By Ian Cory
On the last day of classes at my high school, my entire grade (60 kids, it was a small school) crammed into a classroom and blasted music while we signed each other’s yearbooks. Being the school’s designated music nerd I was allowed access to the playlist on the condition that I didn’t play anything too outlandish. Knowing that I had a limited amount of social currency to spend, I selected only two songs; Europe’s “The Final Countdown”* and Daft Punk’s “One More Time”. The later ended up being played upwards of five times over the final 45 minutes of the day. I do not consider myself to be much of a dancer, but my 17-year-old self cut a fucking rug to the best of his ability. It was in this moment of uninhibited excitement and relief that I “got” dance music. I was surrounded by 59 other kids who were all equally psyched about being alive, and none of us gave a shit that we looked pretty silly trying to dance through the hallways while carrying an iPod speaker and singing along to a 6 year old French House tune.