Aftermath: Samantha Ronson at Rich's
She wasn't there. Yeah, I know why you clicked this headline. Lindsay Lohan was not at Rich's last night with her ladyfriend DJ, Samantha Ronson. Sorry, we had to get that out of the way.
Last night at Rich's, all manner of celebrity-stalking, Perez-reading, catty-hating denizens were out in brute force to get as close as they could to the world's most famous girlfriend. Ronson came on a little after midnight and was delayed about 30 minutes due to technical issues.
You honestly can't imagine how intricate a DJ setup is these days. Not that Aftermath was some sort of wizard on the decks back in the day, but now it looks like you need at least a Mac Book and a shit-ton of wires, with the turntables almost as an afterthought. What was funny was that the crowd didn't even realize Ronson wasn't spinning until she had been onstage a good half-hour.
While she was trying to make sense of the sound system, music was still pumping out - it just wasn't her own mixes just yet. The crowd seemed to not have any interest in Ronson's set itself, and that was sad. They were really there to fulfill some fantasy they hear about on TMZ but never dare speak of.
True, Aftermath was standing a few feet away from Ronson, but just because where else could you honestly get pictures of a DJ at work? They stand pretty stationary, aside from the occasional head-nod. Her set started with a mash-up of a few Guns 'N Roses tunes, before heading off into clubland with Kanye and Britney.
Aftermath has heard her mixes from other parts of the country, and those were far more adventurous. This set seemed tailor-fit for the glitter-injected crowd. Nothing to hurt the brain; saving the good shit for the L.A folks. But it was nonetheless innovative and fresh, pulling James Brown in the mix with Lil Wayne and Jay-Z, in the same two minutes.
Even the two young Marines on leave in the middle of the dance floor were bobbing their jarheads in time. What struck me was how normal Ronson was. She's short and very plain, almost like Winona Ryder driving up to the gas station for cigarettes on a Sunday afternoon. She's been thrust into some sort of tabloid bullshit maze of cameras and bloodsuckers in neon shades that you feel bad for even looking at a magazine cover and contributing in some way.
At one point, she was feverishly texting on her phone, I'm sure to Lindsay. Each time she picked up her phone, the crowd swelled. Later on, I saw her sneaking a cigarette under her mixing deck, Marlboro Red shorts, those tiny ones for the quick smokers. It was like a stolen moment of reality, while she was surrounded by anything but.
And a few blocks away at Hotel ZaZa, there were probably a gaggle of paparazzi waiting for in a back alley for her to come back to her chick. - Craig Hlavaty