Not usually one for concerts, having fainted at one and experienced shitty crowds at every other, I refused to leave my spot last night in the audience.

It’s not that I thought someone would steal my spot. Far from, actually. The crowd was incredibly considerate, making sure everyone could see over each other, bringing strangers who were isolated from their friends back to the group. And not one douche got up on their friends shoulders and made a scene.

A lot of this was Woozy’s doing. Originally named Sven Eric Gamsky, Still Woozy wooed over his audience with hypnosis.

I had felt my bladder beginning to reach max capacity before he was to come on stage. The opener had just finished, the band MICHELLE, and I was feeling parched. I needed something I couldn’t really conceptualize or feel. MICHELLE had some good songs, but their intense choreography that was obviously taxing for their bodies kept distracting me. Lights full blaring, this girl group had quite a show. But I wasn’t really there for it.

Still Woozy taunted and teased. What I thought would be a quick ten-minute breather was almost a half hour. I contemplated using the restroom almost thirty-seven times. But I didn’t want to miss the introduction.

He opened with the song Again, like a judge at the bench, banging the gavel to announce that court was in session. It felt like our humanity was on trial. You either were faking it or not. Innocent or imposter?

Spotlights shone into the audience, bringing us into view. Were we dancing or ignoring our bodies? Would we react according to our nature, or were we implants of a false human race?

Woozy shoved us into the pit of our bellies. Somatic movement was his bitch.

When all was said and done, while we were panting, sweating, shaking out limbs, Still Woozy was planning his attack.

He moved to a slower pace, lulling us to sleep. What the slower songs lacked in energy and band interaction, they made up for in creative light play. The band watched your eye lids slowly fall, your body float and sway, and waited for the moment. During strikes of the drum and guitar chords in the chorus, the lights flashed, creating rainbows behind closed eyes, hypnotizing every soul. Images flashed in the audiences’ eyes. A cat balancing with its tail, a woman lying down, a light shower in space. Every element was hit with intermittent cymbal crashes and I was escaping my body.

Once we were in this hypnotic space, he brought out the animals. The band was seemingly caged in separate platforms on stage, next to fluffy statues of flowers, in front of fake windows of an imagined house. Until they’d jump down and decide they were ready to really play. Bass player and guitarist met in rocking motions, dancing together. When the song had a thick bass line, the bass player would run to the drummer, leaning in to dig into his beat.

Woozy brought out all the animals last night. Look at any part of the audience last night, from the balcony to the back corners, and you would’ve found everyone rocking to the beat.

It was impossible not to when you were locked into his trance.

I remember looking around, feeling silly at times for how malleable my body felt. Stiffening back up, I’d look at someone else and realize we were all looking a little silly.

It seems Still Woozy understood this notion of the imposter. As I said, the prior band, the opener, was only ever concerned with the theatrics of their show. Rightly so, the music industry is a demanding bitch when it comes to female musicians.

But Still Woozy saw more to that story. Halfway through his set a giant inflatable figure with a strange nose and its arms covering its boobs appeared. The stage was decorated with colors and flowers, constructing a scene of joy and goofiness. An unserious existence.

Woozy mirrored this mentality in his singing and dancing. Throwing his body around stage, at times twerking and grinding, swirling his hips with other band members. At one point his band members even performed a line dance. His songs were tangy and slushy, a fruity cocktail of pure bliss and childlike sincerity.

It was at this point that I realized what was actually on trial. I looked to everyone else and saw we mostly agreed. Giving in was easier, we were tired of this act.

At the end of the day, we came to this concert to enjoy some music and have fun. There was no more to be put on display and Still Woozy knew this. He tricked us into belonging in that audience, each and every one of us. We were together, enjoying the company and forgetting any distance between us. Still Woozy and his band encouraged hugging those you came with and looking to the people around you for mutual enjoyment.

I couldn’t help but plant my feet in the ground, and it wasn’t hard to avoid my bladder when my entire body belonged to Still Woozy’s music and his crowd. By the end of his set, he brought the audience back into their bodies, lulling us out with some slow songs and ending on his biggest hit, Goodie Bag.

It was a wonderful show for someone like me who hates concerts, and it reminded me of the fun that can exist outside of my small, tunneled vision.  When I got home, I used the restroom, and finally got some much needed sleep. Thanks Still Woozy.