Tonight I’m going to go out dancing, and one thing I’m psyched about is that I won’t be paying attention to the words in the music. In most dance music, of course, the words are the icing they’re not the focus. This is a gross generalization, but  please bear with me here.

The thing is, I respond so much to words and music together, it can just be too much. You know how it is when you immediately find yourself being swung around by that all-powerful, overtly dramatic pendulum of love? It doesn’t matter if you think you have a sense of control, or the self-awareness that you are the one causing this shit to happen. Whether you’re falling in love or you just got dumped, you really have no control, plain and simple. And this is when people should go to the doctor or take a leave of absence from work or something, because you’re a freaking mess.

When you’re lost in love (or loss), this thing happens where your cliché/bullshit-detector is completely out of whack, no matter how “smart” you armay think you e. Just listening to the radio is a total emotional roller coaster – the pull of 95% of pop music, with the lyrics that go from “Baby I love you so much” to “Baby I don’t love you anymore,” is huge.

Worst of all, for aesthetes like us, it doesn’t so much matter if it’s a song that you like or not; it’s not like you put that Richard Buckner/ Kitty Wells or Elmore James/ Dwight Yoakum mix tape on and sank despondently into a shag rug as a form of therapeutic despair. When Eddie Fucking Rabbitt’s images start talking directly to you, you know you have a problem. Then you need desperately to escape the language of pop altogether. This is why I’m so psyched to go dancing tonight, yay!

—DJ Yeti