Party Reviews: Bingham Calling & Dewey’s Masquerade Ball

Day Friday, March 29th 

House Bingham

Theme Punk, Bingham Calling

I went to Bingham Calling and all I got was Bingham pins for my patch-filled denim jacket. Well, I got a little more. Bingham gave cohesive sets all night long. The music was not always punk but always adjacent, where all the weirdos of the world still felt safe to pound their bodies against the beats and twist their gothic fingers around the spiderwebs, to be spellbound for the night. Bingham’s porch was perfect for the season, filled with half-dressed humans ready to dance their hearts out, decked out in their fishnets and leather. The shoves and pushes of laced-up boots and teased-up hair in the mosh of Bingham’s Punk Party was a pleasure. This past weekend was finally warm enough to shed your layers, shed your skin, and gather your body as close as you can to the weaving crowd. The party existed in both the smoke-filled porch and the sweat-slicked moshpit. The mingling of laughter and gossiping whispers dance along the sounds of Le Tigre, More crackers, please, more crackers, please. We ripped our tights, we raged against the dying of the light. Bennington Punks remember, we do not go gentle into that good night. 

Day Saturday, March 30th 

House Dewey

Theme Masquerade ball

… Dewey, you poor fool… You seem to have lost your way, and I’m not sure impromptu karaoke is the proper way to get back on track. The screeches of the microphone against the club music was… interesting. The lack of masquerade attire was interesting… Come on, Bennington, what happened to committing to a theme? Compared to the lively night at Bingham, Dewey felt like a fever dream involving a mostly empty common room full of hungover half-alive party-goers, crawling their way through the rest of the weekend. Towards the beginning of the night, there was lively energy, not many on-theme looks or decorations but people pranced on the coffee table and crowded the DJ booth with excitement. The firepit outside was surrounded by people interacting with the music wafting through the open windows, and the red and orange flickers illuminating the faces of the hidden and unhidden figures of the night. 

Overall, I went home around 1 in the morning. At that point, nobody could save the sinking ship of Dewey. And so, as I made my way across the lawn, waving goodbye to our ship who hit its rock, I spotted the empty dance floor, littered with cups and empty promises. I passed the dwindling smokers, few and far. I had made the right decision. It seems that just like the crowd didn’t know what to do about the theme, Dewey had no clue either. Better luck next time!