it's decided

there will never be another britpop club as good as popsuperstar.

i went to this place called "fancy" on saturday night with the usual britpop crew. isobel and i got there early and thought it was very promising. the venue is clean and air-conditioned. (had to be for a ballroom at the ramada inn). the bathrooms well-apportioned. plenty of mirrors so you get a full view of your outfit in one glance. there are plenty of places to hang out and drink and watch disturbing television show clips, random music videos, and movie highlights.

but these things mean very little when the music selection sucks, when the djs forget the britpop classics for "britscure" horrors that make you cock your head in a disaffected puzzlement.

when we first poked our head in, they were playing pulp. "hooray!" we thought. this is already better than that nightmare of a club, hang the djs. but once we stationed ourselves onto the sofas and chairs all of that promise evaporated or was shooed away by the empty dance floor. i want to blame gentleman drinker and glyphic for encouraging the dj to play the crap world pop and cacophonous electroclash bullshit. they got onto the dance floor after an hour and a half of waiting for something worth dancing to. but when it never materialized they shook it to the sounds of whateverthefuckitwasthatwasblastingthroughthespeakers. and so their sultry magnetic moves seduced bystanders into joining them. it went further downhill from there.

it seemed like the only time they actually played something for me to dance along to was when i threatened to abandon the club, leave it like a scorned lover who is tired of mind games and empty promises.

so it's decided: there will NEVER NEVER NEVER be a britpop club as brilliant as popsuperstar.