My friend Sarah got free tickets to a secret show by the Crystal Method at the Echoplex on Saturday night and invited me to come along. When we showed up at the door, she said, “This is my +1.” That struck me as the perfectly ambiguous term for a partner-in-crime in our current age. It could be a husband, a wingman, a sister, a not-quite-official-yet girlfriend. When we got inside, the Crystal Method had just started their set and the faithful were huddling close to the stage. As the bass thumped so hard it vibrated even the baby hairs at the top of my forehead, I appreciated how house music is one of those genres that can include rock, metal, grunge and hip-hop. The crowd got really into it, dancing as if they were out of their minds. One person pumped a stuffed tiger up and down in the air with the fat, dirty beats. The scene reminded me of what I’ve read about ancient Baccanalian frenzies. There seems to be a limitless, timeless human need for release.