The suspense from Skism increases as the lights still shine upon the crowd, eager to hear the bare footsteps of Rusko. Each one of us looks around, unsure of how we ended up next to this sweaty man, kandi-filled arms, and glow stick-covered fellow.
When the faces surrounding us seem to gradually become engulfed by darkness, cheers echo the wood paneled Showbox SoDo. Blinded momentarily by a pulse of light, quick, then illuminated are five letters R, U, S, K, O! Not a single body is still. We beg him to play, chanting his name, hoping it wills him to send our ears into his control for the next couple hours.
Now, there he is, dirty blond hair bouncing as he greets us with open arms. His deejay set surrounds him, looking like a three-sided wrap-around piano. Each tap gains volume, each pressed button sets us off. He entices us with his pounding bass while the throng begins to lose its mind. Over and over again the thumping trance consumes them. I divert eyes elsewhere. The seizure-inducing purple, blue, and white lights catch my attention for a good two minutes until I remember where I had originally wanted my vision to go. Down. Down to the stage floor, below the flashing blows, under the DJ set, I look towards Rusko. Still down, lower, lower to his signature solely socked feet.
“The sun is shining everyday!” Yes, the sun is truly shining inside the venue. Virgin hands shielding eyes from the welcoming shine, which is synced to each song he plays. The sway and hammer like motion of bodies is a constant movement to each sequence of beats created. No, we do not ever think that the music would stop, because in this time, in these moments he is able to make us all forget. We have lived in the moment.