A long night in the D, part 3

The basement of Oslo seems to have been designed with maximum disorientation in mind. Your first steps down there take you to a squarish seating area perhaps six feet to a side. Hallways branch off of this area in three directions, each headed toward some darkened space, and all you know is that a vague pulsating beat is coming from in front of you. Yet all the people around you seem perfectly at ease. By their own estimations, they have been here "hundreds of times". You haven't stepped into a lounge or a club. You've stepped into a church for techno.

I eenie-minie-moed my way in one direction -- forward rather than to the left or right -- and entered a vaguely wedged-shaped cavern. In the distance, perahps twenty feet ahead, a dimly lit figure in headphones hovered over a turntable. Suspended just above me, a box; to my right, a giant pillar. Both revealed themselves to be leviathan speakers. I made my way to the front of the pillar. Beside me stood a tall guy with longish hair. He made no movements, and his eyes were closed.

"Doesn't look very busy yet," I observed. No response.

"Are you a regular here?" I asked. Again, nothing. Clearly I was applying the paddles to someone who didn't want to be resuscitated.

The rest of my efforts to initiate conversation this night would meet varying degrees of success. On the whole, the denizens of this place either wanted to talk about techno or not talk at all. One guy in a white shirt and baseball cap turned out to be an encyclopedia of techno knowledge -- I had only to nod every once in a while to maintain his streaming discourse. But, as I'd found at the Flaming Lips concert, this kind of temporary companionship was dependable and much preferable to being alone.

By the time headliner Motor showed up, maybe around 1 am, the room was packed. True to the Metro Times write-up, their catchiest song turned out to be "Black Powder" and features a strong nihilistic beat. All was a sweaty mess down there, and squeezed between couples, I tried to alpha myself some space. But as quickly as the room had filled for Motor, the room emptied when the duo was finished, coincident with the time the bar stopped serving alcohol. Ghostly DJ and host of this monthly event Ryan Elliott started a bit after 2 am, but perhaps only a dozen or so people remained. The church had swelled to meet the Christmas crowd and was now back to its regular faithfuls.

Sometime after 3 am, I began to feel the night winding down or at least my body winding down. You could count the number of people left on one hand, my friend white-shirt-and-baseball-cap among them. I bade him goodnight and made my way to the stairs again. On the way out I stopped to examine where the other hallways led -- one went to the restroom, the other to the bar which wrapped around to meet the dance floor.

I walked outside to empty Detroit streets. A few people who had been inside sat in a circle on the sidewalk smoking. As I made my way back to my car, feeling the night air fill my lungs once more, I looked up and thought of Dante: "Thence we came forth to re-behold the stars." It was 3:30 when I called my friend SHB in California, 4 am by the time I arrived at my apartment. I stripped off my clothes and collapsed into bed.