Steve Aoki mixes it up in Kingston, Ontario

It was cold outside. Freezing, actually and we were decked out in our best dance gear. It was sold out. We didn’t have to wait in line, whew. The front room was packed. We stopped at the corner of the bar and leaned in. We negotiated a couple of handfuls of topped-up gins through a crowd of hot bodies and around the screens to the main room. An empty plush booth: success! Staked-out a spot on the dancefloor (everywhere’s a dancefloor at NV): stretch out our feet and ankles with a half-hour set by Merkmeny. Aoki hit the decks. And I do mean hit. We danced for three hours. Without stopping. Nobody was stopping. It would’ve been stupid to stop when every track was more ridiculous than the last. He mixed up M.I.A. He mixed up Slayer. He mixed up The Beatles. It was a full-spectrum sonorial collision. What metamusic feels like: the mirrors were completely steamed up and we were soaking wet: I was laughing so hard I couldn’t stop moving.