Only By Night

Band: Kings of Leon
Album: Only By Night
Best song: “Sex on Fire” is listenable.
Worst song: The rest of the album is ass.

I’m 28 years old — I turn 29 next month — and with my next birthday, I’ll be one more year closer to my mental age of, like, 40. I’m not an “old soul” in the “wise” sense. I’m an “old soul” in the “curmudgeon” sense.

Sure, I like whimsy and strange, kitschy shit. I have bobbleheadsand a plastic sauropod and a framed picture of a T-Rex wearing a cowboy hat (this lovely fellow) all on my desk at work. I wear little buttons on my jacket and I wear sneakers approximately 340 days of the year. My apartment is solely decorated with the work of a one Jay Ryan.

But, generally, I’m not the hypnotic, spontaeneous, drinking-fun type that would reflect my age. I don’t like getting intoxicated and falling down. Dancing doesn’t attract me. I’m just not goofy enough, I guess. I’m too pretentious, of course.

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So, let me tell you about my New Year’s Eve experience.

A friend of mine called me with the idea that he has a friend that was buying a table at a (as he described it, basically) fancy(ish) nightclub downtown. Lotus, the place is called. My friend described it as a place that would necessitate my wearing a suit; he was going to do the same.

Now.

I like wearing fancy clothes and I own a tuxedo. So, the prospect of wearing said tuxedo is always exciting for me. Yes, NYE is kind of a silly exercise, but I’d feel like a big loser for not going out. And between this offer and the offer of going to a house party, I chose the club.

Here’s the problem: The club was not really a lounge-y place that I expected 30 Rock‘s Jack Donaghy to frequent. It was a disco, with crazy lights, thumping bad remixes/medlies of top 40 songs, fat chicks in tight pants, greasy Eurotrash-looking guys in ill-fitting sportcoats, super expensive drinks and, of course, the thing that is “table service.” This, needless to say, disappointed me. I was wildly overdressed — I could’ve come in a sweater and a sportcoat — and my personality could not been more out of place. This was the type of place that Diageo (one of the world’s biggest liquor distributors) visits, with photographers and waivers for patrons to sign, saying that they won’t sue if Diageo uses their image in an ad. I know this because I signed one of those waivers. The type of place where, you know, a woman tried to dance with me.

No question, I need to do stuff like this, largely to reinforce the fact that it’s not for me. I enjoy it, in the sense that I love people-watching and it’s, essentially, a safari for me. I might as well be on the Serengeti, watching a lioness eat an antelope. It’s really quite enjoyable.

Enjoyable to do, like, once a year, of course.

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Also: Despite my description above, I’m not a particularly evolved person. So, there were two facts that delighted me during the evening.

The first is that one of the bouncers to the club was a dwarf. I imagine this makes me a terrible person, one insensitive to those with disabilities, but… A dwarf bouncer is really awesome, right? I mean, aren’t bouncers required to be huge?

The second is that, among the weird photographers, fat chicks drinking $20 martinis and dudes with bad cologne was a woman, seemingly hired by the club, dancing in her underwear. It was epic. She was incredibly fit and gyrating. It was like something out of a movie with a stripper storyline and an actress that won’t do nudity (think Jessica Alba in Sin City). Underwar. Gyration. Ugg boots. It was insane.

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I’m wholly unqualified to write anything about Only by Night other than to say that I heard a remixed version of “Sex on Fire” on New Year’s Eve and it made me want to kill myself. It’s the only really passable song on the album — the melody is as infectious as H1N1 — and to put electronica beats under it… Awful, awful times.

I’m not really into the dude’s voice. If I’m going for rootsy almost-indie rock, I’ll take Band of Horses, thank you very much.