When I was ages 18 through 21, my second home was The Nectarine Ballroom in Ann Arbor. I worked there for about a year, but mostly, I was wildly devoted to Industrial Nights on Monday.
Those people, that place… it was my life, and in some ways, I let it absolutely ruin my life and what it could have been. It was the Nec that moved me to decide to break up with Jon, the love of my life, a decision I would soon and eternally regret after that fateful, stupid night. I often uselessly wonder how my life would be different had I just … not done that one stupid, impulsive thing. Such ponderings are pointless, of course, and only lead to frustrations and sadness. The Nec was wonderful, and horrible, and all-consuming, and I was its minion.
The Nec exerted a powerful pull, and the focal point for Mondays was John, the DJ. That guy spun the best tunes, and exposed me to bands that still rank as all-time favorites to this day. I spent many, many hours flailing around on that dance floor, looking up at the DJ booth, wondering what was coming next. My crush on John knew no bounds, man – all the lust and admiration an angsty younster could muster was laser-focused on him as he picked our musical fare for the night. I was just another random girl in the crowd, of course.
It was the Nec which destroyed a significant portion of my hearing, and which is responsible for the constant tinnitus I’ve had since age 19. The main factor was an astonishingly loud concert by Ministry – it was so loud, I couldn’t actually discern any music; it was just fucking noise. Al, the lead singer, was super drunk, didn’t give a fuck, and it was horrible. Did I leave? NOPE. Of course not. This was Ministry, a legend, one of my favorites, and they were right there in touching distance. I saw Patty Smith and other notables while there, as well. Ah, Nectarine – you were my jam.
It’s been more than 20 years since I was last at the Nec, which is now significantly smaller and has been renamed “Necto.” This past Monday night, John (aka DJ Cyberpunk, no less) made a return to Factory Monday (what Industrial Night is now called,) and played two sets: I wouldn’t have missed this for the world.
A chance to relive some of my long-lost youth? Hells yes, of course.
As I walked in the door and up the stairs, I was assaulted with both the familiar feel of the place as well as the new aspects. It was cleaner, better-maintained, and actually decorated. The kids working there looked much like the kids of my time. John’s first set had already begun, and we said our hellos after an eternity since we last saw each other. It wasn’t long before he played a tune from those old days, and I headed down to the dance floor, the only person out there.
In those earlier years, I would have rather died than be the only person dancing in a public place. My friends and I would either wait for other people to start, or we’d wait for “the right song.” Silliness. Life is short, dance like crazy whenever you want.
As I started dancing (badly, as I always do,) my brain took me vividly back in time. I remembered how, whenever unknown people came into “our” bar, we scrutinized them closely. I remembered specifically one older couple, probably in their 40’s, who came one night and danced to absolutely everything, no matter who was on the floor or what the tune was. They just had a great time, and gave no fucks about what anyone else thought of them. They were wearing normal adult-type clothing, whilst the rest of us were skulking around in our goth/industrial garb. I admired them a bit then, and I understand them much better now.
As the crowd started trickling in last week, it was so much fun seeing what the costumes of the current day were. I was surprised to see a lot of furries there, and there were also fire spinners with their glowing batons, people in masks, people dressed up as rogues, people wearing classic/vintage stuff from our day. We geezers reminisced, drank to absent friends, and danced. I danced far, far too much – It’s now 5 days later, and my blisters still haven’t fully healed, though my sore, aching muscles have mostly recovered. I discovered I still sweat a lot when I dance.
But holy shit, it was so much fun, you guys.
There were only a very few familiar faces: John, Steve, and Chris. I don’t know Chris, didn’t even actually know his name until Steve told me, but I surely recognized the way he danced from Back Then. Some things in this universe are constants.
The trio below were probably superhigh on something, but they were having a great time. The small girl called the moves, which alternated between Tai Chi and Randomness. I wish I could have gotten more footage of them, but my phone’s battery died mid-video here:
I hope there’s a dance club in San Diego I’ll like – life is too short not to dance, and I’d forgotten that. John lives in LA, just a train ride North from San Diego. I would absolutely make that trek to get in on this regularly.
This past year has been absolutely amazing in terms of waking up as a human, coming out of a decades-long depression, and other good things. The people around me are largely responsible for this shift, for which I am eternally grateful. How am I repaying them? By moving just about as far away from them as I can, while still staying in the U.S.
But an eDar’s gotta do what an eDar’s gotta do, and to preserve my sanity and joie de vivre, this must happen. Last Monday was a wonderfully good time, as well as a reminder of things that could have been. I never could have predicted where I’d end up more than 20 years hence – I would have hoped for better, but decisions have consequences. Regrouping at this late date is better than never regrouping at all.