Prompt: "A song about a loser"
Selected by Nate
"Dancing in the Club"
This Is Lorelei
Box for Buddy, Box for Star, 2024
Great record, this one here. Great song, this one here, but this one is the massive 'chune from the record if any of them are. If the concept of losing the love of one's lover because one is too busy dancing does not meet the loser allegations, certainly the lyrics "a loser never wins / I'm a loser / always been" will get us there.
Some brief disconnected nightclub memories shared in passing: Paying a $35 cover to go to a club in Manhattan, farting so noxiously that the dance floor cleared out. Paying no cover to go to The Cove in Williamsburg, dancing so hard that I split my pants. Sitting in one of those big half-circle egg-chairs at someone's apartment and using it as a perch to complain about being too tired to dance, only to have a family member throw coffee grounds all over me as an ultimately ineffective motivational tactic. Dancing at the 700 Club in Philadelphia where two dudes in identical outfits started swinging at each other for no reason I could ever suss out. Dancing at The Saint under the El on hip-hop night, perhaps as happy and self-assured as a person could be as "Ha" and "Stay Fly" played at ear-splitting volume in a room no bigger than the first floor of my rowhome. None of these memories are possible if not for a liberating moment of body movement at the hands of LCD Soundsystem and my large sunburned friend.
Some brief disconnected memories of being a loser: None exist, I rock.
Some brief disconnected nightclub memories shared in passing: Paying a $35 cover to go to a club in Manhattan, farting so noxiously that the dance floor cleared out. Paying no cover to go to The Cove in Williamsburg, dancing so hard that I split my pants. Sitting in one of those big half-circle egg-chairs at someone's apartment and using it as a perch to complain about being too tired to dance, only to have a family member throw coffee grounds all over me as an ultimately ineffective motivational tactic. Dancing at the 700 Club in Philadelphia where two dudes in identical outfits started swinging at each other for no reason I could ever suss out. Dancing at The Saint under the El on hip-hop night, perhaps as happy and self-assured as a person could be as "Ha" and "Stay Fly" played at ear-splitting volume in a room no bigger than the first floor of my rowhome. None of these memories are possible if not for a liberating moment of body movement at the hands of LCD Soundsystem and my large sunburned friend.
Some brief disconnected memories of being a loser: None exist, I rock.
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