No, it’s about a bunch of alcoholics who take pictures of each other and put a couple of simpering show reviews up where they hop on board the Indie Flavor of the Month train (which is usually disposable hipster rock) and pretend to be enlightened. These kids are as harmless as they are useless. Hopefully all the alcohol they drink will harm the sperm and keep them from polluting the gene pool.

i was feeling enlightened by the fourth shot of the dirt whiskey.

voya rules!

I’m thudding myself silly and bloody loving it…..over these tres awesome comments!!!

HOT
WET
TONGUE

word up

Oh yeah, byt needs to hook up some pictures of girls drinking forties making out with chimpanzees. You know some real shit. Just saying is all.

voya, to quote top chef, you are a tool and a douchebag. seriously, and i mean this: explain to me the point of posting “i hate this stupid shit; it’s stupid” comments on a website. it certainly ain’t constructive criticism.

you read byt, so face it: you kind of like it. or at least, you like to hate it. which is totally fine - that’s almost the point of the internet these days, and any site where people post pics of themselves partying can induce spite in some viewers - but posting about how you loathe it makes you look super retardo. also, “hating “hipsters”" (double quotes on purpose) is so 3 years ago, even more futile and, well, retardo.

if you think these people need to get lives, you may want to check out wherever it is that people get said lives and pick one up yourself. we all suck in one way or another. deal with it.

the only thing i am really afraid of now is that steve aoki will ask us to dj at the next big event. and i ain’t f*cking round here, folks. this is an actual debilitating fear.

ANd Aric gets his chimp

evolution:

1. get sick of the smarmy, self-involved, exclusive assholes who constitute the scene.
2. get together with your friends far away from the scene, eventually starting up your own parties, djs, art shows, etc.
3. get loathed for being a smarmy, self-involved exclusive asshole who constitutes the scene.
4. repeat.

that, or get married, move out to the suburbs, squeeze out a pup or two, and join the mummified masses picking out the right shade of perma-faux-wood flooring for your soon-to-be criminally underutilized kitchen.

either way, time’s tide will smother you.

Listen, scenesters, last year’s hipsters late to this year’s party, kids, and arrested-development 30 something lurkers,

Yep, the weird anonymity of the web does afford us peepers (or voyeurs, ooh, the name is tongue in cheek! how clever of Voya!) a glimpse at your inner workings and partyings. It’s not nice to take cheap shots. You’ve got me! I peeped your website, and then wrote something nasty under cloak of anonymity. Even worse, I don’t even live in town. So I’m a foreigner taking a shot from a concealed location. That isn’t very nice and I can admit it. But to be sure, I don’t hate any of you. I welcome the repartee here, and the remarks you give me in return. Maybe you all really do care about something. Maybe I’m the asshole. I’ve been called worse! But unfortunately, you irritate the hell out of me and I’ve had it. I feel a little bit bad about spying on you as you degrade yourselves and give up your privacy for a few moments of dubious fame in a microcosm of the internet, but I come back to look from time to time because it’s like a science project. I find myself curious: what drives this weird scene? You seem cheap and careless to me, like you’re dedicating your lives to something as empty as the endless social chase. For what? Is it hedonism? Apathy? Alcoholism?

What do I care? The reply that I’m writing is already a long one and my guess is that it will stretch out for many paragraphs. But first, what makes a random stranger write this much, besides the aforementioned lack of a life? Well, unfortunately, you’re living all over me. I can’t even go out the door without running into the herd. And it’s not just that you piss me off. It’s that you SCARE me. I see the same faces, night after night after night. My job is to entertain you because I’m in one of the disposable bands. We are what we are, and you are what you are, and in some ways we’ve got a symbiotic relationship but frankly, I want out. I want to take you by the shoulders and ask you why you’re so easy on yourself and why you’re ruining things I used to like. You come to see my band when we roll into town and sometimes I make small talk with some of you. And I can’t help but judge you and count down the moments until I can get away. You look haggard, tired, and spent. No one pays any serious attention to the spectre of alcoholism hovering ever nearby. Sure, have a drink or 7, it’s the weekend. It’s Thursday. It’s Wednesday. It’s some malevolently titled dance party on Tuesday. It’s always five o’clock somewhere…

It’s easy to dismiss you as kids, or to remind myself that I partied a lot in my younger days, too. But we’re the same age. You’re mostly in your late twenties and you’re still not making noticeable contributions. Some of you are well into your thirties. Where’s your shame? Life is passing you by! You’re all afflicted with a terrible case of arrested development, but nobody notices because you’re all in the same boat. Is this the new society? Is this our future? Is this social scene your calling? Is this what the kids are calling “art” these days?

What differentiates you from the pop culture scenes of the past is that yours appears to be nothing more than self-congratulatory partying that seems to celebrate the moment. You drink away the hours of the day you don’t sleep away. And what do you hold dear? Music? Each another? I’m really asking – the question is not rhetorical. Do you really care about one another? Who among you will remain in touch in ten years time? I’m sure some of you will. But if you’re honest with yourselves, I bet you’ll dispose of the bulk of these people just as soon as you all grow into your real personality, whenever that is.

Music is important and music is important as a cultural bond. But you don’t even really seem to experience music, as a whole. Sure, there are exceptions, but the bulk of you don’t really understand music. You’re not paying attention. You’re paying lip service. And you’re not doing the work. You’re influenced by your friends and by what the internet tells you is cool. You go to all the right shows and list all the right influences on your myspace page, but you stand behind me at the shows and talk about yourselves and each other. As a variation, you might mention how long you’ve known about this artist. And while we’re on the subject, how DID you find this music?

The internet has brought immediacy to music, which is undeniably a good thing. It means my little 14 year old cousin listens to, and loves, “old brown shoe.” It means her brother, a 16 year old metal-head, also lists the Velvet Underground as an influence, and means it. When I was in my mid-teens, I’ll be the first to admit that I didn’t really know the difference between Marvin Gaye and Ralph Tresvant. Still, it takes absolutely no effort to find new bands anymore, or even to uncover the good stuff, which was once buried treasure. Along with this, the clientele, if you will, of a band like mine has diminished even while our audience is growing. There’s no effort to it anymore, and no commitment. You’re committed to self-promotion within a scene to which music, particularly “indie rock” is the main glue. AMG has made music so accessible that you self-involved people disrupt my forays to see good music with your urgent social needs. This same self-promotion makes it easy for me to peek in on your trivial little website and take a crap on it. Every city has its version of you. You probably think you look like Exine, or Polly Styrene, or Lou Reed, or Nico, but the truth is you you’re miserable even at fashion: You’re all decked out in the same variation of the same worn out style. Girls look edgy by hanging a breast outside the ubiquitous ripped up H & M sweatshirt, and boys look edgy by adopting a wardrobe that could have been appropriated from the extras in an old Madonna video. What’s original about you?

Brightest Young Things. Even the name is appropriated, and ironically, it seems unintentionally apt. When Evelyn Waugh wrote his book, his use of the term “bright young things” was decidedly sarcastic. The social butterflies were castigated throughout his novel. In fact, he quite famously changed its title to the more direct “vile bodies” in order to portray his estimation of their lives. So Brightest Young Things could just as easily be an unintentionally hilarious photo-documentary about the decline of human society and the rise of a new, bizarre, social order where failure and mindlessness is not only excused, it’s celebrated. The cast of this charade seem defined by a shared, singularly-overwhelming characteristic: emptiness.

So please, BYT, continue to celebrate your diminishing daily existence with a fervor normally reserved for life’s major accomplishments. Hide your lack of creativity by setting yourself up in a bizarre little fishbowl stocked with identically troubled fish. We all suck, it’s true. And it’s also true, I check in from time to time. But checking your website is a bit like sniffing that sour milk that’s still in the fridge. You know it’s no good, but sometimes you open it up for a second whiff all the same, just to see if it’s as sour as you remembered.

Let me leave you with some advice from your friendly neighborhood lurker. I’m the one asking you to please take your conversations upstairs at the rock and roll hotel while a band is playing. I’m the one looking over your shoulder after you corner me after one of my own shows (I’m looking for real people). I’m the one who lives in another city but used to actually love coming to DC for the music scene, which you’ve ruined. Here’s my advice: If you insist on running this self-perpetuating mutual-attention machine that allows you to live out round two of your whispered high school popularity fantasy, you might want to fine-tune your machinery or at least, give some thought to what you’re contributing to.

People might be watching, but they’re laughing at you, not with you. Nobody, outside of your own small social circle, thinks you’re glamorous.

sounds like you’ve too much time between tour dates, dog. you should work on that.

Voya - On the upside DC had a thriving, talented, and historically relevant music scene before these young things moved in and “adopted it” as their own. DC will continue to have a thriving and talented music scene after they move on to dub-twang-down-tempo-funk parties in SW when it is deemed cool by pitchfork or their former sorrority sisters. Come back to visit. Despite what this website would convey, DC welcomes and embraces those who care about the scene and not just the scenery.

i soo want to know what band he is in!

voya is totally right. ESPECIALLY about that effing dog in the second picture. that dog is ALWAYS at rock and roll hotel, wasting its life. what an apathetic, alcoholic scenester.

i do have to say though, there are some seriously annoying people in that crowd. but hey, look at the fratties and sorostitutes in georgetown, look at the gipsters and homos in dupont, what about the hip-hoppers in chinatown and the trust fund babies in cleveland park. all that’s different is the fashin and the music.

whether it’s useful or wasteful to write a long-ass diatribe like voya’s, he explained himself clearly and stopped writing the equivalent of “you douchebags can suck it.” so that’s a good thing. right? i think so. i still think commenting on your dislike for BYT is kind of pointless, but if you’re going to do it, do it with some semblance of clarity and intelligence.

but in the end, this debate will go round and round until the last sun sets on DC. whatareyagonnado? try not to be a giant asshole, i guess.

At the end of the day this is just one “scene” out of many in DC as “beside myself” pointed out. it’s just that some are slightly more overexposed than others. voya’s band STRYPER could have played at the student union at AU and he would encountered the same uninterested heads as he did at Rock and Roll Hotel. That’s just how it be tho - unless they come out bc they’re your friends or someother type of self-interest, they’ll peep you for 10 or so minutes and keep stepping.

So Voya’s basically pissed at human nature, which probably wouldn’t be the case if his band was worth enough of a shit to generate interest and keep his bama ass busy.

fucking dogs.

I want to meet voya is a twat. if you had a clue you would know that most of these guys **are** black cat regulars. and some of them like that Johnny Knoxville lookalike shmuck walk out on their tabs let alone tip well and still get love. what is up with your tiny mind? these people make websites to promote themselves and make money and maybe have some fun while they’re at it. being cool doesnt pay the bills, dickhead.

Poor poor, Ian, attacked for resembling Johnny Knoxville.

baby I’m too cool for grammar school. btw my name is “I want to meet I want to meet Voya” not “I want to meet Voya”. get with it.

check this out

http://wonkette.com/photogallery/hbo/

I think they make Voya’s and all the other haters’ point pretty clearly. the comments are awesome too. look at how awkward and weird people look when they’re photographed by someone who isnt one of their own.

be as “active as the byt scenesters have become.”??

what’s so active about taking pictures and putting them on the internet? create something tangible. that’s active.

including you of course, LordGayson Faultroy (hopefully) The Last?

I think people would comment if it were real journalism instead of self promotion and name dropping, but hey who am I to judge…

(plus there are no free sparks or scowling photo faces on the other pages. please fix that, thanks)

“I would totally look at the byt website more if it ONLY contained the things that annoy me.”

Let’s all go over to Late Night Shots and make fun of them instead!!!

including me what?
and there are no worries about me siring any demon spawn. I have no testicles, and therefore cannot breed.

where in this site does it say that byt wants to get involved in journalism, pieinthesky? what is doing is bring together a wealth of info (however specific it may be) on music, art, and film, ON TOP OF the many “alternafun” events in DC. Now if you wanted something like that in the past you’d have to spool together DCist, Metro City Paper, the Post’s Weekend section and on and on and on and on. If the pictures annoy you then skip them and go straight to the movie reviews, or band interviews or neat little columnar calendar on the left, or tangents on DC, or food bits, and on and on and on.
about flickr: if by new you mean like 4 years old, then yes, it’s quite new. also,

I’m quite surprised neither side has invoked “postmodern(ism/ist)” yet.

I can’t believe these motherfuckers have time to spend on visiting websites that repulse them. And apparently there’s a ton of them on here too! Quit hatin’, or at least find something to get upset about that matters a little more than a bunch of people hanging out and dancing.

Hello again BYTs,

I wish I could bring you all to my blog, because frankly, I like this conversation. Unfortunately, that would reveal my identity, and I don’t feel like having my ass kicked. But I’m going to leave the BYT website alone after this post. So if you really want to keep hitting me back, flame away: My special, BYT only email address is madbadness@gmail.com .

My last post took on a decidedly lengthy and overly philosophical bent. And my first post was just a cheap shot. What can I say? I was a little bit cranky. Maybe it was PMS (Voya is a lady, ladies and gents. Who knew!)

Like I said, my main reason for writing in the first place was to be a shit, not really to make any point. But then I got some responses and figured, why not respond? Now I’ll just clear some things up and then be back on my way.

Also, as far as the utility of commenting on this website goes, that’s up for grabs. I know that I’m peeing in someone else’s sandbox here. Still, it’s not completely unfounded. You may not think you’re really hurting anyone, and you say you post these pictures for your own amusement. That may be true, but I see you at almost all the shows. And I don’t like how you behave. I mean, I know I’m just asking for it with that statement, but it’s true. You don’t seem to have any awareness of other people in the world. It’s not about social order, it’s about manners. And you don’t have many good ones. So if you’re getting negative comments on your own website, suspend your vanity for one second and consider this: There is no great unknown DC audience, watching the BYT website in fascination for their next move. At least, I don’t think so. I can’t speak for anyone else, but people like me seem to land on this site by accident or because they’re annoyed and know exactly where to find you. You’re not exactly subtle about who you are; one google search and we’ve found the culprits. Can you really blame people for taking the passive aggressive approach and hitting you here?

First of all, please don’t mistake my grumbling for that of a dejected musician who has been dismissed by the socialites. I’m not even talking about my own experiences on stage. I like what I write and I like how we play it, but I’m not suffering from any delusions of grandeur. I am CERTAINLY not capable of wailing hard and true like the awesome band Stryper. (By the way, ADMIT that you would all go to see Stryper right now. Admit it. The irony would drive you insane).

Anyway, as for my on stage experiences, I’m just up there trying to do my thing and you can watch or not. I’d like it better if you did, but this is more about my experience in the audience than my experience playing to it. If you don’t have any respect for my band, that’s fine, I can play over you. But don’t intrude on my experience watching other bands, because I’m actually trying to enjoy the set. Don’t step on me eight times because you can’t endure a 40 minute set without getting two new drinks and then pushing your way back up front, hitting me with your bag while you try to balance drinks and a camera because you’ve just got to take pictures of one another in front of a band that nobody (besides me apparently) is listening to anyway.

That is, unless, you’re the one singing every song at the top of your lungs so everyone knows you know what’s UP. Anyone else at Elvis Costello? Hint: If a musician changes the words and the cadence of the song, he doesn’t want you to sing along. But you keep at it anyway, wrecking my experience to prove you know the words. Who cares? You might know every word and own every record. I don’t care if you’re hard core music fans or dilettantes, really. I’m