DROP THE BASS
For the first two minutes of Skrillex?s recent sold-out show at the cavernous Roseland Theater in Portland, Ore., I could almost believe, if I squinted hard enough, that I had time-warped back to a particularly boisterous mid-?90s rave. Swarms of glow sticks traced woozy neon loops on the main floor as Skrillex, perched before a Windows 95-screensaver-quality graphics projection, sent a swelling wave of warm synths through the crowd. Pacifiers abounded. To my left, a young woman wearing lime-green fishnets, a silver bikini bottom, and two strategically placed stickers did ... well, I?m not sure what, as my fianc?e was standing beside me, thus requiring a heroic display of ocular control from this correspondent. To my right, a bullet-headed man passed tabs of something to a willowy blonde and two tight-shirted men, who placed them under their tongues. New raves, the casual concertgoer might have thought, same as the old raves.
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