They Seek Him Here...
Eoin Butler hears the Scarlet Pimpernel of dance music
54 Middle Abbey Street, Dublin 1
Oh my god, vicky... VICKYYYYYY" Jesus Christ, my nerves are shot to hell. How on earth is it that 19-year-old girls can achieve spontaneous orgasm at the mere sight of a casual acquaintance? It's Friday night in Twisted Pepper and your correspondent is beginning to feel old. Very old.
"You look AMAAAZING!" the girl screams at her friend. Whether she knows it or not, that's a complete lie. The friend looks ridiculous. Her hair is dyed jet black, gathered into an enormous tuft and balanced on the top of her head like a mattress balanced on a bottle of wine.
Hell, she's wearing so much make-up, she's practically leaving skid marks on the walls. She looks ridiculous -- and beautiful. She's in her element here, just as I, most assuredly, am not.
Aidan is also ruminating about matters fashion-related. "American football shirts," he says.
"What about them?"
"I'm thinking of getting one," he says.
"Because you could put John Candy in one and he'd look normal sized." Weight is one of Aidan's major preoccupations.
"Have you considered exercising?" I ask.
He dismisses the idea with a wave of his hand. "Stop your nonsense," he says.
I spot the promoter at the bar and stop over to say hello. Brendan has flown tonight's headline act, the dubstep artist Zomby, in from England to perform. I congratulate him on his success. It's been a stressful day, he says.
Apparently, Zomby keeps his identity a closely guarded secret. He won't reveal his real name to anyone. He is only ever photographed with a mask on and no one even knows what race the guy is. Cultivating the reputation of an international man of mystery is all very well, Brendan reckons but it makes picking him up from the airport a bloody nightmare.
Fans of the artist press for clues to his identity. Brendan shrugs his shoulders. I tell him about the time my sister's car was broken into in the car park in her building. The incident was captured on CCTV but it took a couple of days for the tape to come back. She rang me up the day she was due to see it, saying she was about to find out who had broken into her car.
I thought this was hilarious. It's not going to be the Reverend Green or Professor Plum, I told her. It's going to be 'some guy'. So it proved and so it has proven with Zomby. He's just 'some guy'. The crowd go crazy when he arrives out on stage though. But his music is incomprehensible to me. Time to call it a night.
Before I leave, I visit the bathroom. Old copies of The Slate, a free magazine I worked on when I was a student, are displayed in a glass case in the bathroom. Christ, it's like I belong in a museum. Time for a cup of cocoa and a lie down.
Catch up with Eoin's escapades on www.eoinbutler.com; email@example.com