Picture a decent contingency of Jersey Shore-type guys and gals, including, but not limited to, at least a few Vin Diesel bros, a handful of free-spirited wooks, and an easy-going collection of garden-variety frat partiers, and you have the eclectic conglomeration that made the pilgrimage to dance uncontrollably to the likes of Kraddy and String Cheese drum and percussion section, EOTO.
But first we got our fun and fair share of Wyllis and the NY Hustler Ensemble, an miraculously functional fit of DJ-energy, featuring the talented Miss Jen Hartswick and Natalie Cressman whipping up a little love from the brass section. It was a novel act, mixing the vinyl-spun jams of house-techno and dub-funk with the sexy crooning of trombone and trumpet.
Then came DJ Kraddy, with his hella cool dub step vibrations that sent the growing crowd into a cataclysmic rave machine. From behind his glowing frame of flashing lights, he’d hold his fist in the air, dangling our adrenaline glands with it, and then he dropped the beat on us like a rush of, well, orgasm.
Next came the mother ship of noise, captained by Michael Travis and Jason Hann, the mind-blasting wonder of EOTO. Described as “two twisted demons,” these guys shredded our hearts and souls into tiny, tiny smiles, which then grew wings, flew around in the steamy atmosphere, and banged out to the psychedelic rhythms, conceiving and birthing a unified animation of righteous ebb and flow.
The light show was intensely mesmerizing, with the band inside of a circle of gigantic, evanescent flower petal-looking contraptions, luring us like bees to the sweet, sweet nectar of sound. These sorcerers of dub and rock and psychedelic joy took us on a relentless journey into the realm lazerstep, beckoning our most primal motions from the eager crowd. Our energy was so emphatic that we could’ve raved our way right through a heart attack, and probably wouldn’t have noticed (cared?).
The moral of the story is this: if you ever hear the name EOTO near you, make it a priority to witness the real-time mania yourself. You won’t know what hit you, and you won’t give a shit about knowing, because you’ll be raving far too hard.