From what I can tell, said performer’s hair age is curiously inversely proportional to the crowd’s age…that is to say, hair gets older (longer) as crowd age gets younger. The same phenomenon may perhaps be applied to a select few contemporaries, including but not limited to Andrew W.K. Wait for explanatory chart.

Three things, however, remain constant throughout these selected photo sets: hands in the air waved as if, as if nobody cared; a sense of chaos, and sweat-soaked shirts galore. All three were in full effect last time I saw this guy, and it’s good to see those fundamentals haven’t changed.

I was embarrassed for myself. I was embarrassed for others. I was embarrassed for music.

His stuff is swell. Dandy, even. If, that is, it’s free. It’s pretty much riff porn, and there’s nothin’ wrong with that at all.

But the vibe was as artificial as the songs. People were having fun, that’s all good, but the whole thing felt like the African Anteater Ritual from “Can’t Buy Me Love.”

He’s a dj, and a talented one, but him up on stage, shirtless, with the 17 year old gals hanging on him, licking his arms… ‘Twas rough.

Add to that, the hockey masked dudes shooting off toilet paper from leaf blowers, the amount of members only jackets, the feeling that the whole thing was a high school dance…

Yeah, ’twas rough…