Published April 13, 2007
It’s about one thirty in the morning, the dance floor is packed with all manner of unseemly folk, a sweaty crowd of drunken animals swelling and surging like a single organism. The DJ, a twenty-something chick magnet with three-day stubble and a stupid hat smirks to himself as he thinks of the perfect track to put on next. The beat kicks in, quiet at first, but increases in volume, as do the flimsy, almost dorky synths. Then the singing starts. A huge, inebriated cheer of woos and yeahs erupts from the crowd, and the DJ tries to keep his cool, although secretly he’s bursting with pride. This is a scene from the coming summer; I’m so fucking certain of it. I don’t know whether the two-song disc I was given is a promo of an upcoming album, or everything the Motion Boys ever intend to release, and I don’t really care; the summer of 2007 already belongs to them. SE
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