Canfield parties are all the same—pretty good music, pretty good attendance, and issues with the sound throughout the night.
There’s a spot of brilliance in Canfield’s signature theming (in this party’s case: Camp vs. Vamp) that provides just the right amount of structure—constrained enough in its formula to always be coolly aloof, yet expansive enough to allow people to just show up in whatever they want and still be sort of on theme. Advertising was low-key and similarly nonchalant, but still gave way to a party with unrestrained music options and a high turnout from every class.
Most everything about the night lended itself in Canfield’s favor. No one ever really worries that a Canfield party will be bad– they seem to exist in some sort of other category that always allows for a predictably good time. The components needed to create a good night are always present at Canfield parties, and it’s really just up to the individual to make something out of it. The music always remains just crowd-pleasing enough to never leave anyone truly unhappy– but does it ever leave anyone truly fulfilled? One has to wonder if we are ever truly impressed with Canfield, or if we are simply satiated by a party that really cannot go wrong because of the hope that is always present at the beginning of term, and lingering at the end. Canfield’s parties are endearingly reminiscent of the Sunday night D-Hall ice cream sundae bar: predictable, basically always the same, but still fun and tasty enough that the most you can do is groan about the long line, because you’ll inevitably end up standing and waiting in it anyway.
At one point, right when the party had settled into its comfortable groove and assumed energy for the rest of the night, the fire alarm went off. While this isn’t exactly a common occurrence at other parties (especially outdoor ones), it’s still treated as more of an interruption than an emergency– a momentary pause where everyone looks at each other to see if anyone is actually heading to leave. For some first-time party attendees, however, it was a little more chaotic and added to the slightly skittish first-year energy as the crowd thinned a bit due to the interruption and naïve concern. The (very brief) incident still added some unintentional, initiation-esque charm to the night despite anything else.
The campfire mostly existed for aesthetic appeal and remained largely unused on Friday’s particularly warm September night. But there were sparklers at the DJ booth! And the moon! As first parties go, it was exactly what we have all come to expect from Canfield: a relaxed, yet lively start to the term where nothing can ever really go wrong.
There’s something weird about Noyes parties, even though there’s usually nothing explicitly wrong with them. Like in all of the 70s houses, there’s lots of space inside and out to stand, sit, and talk. Noyes even has a natural, almost courtyard-like area that converts nicely into a dance floor.
But the truly great party that was at least theoretically possible didn’t materialize. The biggest issue was attendance—there were just never enough people. Even freshmen didn’t turn out—perhaps they are still a little party-shy and were tired from the night prior? Or maybe they could just sense the weird vibes in advance.
Not that nobody had a great time at Noyes. Throughout the night, there was always a core group of people standing on the table dancing, sticking their hands in the air and cheering during the brief but still too long silence between each song—a reminder, everyone: please turn on Spotify crossfading!—but only a few steps out from the DJ booth, the crowd was thin and listless. It was the sort of party where people stopped by, left, and never came back.
The music wasn’t offensively bad, but it wasn’t great, either. It had the same energy as a tube of sour paste one would buy at a candy store as a child—sugary, concentrated, unadventurous pop that everyone knows and recognizes. It tastes fine, but leaves you feeling, somehow, hollow. We do all like “Last Friday Night,” but it kind of has to be earned.
In fall 2024, having a party be Brat themed feels like saying the theme is cool party. It was the lowest of the low hanging fruit—cliché before it was even suggested. We all knew it had to happen once this term, and maybe Noyes should be thanked for getting it out of the way early. Regardless, it’s an disappointing and shallow theme. What were people supposed to do—wear green? And they were going to play Von Dutch anyway.
But what could have been if Noyes hadn’t caved to Jodel backlash? The original theme, as some may remember, was unprotected sex and muppets, which was really stupid, but also original and distinct. It’s a shame they didn’t have the courage to stick to it. Scattered within the crowd, you could find a few brave, lonely people who, whether they missed the memo or just decided to ignore it, channeled the old theme—in ways as subtle as wearing a rainbow bow tie, and as conspicuous as bringing an actual Kermit puppet onto the dance floor. There is no way to be chic with your hand inside of a muppet. And so there’s something about doing it anyway—in the nonchalance, in the unabashedness—that was actually kinda cool.
In the end, maybe it’s not so confusing—the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, and a slightly weird house threw a slightly weird party. It wasn’t romantic, or the sort of place where you’d find the campus mean girls, but if you just wanted to mill about and talk talk with your friends while hearing the poppier Bennington party classics, it was fine. They were aiming for 365, and they got 360. Most people on campus will think about it extremely infrequently.
Be First to Comment