Last night, around 2:30 (or 3:30, depending on when you set your cell phone forward), I was filling up my water bottle at the sink. My hair, which I’d spent half an hour ironing flat and shiny, was matted to my head in sweaty waves. A similarly sweaty girl who had plastered her sleeves with the free Modular Records stickers they’d had at the door turned to me and said, “Do you know if Simian Mobile Disco is EVER going to go on?”

Modular Records has pulled the greatest rock and roll swindle since Johnny Rotten convinced us that Public Image belonged to him. They’ve tricked the indie kids into dancing. For real this time. The last four years, the disco punk, which became dance punk, which became dance rock… it was all a long con to rebuild the rush of the first days of rave, days most of us missed out on because, face it, we were either too young or lived in nowheresville instead of Manchester, NYC, or the Bay Area.

Welcome to the Renaissance of Rave, kids.

I don’t know how many times I’ve walked into a club with a great sound system, a good lay out, nice lighting, and just thought “This place is wasted on the douchebags who can afford to frequent it– wouldn’t it be great if good music was played for a decent price, and everyone danced instead of desperately tried to find a sugar daddy while drinking 20 dollar martinis?” But how do you keep the lingerie topped masses out of your super club? Studio B have it figured out… you HIDE IT. Located in no way practical to Manhattan, the club was full of people who came for the actual event and spent the whole time dancing, instead of trying to go home with the first person who bought them enough drinks to seem attractive.

We’ve gotten rid of the douchebags– great. But how to get the kids there and dancing in the first place? Trick them into thinking that it’s a rock show. Portugese band X-Wife opened, the only band I’ve ever heard who actually deserve the moniker “disco punk.”

The proof is in the dancing they inspire, back and forth between jerky hip swivel and knee-pick up skank. There are mp3s on their site– well worth checking out. For those at SXSW, they’ll be playing there as well. Go! Seriously, I can’t wait to see them again soon.

Following X-Wife, Fixed residents JDH and Dave P went straight on, without the slightest fanfare, and filled the floor with American Apparel leggings, dime store dresses, and high worn belts. Yes, the indie kids were dancing.

SMD took over and even let the residents play with them– the result was a seven person mixing and mastering crew tangled with Technics, CDJ1000s, a G5, an iBook and endless sixpacks of Corona. I made it into the DJ booth effortlessly to ask about a remix of “Like a Pen”, no security keeping the fangirl at bay from the superstar DJ or rockstars.

The kids absolutely ate it up– and all I could think, looking out over the crowd, was that this was where music left off four years ago to go on a much needed tangent, to get back to the point, not of posing and preening, but of getting sweaty and getting down.

So why did the girl in the bathroom ask me if Simian Mobile Disco was going on any time soon? Because she expected a stage show, face front, rockstar extravaganza. Instead, she’d spent the last two hours dancing her ass off to whatever was playing and having a great time of it. That it was the very act she’d come to see was irrelevant.

And here is where we see it start over again: goodbye posturing, hello faceless (and joyful) techno bollocks. It’s good to have you back.

(All photos courtesy of CDK3000)