A Night for Lovers

My night started as all New Year’s Eves start – drinking champagne with my friend's mom while playing Family Feud. There is nothing like hearing a fully-grown woman answer “Poland” to the question “What city starts with the letter P” while alcohol is colliding with the ketamine you forgot you took as your jumping-off point for the evening. 

I’m not sure if it was the giggles, the champagne, the ketamine, or a stunning combination of the trio, but I ended up an hour late for my next excursion: Mansions.

Mansions is this little hole in the wall of the Ridgewood club scene. No matter the DJ, the line-up, or the night, it feels like a house party your high school friend used to have in their basement. With wood-paneled walls, carpeted floors, and random lights that scream “DO MUSHROOMS HERE,” it looks like it was never renovated, and it's honestly stunning. When you live in a city that is seriously lacking house party vibes and basements that don't make you feel like you will be asked to put the lotion in the basket, you try your best to treasure a spot that takes you back to a time before you had to pay taxes.

This final send-off to the 2024 season was a loved-up lineup. Four sets, four couples – the best that Brooklyn Underground has to offer (Albert & SPF50, Pascale Project and DJ S, Shvili and Max Sprauer, and DJ Synclaire). I arrived in the middle of the Pascal Project and DJ S set; it was the perfect sound to hit my ears after a weirdly cheap Uber. It was fun and alive. I couldn't help but shake my ass waiting for the bartender to pour my shot and make my paloma.

I found my friend Nema near the booth; she and her partner teamed up to be the closing set. I met them both a few months earlier at a party Amelia Holt (another master of the Underground) throws called Honey Trap. We spent a good chunk of the evening bonding over our shared neurodivergence and love of a good, grungy party that felt like New York when it was still dangerous to live in the Village. 

Nema is effortlessly cool. She has the aura of someone who watched a lot of anime as a kid (and not like Naruto or Dragon Ball Z; but Akira and Ghost in the Shell) and listened to electronica artists coming out of the Balkans while their classmates seized over another Taylor Swift breakup song about a mediocre man. Now she has grown up and it all makes sense. She was ahead of her time then and still seems to be living in the future with ease. 

A hug and a few butt bumps to what sounded like a blend of 90’s Detroit hip-hop instrumentals, Y2K electronica, and something reminiscent of what I know Princess Diana would have headbanged to if she ever escaped Kensington and went to the club was how we greeted one another. We did Molly and talked about the West Coast tour they had just completed, taking up the dance space of four average-sized people as two rather tiny women. I moved like someone who wants to jump, stay firmly planted on the ground, and be a snake and a robot all at once. Nema moved like a swirling galaxy. The first coupled-up DJ set danced behind me, the third danced in front of me, Nema, Sol, and one of their friends danced at my sides. I was in a cocoon of musically-talented folks when midnight struck and we all screamed and hollered. A random girl gave me a bunch of grapes. I swear to god if my damn 2025 isn't magical after nearly choking on a dozen grapes, I’ll probably do nothing – but I like to think I would throw a fit. 

I left around 12:30, sending out a booty call and receiving a booty call. My call was denied, so I answered. I answered twice, then returned to Mansions and caught the first hour of Nema and Aka-Sol’s set, known jointly as DJ Synclaire. They have a sound that makes you feel like you are about to be a hero of a coming-of-age story in some dilapidated city (the closest I can compare it to is Step Up 2: The Streets). It's the music of underdogs, orchestrated to take you from zero to hero throughout a set. It is bouncy, alive, intimate, retro, nostalgic, fun, and groovy without being bright and chaotic. It has a smooth transition from mix to mix that never feels disjointed. Everything connects with the same mastery as a Pink Floyd album.  

By 3:00, the combination of Molly, weed, ketamine, and various types of alcohol had me sending out a second booty call. This one was answered, and I found myself picking up a girl I have fantastic hate sex with on the way to my apartment. (I think it's important to note that I have been without a roommate for a week and decided to make my entire living room into a giant blanket fort.) 

I mean this with the utmost seriousness – I never want to end the first night of my year again if it isn't having drug-fueled sex in a blanket fort. I don’t care whether I am 28 or 100.