Dance like a European

The crowd looks like they read Wired, which makes sense. This is a digital conference of sorts, after all. Electronic fans from all over the world gather each May for Montreal's Mutek, enticed by the buzz about the city's little party that could. Started ten years ago in a country where eletronic music is almost always considered niche, the non-profit festival now hosts more than 50 performances in five days.

During the daylight, fans, promoters, DJs, and musicians meet up to discuss and debate genre, industry, and innovation. Night is for dancing. I show up during for the second evening of the festival, to what seems to be headquarters: a multi-room, multi-floor maze of old world theatre and teched out equpiment. I meet up with friends, and after a short, stuffy, sweaty dance session we retire to the second floor, a densly populated over-hanging balcony with an proper view and quiet bar.

Onstage there is rapping, keyboard, guitar, keytar, trumpet, drums, and a whole lot of laptop. It's a mesh up of dub step, techno, house, drum-and-bass, and all-over crossover. Imagery floats across screens that line the stage, strips of glowing lights blast ever-changing colours, and strobes mutate the movements of the crowd below, who are dancing like likeable maniacs. It's the full rock-show experience, except it's not a rock show.

A tiny black box of a room is hidden in the top corner of the club, and when the main stage finishes we head inside for another odd-hour of lcd-lit dancing. But eventually yellow light fills the room, a signal to take to the streets. Outside first we see friends, then we make friends, and then we make plans.

We're led to a second-floor loft space, a rental for the festival. There, party promoters from Chicago, Toronto, and Montreal rant about maintaining the underground, and the negative viral effect of Steve Aoki. A handful of electronic junkies from Manhattan and the U.K. discuss their favourite shows of the festival, and reminisce about past parties, festivals, and sets.

I get lost in conversation until I notice light start to poke through the tactfully shut blinds, and I realize I need to excuse myself and head towards the sky blue sky. Outside the city is eerily quiet, pretty. The sun breaks red, then pink, then orange, poking through bridge beams, and casting shadows through a vacant theme park.

Now alone, I slip in earbuds, spot a marker in the distance, and walk towards bed. When I finally arrive an old acquaintance has beat me to the pull-out. No bother, I stay wired to my ipod, slip on sweatpants, and drift to sleep, music still playing.