Ain't nothin' but a Gangsta party. A motherfuckin' Gansta Party.

‘1, 2, whoop whoop!’… Bekay heard a five year old kid shout at the lights in the city last weekend. He must have been off his tits at the Bloody Beetroots two weeks ago. It was of course a terribly trashy and utterly mental night.

With a ham-flu infested Bekay given up his ticket for that Friday night, it was up to another sickly-looking and hungover friend to fill his sneakers. The doors to the Metro didn’t even open until 10pm, and even though we got there at around 10.45pm, the line of the usual munters was already reaching the end of the laneway next to the Metro. If a sniffer dog had walked through the lane at that time it probably would have had an aneurysm. Now I know this sounds really wank-tastic, but the air was electric. Or I was just hankerin’ for some ridiculously large bass. I just love my fish (I’m hilarious aye aye!). One big downer though was the venue. The Metro simply sucks John Holmes-proportions dick. It’s soulless and the dancefloor seems way too wide for the stage. The Enmore and Forum are far superior beings. Eating drugs seemed to cheer everybody else up about the venue location anyway.

This guy was the best dressed fella there. Trackpants and fingerless gloves is the definition of cool.

If you ever see the fat bald man on the right behind some decks, bottle him so he can't "flex" anymore.

"Yay, no more Acid Jacks!"

The Beetroots weren’t even on until 2am and Ajax had pulled out for reasons unbeknownst to me, so I was getting antsy. Luckily in his place was one half of Act Yo Age from Ajax’s own Sweat It Out label, who was great for a warm aural rub-up. Unfortunately the dickcheese duo that followed, Acid Jacks, were like Fatty and Skinny having sex; one of them looked like a chubby wrestler, lazing around, repeatedly telling the crowd to ‘flex’ for some reason, while the slimmer and more agile one got the job done. It seemed like everybody had already peaked by the end of their set, but they probably just weren’t moving because Acid Jacks were shit. During this whole time there was a douchebag from One Love filming party people, trying to get them to do “fucked up shit” like drink Smirnoff out of their shoes, or get two “mad bitches” to hook up with each other. Cos there ain’t no madder cunts than the One Love crew, eh?

Finally 2am rolled around, and when the Lucha Libre-masked goons aka Bloody Beetroots appeared, everybody went spastic, obviously. They began the banger assault with their remix of Proxy’s ‘Who the Fuck Are You?’, which cut into the mindless bass of ‘Warp’. While everybody was absolutely losing their shit, and of course their shirts, we were just getting pushed further away from the stage and feeling nothing, if you get me. The only option was getting different stuff, and eventually that worked out. Halfway through the set when we heard the guitars of the Beastie Boys ‘Sabotage’, we threw our heads into the air and howled. We’d finally transformed into terrible beasts like the rest of the munters, our sexy dancing was evolving into erratic bouncing. Oh no!

After about 80 minutes of ridiculous bass, I thought they were going to end fittingly after Daft Punk’s ‘One More Time’, or the Soulwax remix of MGMT’s ‘Kids’ with everybody chanting the “Da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-daaaaa” part. But nope, they ended with an encore of ‘Warp’. By this time we had ended up in the balcony part, and so had a perfect view of the entire pulsating dancefloor down below. By now everybody would have peaked, but as soon as we all heard the apocalyptic sound of clocks ticking, followed by a ‘1,2, whoop whoop!’, we all went fucking apeshit. I never thought I would see one at a DJ night, but with the lethal combination of ecstasy, testosterone, homoeroticism, and the two filthy I-talians behind the decks, it was inevitable a death pit would open up. This was shortly followed by the muscly Beetroot jumping on the speakers then crowdsurfing, the skinny Beetroot starting the song again because the security guards wouldn’t let him crowdsurf, and me hanging off the balcony screaming at the top of my lungs like a dickhead.

photos: OneLove (i.e. the terrible place)

The Bloody Beetroots are undoubtedly big dirty douchebags with their talk of combining Punk and Classical ethics into dance music, and although I left the gig feeling dirty for having attended, they can throw down a hectic party of super fun. They’re coming back again later in the year for the Stereosonic festival, so if you want to get mental, go see them! I think the night was summed up in all of it’s trashy glory when a girl in front of us was power spewing on the dancefloor while everybody screamed ‘Riverside motherfucker!’. Stay classy Sydney…

Watch the entire video because this is the end of the show with 'Warp' and all the crowdsurfing and insanity. You can see the skinny Beetroot start the song again because security won't let him crowdsurf. Halfway through you can see the Beetroots turn red because they are so smokin' hot they are on fire!