MSTRKRFT and the Bloody Beetroots at Webster Hall: "The Scene to End All Scenes."

NEXT »

When I say Friday night was the scene to end all scenes, I kid you not. I’ve been through similar muck before: sandwiched between multiple sweaty strangers, pummeled to the ground by groupies, kept lingering in line while police officers made sense of a “situation.” But nothing prepared me for the ridiculousness that was Webster Hall on April 3rd.

News spread like wildfire via Twitter and text that the Toronto-based MSTRKRFT men, Jesse Keeler and Alex Puodziukas (AKA Al-P), were stuck in Chicago after a MySpace secret show and might not make it to New York. Talk about hype puncture. Fortunately, promoter and DJ Alex English assuaged our outrage with a succinct Facebook status update, confirming they would fly into Philly and drive up from there.

A friend at Webster Hall who was there for the earlier show by The Presets called me conveying the mayhem: “The block is barricaded. The fire department’s here. Cops are everywhere. It looks like they’re kicking people out. This is legit. This crowd is insane.” It didn’t help that a trusted publicist relayed to me that the Italy-based Bloody Beetroots would also arrive after the scheduled set time; “Think 3 AM. Then maybe MSTRKRFT will go on afterwards at, like, 4.”

At least, so I am told, there was a sweet game of spin the bottle being played to pass the time while fans waited “patiently.” My buddy also said he witnessed stripping and drunken hook-ups in bathroom stalls, making the evening’s entertainment factor that much more “…wacky and hilarious.” Damn 19+ door policy.

The evident past-capacity clusterfuck proved too much for some, but not all. By 2 a.m. I was speeding there, prepared to tackle the thick of it. The crowd had settled and entry wasn’t a problem. Inside was another beast entirely; navigating the human traffic wasn’t stellar, but the ocean of people swaying from side to side, arms held high in a collective trance, was something to behold. Until an inebriated rager threw up on themselves or someone else, both of which went down.

MSTRKRFT were already doing their thing when I entered the strobe-lit chaos. I wandered the wet mess and listened to the duo drop beats for 45 minutes as ravers raised the roof. They spun songs both old and new, including “Click Click,” “Bounce” and “Word Up” off their recent release Fist of God (March 2009, Last Gang Records), an album met with mixed reviews. Same goes for their live delivery; the guys stood at the rear of the stage and didn’t budge. They were bobbing their heads and shuffling their feet to and fro, their tees drenched in sweat as they fervently maneuvered dials and listened intently to their headsets. However, from a distance, MSTRKRFT seemed somewhat removed. Their DJ booth came flanked with an impressive light show, complete with smoke machines, but they gave an inaccessible impression. Regardless, the cheers were deafening.

Once the Bloody Beetroots got their gear onstage, sliding in front of MSTRKRFT’s platform, things really got going. The infamously masked Bob Rifo and Tommy Tea spun till dawn, pushing the party straight to sunrise. They commanded the entire room and even hopped into the pit of people. They gestured with their arms, orbited the stage and never slowed down, catapulting an average rave into a come one, come all love fest.

Their set included recognizable favorites like the powerful, spiraling, synth-heavy “Warp,” which they performed twice, and the pulsating, straight techno number “We Are From Venice,” among numerous other booty-movers. Peering out at the sea of devotees and speaking with fellow stage mates, the sentiment seemed unanimous; although MSTRKRFT kicks absolute ass and we love them like no other (so thankful they made it!), the Bloody Beetroots brought it Friday night, drove home what the Canadian kids couldn’t quite muster.

Notable names floating about? Armand Van Helden was seen wandering around as well as members of Manchester’s The Whip. All in all a decent scene that had countless people clamoring for access and others scoping the nearest dive bar. I’m just relieved the DJs touched down in time.