Think back to your most heavenly dancing experience. No doubt the place was packed and you were rubbing up against equally blissful, equally lovable friends, playmates and strangers. That's dancing, and it involves sweat, people, most of which is ain't yours. The goal is intimacy, and to achieve it you need some healthy, harmless (or helpful) rubbing; you gotta be dancing tight with the rest of the party posse to fully get into the system, the "system" being that big-picture organism wriggling within the club. Cuties eyeing hotties, future CEOs humping future executive assistants, has-beens hooking up with ho's, all as one, party people worming their way around the dance floor, penetrating split-second openings on the way to the perfect boogie hole. Bored? You can always catch the eye of the hunk near the blonde and the brunette.
Nothing's worse than an empty dance floor, except maybe stubbing a toe, and neither is much of a concern at Lo. Lo is tiny -- holds 57 people -- so small that the clubbier amongst the party crowd may guffaw at its tiny-ness. But emptiness shouldn't be measured in quantity but in density. Huge dance floor with twenty people on it is a sad thing; an itsy Twister-sized floor holding twenty souls is a goddamn party, especially when the music's deep and the rhythm spits out of the speakers and nails your whole body with one big bass punch. Lo's good for that. The DJs play a lot of house these days on the weekends, some drum & bass and techno and retro on the weeknights. And if the DJ's feeling it, Lo is as hopping as any little club in the hippest corner of the world. Take a recent five-fucking-hour set by this city's best club DJ, Astroboy. We only caught the last three hours, and they were a beast. If there's a flaw in Lo's design, it's the wooden floor booths, which are hell on the ass and back and are considered a form of torture in some countries. But you don't go to a dance club to sit. You go to dance, and at Lo it's a pleasure.
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