duo. Slowly throughout their set, I felt as though the blood in my veins was being transfused by whatever the opposite of formaldehyde is (perhaps the serum used by Dr. Hill in Re-Animator). My body had phased from stiff and ridged to fluidic and animated. With each passing song the audience graduated from toe-tapping to head-bobbing and then, finally, to the classic Vanhipster knee-jolt of approval. The set had ended on an intensely high note as many of the club’s patrons dashed outside for a quick fresh air cool-down and a couple drags of nicotine.
If Presets was a blood transfusion, The Rapture was an all-out lobotomy. I was dancing in the first 3 rows of the crowd the entire night, yet I can’t recall a single time where I glanced on stage. There was just too much going on down on the floor. With each passing song, the audience moved more and more as one. By mid-set, the band performed their re-cut version of “Get Myself Into It (Wanna Help Me Do It?)”, the lyrics of which became the anthem of the night, and the entire room of music goers began dancing and moving together almost as one living organism. At one point, late in The Rapture’s set, frontman Luke Jenner (probably taking a cue from the indie kid makeout party going on in the front row) felt the love in the room and instructed everyone in the audience to turn to their neighbor and give them a peck on the cheek. The audience complied as the band kicked into 2003’s “best song ever”, “House of Jealous Lovers”. It’s what good shows in Vancouver are made of.