Redeye - Eh, see D.C. and other vacation rock ‘n’ roll ... April 19 2006

In high school, my friend John Ling, aka that Cunning Lingus, had these copies of bootleg Asian fetish videos he would take to parties. Make those copies of copies of copies of copies of bootleg videos. Hand-cobbled together on too-long loop tapes, some of these movies had been copied to the point that all that remained was the idea of the movie, not so much the images. Still, we found pleasure in the shadowy forms and indistinct figures. We filled in the missing details in our memories, and in doing so created an exaggerated mosaic that survived way beyond the fragile magnetic tape.

I’m reminded of those videos on Fri., April 14, as I stand in the middle of Nation, a club in the southeast Washington, D.C., warehouse district. Australian trio Infusion builds in intensity as it launches a breakbeat bombardment from the stage in front of me, while around me caricatures shadowbox. Apparently, rave still lives here, but it’s “rave” the same way those fifth-generation tapes were “movies.” The gist of a decade-past scene still lingers, but the details have been smudged and reinterpreted to the point of parody.

Am I more confused by the seemingly thirtysomething woman in a miniskirt and striped knee socks doing interpretative contemporary dance to drum ‘n’ bass or the burly black dude in a ski mask and stove pipes throwing his guns up to big-room trance? Perhaps I’m most confused by the twitch of muscle memory as I size up whether in my younger years I could out-dance this crowd. Were this the Warehouse in the late ’90s, the answer would be an unequivocal “Yes.” I’d drop the “Evil Dead,” the “Puppet Master” and all the other moves I’d named for “splatstick” movies. Now, well, someone has to tow the line and hold up the wall. As ridiculous as these people are, however, I do give them credit for actual dancefloor abandonment. That’s an increasingly rare breed back home. LunarMagazine.com forum take note: Maybe what we need is that old-skool revival night, minus the UFOs. I’ll bring the Apotheosis.

Admittedly, Nation has its infamous history, once known as the Capitol Ballroom and for “Buzz.” This is the exact kind of place your momma warned you about during last decade’s “rave scare.” On Sat., April 15, however, I opt for something more on the National Registry. In my ongoing quest to source a list of the world’s finest culinary cocktails, I find myself in Old Town Alexandria at Restaurant Eve, where saffron, bay leaves, roasted lemon froth and yuzu juice find their way into highballs and between my lips. I love this place — it has aspects of Wisteria, Tierra and Canoe miniaturized in a Colonial row house. Atlanta’s restaurant scene is engendering national attention, and our cocktails need to complement that notch.

Restaurant Eve was much more endearing than Georgetown’s bumrushed Blue Gin, presented to me as a speakeasy/”opium den” but qualified for that designation only because it’s down an alley. Sure, this sleek, contemporary two-story townhouse — kind of like Buckhead’s Babylon — serves cocktails with “fresh purees,” but you can only feel so comfortable with the slither of Eurotrash and pounding of house music while you sip vodka and what tastes like Tang. All these people busy making diamonds between their cheeks made me appreciate some Southern hospitality. And on that transition: Happy birthday to the Mark’s Jonathan Edwards. Here’s to more memories that end up as gloriously fuzzy as a fifth-generation VHS and a good laugh.

RedEye celebrates going out and going off. Send comments to redeye@creativeloafing.com, but hand-scrawled hate mail is preferred.