This sonic shift signifies a larger cultural move. Any utopian edge to the unmitigated hedonism of the circuit has long disappeared, replaced by the desire for a fun night out, nothing more.

Of course gay men don't have a monopoly on deferred dreams, and this same conformist spirit swamps the rave scene and much of its outgrowth. Where early adherents of rave once spoke of Alexander Trocchi's "insurrection of the senses," today's partiers are safely channeled into the same social parameters of clubland their predecessors sought to shatter. As one figure in got 2b there laments, "Drugs should be used as a tool, not as a shovel." His is a minority opinion, as evidenced by a recent ketamine heist at a Miami Beach veterinarian's office, the results of which have been felt all over clubland of late. On a recent night at Groove Jet, one young girl, barely out of high school, staggered past, held aloft by a friend. Lost in a K-hole, she walked into a wall several times before finally collapsing to the floor. It was hard to decide what was more depressing: the sight of this child drugging herself into a near-comatose state in search of transcendence, or the jaded seen-it-all-before tone of the doorwomen's voice as she called for security.

By Brett SokolSend your music news, local releases, and general gunk to Brett Sokol at 2800 Biscayne Blvd, Miami, FL 33137. Fax to 305-571-7678 or e-mail brett_sokol@miaminewtimes.com

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