RAC at sound
Sweaty, Smiling, and Satisfied.
I’m in my favorite state. Out of my head, in my body, and deep in the music. In this particular moment, the music is being played by André Allen Anjos, aka RAC.
RAC is an incredibly talented, Grammy-award-winning producer who masterfully blends funky electronica with indie pop. He’s known for his upbeat remixes of popular indie tracks from artists like Foster the People and Lana Del Rey, effortlessly enhancing beloved tunes while preserving their original emotional quality in his remixes. His albums include BOY, EGO, Strangers, and his latest EP, HYPER, where he collaborates with a wide range of artists, including Odesza, Matthew Koma, Lady Gaga, and Bob Moses.
When I saw the announcement that RAC was playing, I immediately thought of his Blue Jeans remix which was one of my most played songs of the summer last year. Driving windows down on the PCH next to my best friend with this song blasting, summer breeze blowing through my hair carrying with it all my cares and worries— ah, what a dream. I dug through a little more of his repertoire, most of which was lower on the ‘untz untz’ spectrum than I typically crave. Then again, lots of electronic producers have unexpected tracks in their arsenal that only come out during those late-night sets-–so I bought a ticket.
Going Alone
“Have fun. Be safe, please.” It’s 12:30 am, and my friend Scarlett pulls over outside Sound Nightclub in Hollywood, a venue tucked away on a small bustling side street off Sunset Boulevard. “I will. Love you,” I say, giving her a squeeze before hopping out and handing the bouncer my ID. I’ve spent plenty of wild nights at Sound with friends, but this was my first time walking in alone, fueled by the $20 margarita Scarlett and I shared at Mars—a brand-new Hollywood hotspot—just before.
As usual, Sound’s thunderous dance cave is lit up by the club’s signature lanterns, moving up and down overhead each time the song transitions into a new phrase. Damon Steele warms up the crowd on stage as I find a spot near the front. The crowd is full but not packed, Everyone has enough room to move however, despite it being past midnight, not many people are dancing. The first thing I notice is the skewed gender ratio—total sausage fest. Almost immediately after I plant near the speaker, this scrawny drunk little boy with dark patchy stubble and emerges from a 12-man wolf pack next to me, His eyelids strain to stay open.
“You are so beautiful!” he yells into my ear.
“Aw, thank you. I have a boyfriend.”
I don’t.
“Where is he?” He snickers, looking around.
“He’s home.” he stares at me confused. I stare back at him, not blinking.
“So, what? You came alone?” He moves closer to me.
“Yeah, I did.”
“No you didn’t. Listen…” He leans in and puts his hand on the back of my neck.
Oh, hell no.
“Don’t fucking touch me.” I slap his hand away and turn my back on him.
“Where are your friends?” he yells as I walk away.
I have friends, but, I don’t need my goons constantly around to validate my existence. Go suffocate someone else with your AXE body spray and cigarette breath.
Damn, I wish I had said that.
I find it ironic that I rarely encounter this kind of behavior at warehouse raves held a few blocks away from Skid Row. Sound is a club so it has that clubby feel, which, I’ve noticed, attracts skeezes who, let’s just say, aren’t there for the music.. But was I going to let that asshole ruin my night? No. I bought myself a double tequila soda, shook it off and kept dancing.
RAC comes on at 1am and plays banger after banger. "I Don’t Know What to Do" by The Magician and Jeppe, "Guess" by Charli XCX, a disco version of "BBL Drizzy," and more. His disco-funk-infused house beats keep my body moving without a second thought. I was right—he does have some tricks up his sleeve.
I can feel myself truly vibing solo, completely content. As I close my eyes and feel the bass in my chest, I genuinely don’t care that I’m here alone– but I can’t shake the feeling that there are eyes on me. I open my eyes and realize I’m dancing in a large open space right in the center of the floor. Scanning the room, I make eye contact with skeezy AXE cigarette boy from earlier who glares at me from across the room.
Sheesh. I didn’t expect to make an enemy tonight.
I spot two tall guys on the right side of the crowd and move to hide behind them. For a moment, I feel safer—until I notice them whispering to each other, both glancing toward a group of young blonde girls dancing like their lives depend on it. They whip their perfectly made heads back and forth to the beat and jump around like a pack of coyotes– carefree, hands in the air, basking in their own sacred female energy, paying zero attention to the crusty men eyeing them from across the room.
I’m not sure what’s worse—getting unwanted attention from someone you’re not interested in or being invisible to someone you are interested in.
One of the boys I’m hiding behind turns his head towards me and catches my eye. I smile, close my eyes, and keep dancing. From their energy, I’m guessing these guys can’t be older than 20. When I open my eyes again, the other one is looking at me.
Nowhere is safe.
Feeling them prowl a few feet away, I stare straight ahead and keep dancing. It’s so strange. I keep my eyes on the DJ, but in the corner of my eye, I watch as these boys begin to turn toward me. Step by step. Inch by inch. It’s so awkward. I’m facing the stage and they’re facing me. Like dogs waiting to be fed dinner. Or undercover aliens trying to act like humans.
Eventually, I can’t take it anymore. I look the taller one in the eye and blurt out, “Hi.” Like a magnet, he shoots over to me. “Alloa. I ama Ricardo. Theesa isa Mauro.” They tell me they’re from Milan, and speak very little English. For a moment, I’m polite and try to hold the conversation, but after 15 seconds, I excuse myself to the bathroom. I can’t do it. I won’t! I’m not in the mood to talk. I don’t care how cute or Italian they are—I’m here to dance alone.
RAC’s set keeps getting better. The music lifts me higher away from any doubtful or self-conscious thoughts about being there alone. The tequila shot I threw back at 1 am probably helps too. Despite the audacity of Mr. Weeny Stubble Boy, I’m proud of my projected confidence in coming alone. News flash! Women are allowed to dance alone! We might even enjoy our own company. What a concept!
It’s societal programming that keeps us (yes, women but also lots of men) from going to shows alone, which sucks. In college, I remember I used to go out with the intention of finding some random guy to wrap his arms around me. Then, I’d Uber home feeling somehow validated that a stranger I’ll never see again groped me for twenty minutes? And all my friends did it too!
How is that the norm?
I’ve had lots of conversations with people who think dancing alone in a crowd feels weird. But it isn’t. It shouldn’t be. It can be the best feeling in the world if you let go of those limiting beliefs– and ignore any crusty behavior that comes your way.
If you’re thinking about seeing an artist at Sound alone, don’t be swayed by my experience. It’s one of the best venues in LA for top-tier electronic DJs, especially if you’re not comfortable raving solo in DTLA warehouses. I’ve had incredible nights there where the crowd shares the same camaraderie and respect as at a music festival. Just keep in mind, it can attract a ‘clubbier’ crowd than a typical underground rave.
Parking and Safety
Uber. Parking in Hollywood is a nightmare. Save yourself the hassle and just Uber.
If you must drive, there’s street parking on Cassil Place, but it’s not guaranteed, and there are a few unhoused encampments nearby. Use discretion.
If you’re going alone, especially as a woman, just Uber.
As always, I recommend that all solo ravers carry mace. If security won’t let you in with it, ask them to hold it for you. If you’re walking alone at night, call a friend to talk with you as you walk, or use a safety app like Noonlight while pretending to be on the phone with someone. I used to do this a lot when I worked late-night restaurant shifts.
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