Start a dance party with Out Hud
Originally formed in California, the group plays the kind of music that, given the right people, will get you evicted.
Published March 29, 2005
A woman on the World Wide Web recently asserted that dance parties are the new crack. Here at the U.S.-government-inspired www.DangerousDanceMusic.org, we couldn't agree more. Dance (which often occurs at dance parties) is destroying the delicate moral fiber that our fair country was built upon. As such, we decided to conduct an experiment. We raided a residence, armed only with a copy of Out Hud's latest, Let Us Never Speak of It Again, to gather reactions and see what would happen when we played the album. This is the report that resulted from the experiment.
Upon barging into an unassuming young lady's apartment, the resident was, perhaps predictably, alarmed.
"Who are you?"
"What are you doing?"
"How did you get the key to my place?"
Brushing unnecessary questions aside just like true government officials, we placed the compact disc into her stereo device. She continued to jabber on, but as the 28-second entirety of the first track, "This Just In," established a groove, she acquiesced into a state of passive head bobbing.
As the guitars kicked in on the imminently hip-shakable "It's for You," four more girls emerged from the kitchen. At this point, we took down vigorous notes, because the origin of these women is unknown. They didn't even appear to be acquainted with the owner of the apartment. It's quite possible that they were terrorists, but we didn't see any weapons of mass destruction on their persons. Regardless, rather than participating in conversation, the now larger group proceeded to "drop it like it's hot," as is the youthful parlance of our times.
With each new song came new partygoers. Fraternity members, hipsters, "Dungeons & Dragons" players, the physically handicapped ("That guy in the wheelchair is incredible!" one dancer remarked), grade schoolers — anyone was game. Occasionally, during more mellow numbers such as "Old Nude," the crowd would settle down a bit. But then, oh then ...
We encountered a near tragedy. During the eight-minutes-plus of "The Song So Good They Named it Thrice," one partygoer began screaming during one of the song's breakdowns: "Ain't no party like an Out Hud party, because an Out Hud party don't stop!" He then promptly threw himself out of a window. His sprawled mass lay silent on the sidewalk for a few moments, but as the bass beat of the song picked up once more, he was up and grooving again.
About three and a half minutes into the epic and obviously anti-American, "Dear Mr. Bush, There are over 100 words for shit and only 1 for music. Fuck You, Out Hud," one darkly clad young man was moved from the wall he was sulking against to spin around the room shouting, "Those keyboards sound like the laser sounds George Lucas used in 'The Empire Strikes Back!'"
It was at this point that we decided to exit the apartment for our own safety.
Reflecting on the night in question, we, the good research agents at www.DangerousDanceMusic.org declare Out Hud's Let Us Never Speak of It Again a downright deadly threat to society. The lyrics in "How Long" state, "How long has it been since dancing?" The answer is, "not nearly long enough." We strongly urge you, the reader of this report, to stay far away from this album. That is, unless you're a heathen (and, of course, a threat to freedom, democracy and strength) who enjoys the illicit and immoral temptation that is dance.
