Honolulu Weekly

We have something that’s amazing. For a second I was worried, it seemed like a lot of people were getting that “played out” feeling about First Friday. Hell, even the galleries were starting to get edgy about how massive the streets have become, calling together all the bars to warn them that this thing started out as an art thing, not a bar thing. So they added more policemen. Port-a-potties. More parking. I’m kidding about that last one, but wouldn’t it be nice?

So yeah, what happens then? The town goes crazy, and it was probably one of the best First Fridays I’ve ever seen. SoHo showed a live feed from inside its space, projected 40 feet on the side of the building on Pauahi Street that caused people inside to overperform, creating a lovely spectacle for the passersby in the street. Artist Vincent Ricafort doubled up, showing his composite drawings of famous and infamous radicals for his show Radical and accompanying the live SoHo feed showing German ex-patriot punk rocker Dieter Runge’s indie bike film Mystik Mood.

Brandon Reid and Justin Park had a line outside their place all night, just as long if not more colorful than Bar 35’s. All The Apparatus [formerly Haberdashery] finally connected with this city, after months performing with only small patches of the audience really getting it, the entire street was full of people who did. Some danced, some gaped. The pride in the performance this time was definitely better than I’ve ever seen, and the crowd swelling across Hotel Street really did seem to finally understand the deal with this eight-piece eccentric band that we were all dubbing Honolulu’s very own Arcade Fire.

I was there for it, and definitely felt the energy, nervously glancing over at the cops lurking from the sidewalk, surprised to see them not even trying to interfere with this greatness, or the masses of people blocking the bus-only transit lanes.

The Deadbeats played Nextdoor; where I was a bit concerned seeing only a few people five minutes before they were supposed to go on. I was determined, as their girlfriend, to not leave the front of the stage no matter what, though. So I didn’t look behind me and just danced. After three songs I could feel the heat behind me, and when I turned around I couldn’t see anything but masses and masses of people. All the Sandy Beach boys who’ve been growing up right before my eyes decided it was mustache night. I saw like 20 of them with drawn on mustaches for no particular reason, including pro skater Chris Kays, whose father Michael Kays will be showing his collection of vintage boards at Blue Hawaii soon.

thirtyninehotel went retro with new works from Richard Earl Leong Yu Hadad-Ralya, one of the pioneers of what that city block has become today. Gelareh didn’t stop dancing once for world-massive DJ Harvey. “Don’t you DARE hold back tonight! These people NEED TO KNOW what music really is!” she was saying/screaming to him as he switched out record after record. They seemed to get it: as I stumbled my way around the dance floor with them, there were no butt grabbers. Just arms in the air. Do you think Alan Carrell was celebrating the quirky new addiction the live model windows displays in his store INTO are portraying? Nope. He was dancing his face off to DJ Harvey, too. I even saw a few people in costumes, perhaps they missed out and had to work on Halloween, perhaps it’s just more fun to be weird when you know it’s going to be a crowd. Or maybe it’s just more fun to just have fun. Who knows. I don’t question perfection. I just enjoy it.