Nightlife

"Nashville has a vibrant nightlife—plenty of famous bars, historic pubs, and lounges—but it doesn't include nightclubs." Joel explained as he drove his Toyota Corolla.

They were cruising down Nashville's Music Row, neon signs glowing on both sides of the street. This place had no shortage of people singing and drinking; the entire street was lined with bars. Legend had it that Taylor was discovered by former DreamWorks record executive Scott Borchetta right at the Bluebird Cafe, a venue known for its live performance atmosphere.

Perhaps it was precisely this strong live-performance culture that kept nightclubs from catching on locally.

"Country music can be called 'adult contemporary music'—it doesn't have to be played in the countryside. But electronic music? Only young people listen to it, and for now, it only fits in nightclubs." Joel explained.

"That's why I'm telling you, you should go to Florida or Los Angeles. They've got famous DJs, massive nightclubs that hold thousands, the prettiest girls. But the true paradise of electronic music will always be Ibiza. I dream of buying a mansion there." Joel said.

A man's gotta have dreams, right? Who knows, they might come true.

Before long, the car stopped at the entrance of a back alley. The surroundings were much shabbier than the flashy bar street, and the entrance looked quiet. Not far off, a few men were gathered together smoking. They were dressed stylishly—New Era baseball caps, A Bathing Ape shark hoodies, and sneakers like Dunks, AJs, and Old Skools on their feet.

From a distance, Ryan swept his eyes over them and the corresponding information popped into his mind. As a male model, the original host knew how to dress himself and was very familiar with these trendy items. He'd bought quite a few himself back in the day. But Ryan now wasn't too interested in any of that; he never bothered with "dressing up," only pursuing comfort and ease.

"Vanderbilt University is nearby. A lot of young people gather here every weekend." Joel said.

By now, a line had already formed outside the nightclub. It wasn't that the club was that popular—it was just that the security guards were checking everyone's attire.

Joel was practically a half-employee here. He walked Ryan past the guards, but Ryan was stopped cold.

"Big guy! He's my friend, he's performing with me tonight!" Joel said, pushing Ryan inside as he spoke, finally getting them through.

"Face control—you know about that, right? The guards selectively let in people who look more attractive. If you're a hot girl, you can even cut the line and skip the cover charge. But honestly, your outfit doesn't really meet the dress code." Joel stared at the giant "GAP" logo on Ryan's chest.

The two walked down a slanted staircase into the basement. The hallway walls were covered in massive graffiti, and a couple of pairs were whispering in the corners.

As they passed through a large door, the muffled sounds became clear—a mechanical male and female voice repeating: "Push me, and then just touch me, till I can get my satisfaction."

"This song is called Satisfaction, the debut single by Italian DJ Benny Benassi. The vocals were synthesized using Apple's PlainTalk technology. It peaked at number two on the UK charts—the first electronic music track to break into the mainstream in the new century. I picked it as one of the regular tracks for this club." Joel introduced.

They finally entered the club's main hall. It was much smaller than Ryan had imagined—L-shaped, with only five tables and a bar.

Further ahead was a dance floor enclosed by iron railings, and at the far end, just a DJ booth.

It wasn't even nine o'clock yet. Only two tables in the club had people, and the dance floor was nearly empty.

"Joel, how much did you make last month? My pay's been dropping for four months straight." The black bartender behind the counter greeted Joel.

"That's because you're selling less and less booze..." A manager in a suit and tie hurried past, chiming in.

"I'm a bartender, not a liquor salesman." The black bartender looked toward the table closest to the dance floor. Around it sat seven or eight young, pretty girls in bodycon dresses and strappy heels, their figures slim and curvy, all dolled up.

"The measure of whether a nightclub is attractive isn't the decor, the drinks, or even how big-name the DJ is tonight. It's only about how pretty the girls here are." Joel whispered in Ryan's ear. "The prettier the women, the richer the men they attract. Simple, but it's an economic logic that always holds."

"Manager, bartender, bouncer—those are the essentials for every club. Then there are promoters. They're not employees; they partner with the club. They bring in girls, help people reserve tables. Some of those girls are just for decoration, others will drink with customers, sell booze, and yeah, they can be taken home too. Top promoters have circles full of ultra-rich guys, and the girl resources they've got are naturally top-notch!" After greeting the bartender and manager, Joel nodded toward a mustached man sitting in a booth surrounded by a crowd of women, casually pointing out his promoter status.

"As for the DJ, he's just a performer—not a necessity. Did you hear the manager complaining just now? Business is tough. Two more clubs opened up nearby this year. It's 8:45 Central Time now. We've got fifteen minutes to prep..."

Joel and Ryan had reached the DJ booth. Ryan saw an electronic device on the booth—actually two of them. Two turntable-like decks were arranged horizontally, with a bunch of buttons and faders between them, looking like the control panel of some precision instrument.

"Pioneer DDJ-RX—the mainstream DJ equipment manufacturer." Joel spun the platter a couple of times. "This is called a CDJ. It works like the old record players. That's not a turntable, it's a jog wheel—used to adjust the tempo and sync the beats of two songs."

"The mixer is in the middle. It controls the output of the players. For example, Song A only outputs the highs, Song B only outputs the mids and lows, so the two tracks transition smoothly into each other. That's the basic job of a DJ. Got it?" Joel asked Ryan.

Ryan shook his head.

Joel tossed him a monitoring headphone. "Watch for a bit, you'll get it."

Over the next three hours, Joel created a nonstop musical space—from A Touch of Class's Around the World (La La La La La), to Nightcrawlers' Push the Feeling On, to the disco classic The Rhythm of the Night.

From Zombie Nation's Kernkraft 400, frequently played in stadiums, to Daft Punk's Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger—which had delivered stunning visuals at last year's Coachella Festival—to Uncle TIE's remix of classical music, Adagio for Strings, and the absolute classic of electronic music, L'Amour Toujours.

Joel was truly an electronic music enthusiast. Everything he played tonight were classics of the genre.

Ryan also noticed something else unique: all these electronic tracks—whether the artists, production, distribution, or audience—were entirely European. It was like they existed in a parallel universe compared to the American pop market.

"Yep, America is a barren desert for electronic music. It's been like this ever since the Disco Demolition Night thirty years ago..." Joel explained the awkward position of electronic music in the States.