As much as I love dance music, I gotta say I’m a little bored with it, as it hasn’t really changed much in the last ten years. It still sounds the same now as it did ten years ago, as it reverberates through my apartment block.
Yes, once again, tonight, there’s a party on my rooftop. And yes, I’m sure I received a notification about it a couple of weeks ago, and I’m sure I read it. But of course, I didn’t take much notice, as I assumed I wouldn’t be home at this time on a Saturday night.
No doubt it’s someone moving overseas. Or maybe they’re turning 30 or 40 or 50? And isn’t it great they’ve given all the neighbours advance notice, so they should make alternative arrangements?
What, of course, they failed to mention, however, is that like every other party that’s ever happened on my rooftop is that, they’d be playing exactly the same music as every other party has. Doof, doof, doof. Bop, bop, bop. Why doesn’t music have words anymore?
Yes, the same old beat, the same old rhythm. It’s just party muzak, where the words, the tune, the rythm doesn’t matter anymore. Of course, the same old finger-food doesn’t matter either. Ten years ago it was turkish pizza (it was soo exotic)… what is it now, sushi? Of course, it’s sushi, the food you eat when you’re not eating food.
What time is it? 11pm. God forbid, we can probably expect a drag show at midnight. Ten years ago, it would have been Kylie or Madonna. Now, of course, it’s… it’s… it’s probably Kylie or Madonna, too.
Yes, I’ve had these parties, myself. I’ve made these noises, myself. But isn’t it time for them, these young folks, to re-invent the rooftop party, instead of playing out the same old party that forty year olds, like myself, have already done?
Damn, I wish I’d read that note properly. And no, I don’t wish I was invited.
P.S. The doof doof was still coming from the rooftop when I woke at 5.30am Sunday.