It feels centuries ago that clubs were open in Melbourne, and it’s got me reminiscing on the perfection that is Melb clubbing culture. There are so many things I miss about clubbing: the sweet smell of piss and vomit permeating through the air after a big night, tasting the holy trinity of sauces from a Halal Snack Pack in the wee hours of the morning and waking up to ten follower requests from strangers on Instagram.
However, there is one thing that I won’t miss and that’s when the DJ completely fucks up the vibes and plays Mr. Brightside by The Killers.
Now, don’t get me wrong, it’s not a bad song. It’s actually a pretty good song. My problem is that it’s way too overplayed, to the point where I get second-hand cringe every time someone chucks it on at a club.
But my biggest problem with the song, is that people who are obsessed with Mr. Brightside are the fucking worst. They love it so much that it’s now become their one personality trait. We all know the type.
The type of guy who froths this song, finds any excuse to have his shirt off. Could be ten degrees but you know this bloke will be strolling around sans shirt, holding a Somersby apple cider.
This guy also buys all his clothes exclusively from Connors, and thinks a party shirt is appropriate attire for an occasion that isn’t a tropical themed party.
He replies with love heart eye emojis to every girls’ IG story, and is always wearing dumb hats in the middle of winter.
My friend Aimee Craig is a firm believer in the idea that liking Mr. Brightside by The Killers does not equate to a personality. Aimee was the one who first pointed out to me that for some people liking Mr. Brightside was an entire personality trait, and second, that those people sucked ass.
“It seems to be a certain guy that enjoys this song unironically too, you can spot them a mile away. Usually the type of guy that’s exclusively friends with his footy mates and is sporting a cigarette in every photo,” Aimee said.
“There is no bright side to Mr. Brightside. Sorry, not sorry,” she added.
Now, I know I’m just targeting guys here. But there is a female equivalent…and that is the Gimme! Gimme! Gimme! (A Man After Midnight) by ABBA girl.
Any chick that starts screaming when this song comes on and isn’t over 50, is a piece of work. I can guarantee you she’ll be in head-to-toe Kookai, and will have no shame in asking strangers to take a pic of her holding a vodka raspberry for Insta.
Again, the song slaps but it’s what it represents that really gets up my goat.
I try to avoid any club that plays these tracks like the plague, but sometimes you just can’t control the night like that. Seven drinks in and I’m going to think that spending $50 on an Uber fare to Persa in Fitzroy is a good idea, despite hating it every time I go.
It’s a difficult conundrum when either of these tracks play: you can either stand in the corner and look like a knob, or you can dance along to it and also look like a knob.
The simple solution here is to just NEVER play these songs again.
It may seem harsh but it’s important we ban these songs from being played once we reach a COVID-normal, to avoid any more pain.
We’ve been through enough here in Melbourne, we don’t need to cop any more shit.