“Are the lights different tonight?” I asked Scotto. “We wanted to make things darker,” he said. “More strobes and less color.” “Okay,” I said, surveying the nightclub. The music sounded sepulchral and the dance floor looked like a primordial soup. The darkness was palpable. “I’m going to play rave records,” I told him. “Okay,” Scotto said, his attention on his lighting board.
