Iconic vs. ironic

Dead Hipster

Bodies seem to move in sync on the makeshift dance floor at Sean Kelly's Public House. As the name would suggest, hipsters in skinny jeans and oversized glasses are around the bar, but there are non-ironic tee-shirts, baseball caps and even a girl dressed as Ke$ha — the night is for everyone looking for an escape from whatever the week brought.

Nearly every Thursday for the past four years, DJs Mike Gill and Christopher Baumann throw down a unique top-40-yesteryear-hits-electronic mix with more than enough bass.

"I'm that drunk kid who really likes music who has a hold of your iPod at a party," said Baumann. "We emphasize the ‘sing-a-long'."

The Missoula staple began at the Palace and was able to move up to the Badlander just six months after starting up. It wasn't supposed to be a big deal — just some friends getting together to let loose.

Dead Hipster's photographer Abi Halland started as a regular before she approached Gill and Baumann about party photography, popular in big cities like L.A. and New York. From there, Baumann said Dead Hipster took off — DH-goers would take the photos from the group's Flickr photostream and tag their friends, something the DJ says increased attendance tremendously.

Word traveled quickly and soon, Bauman says he noticed that people would refer to Dead Hipster in context and everyone knew what they were talking about.

"It's like a cultural part of Missoula," he said. "It's a ‘thing' and I like that."

But the Badlander couldn't last forever. When the bar was closed for a week last June, Dead Hipster temporarily took over Sean Kelly's to keep the party going. Baumann said the change of scenery was nice and when the pub asked them to become regulars, they couldn't refuse. Switching venues slowed Dead Hipster at first, but as the year draws to a close, it's back in full swing.

University of Montana senior Kari Clark can't decide if she is going to Dead Hipster. She is supposed to meet a friend, but her roommate Cristiana Richardson won't hear of it.

"The drinks are cheap and us college kids are not financially stable," she explained. Clark laughs, weighing the idea of going downtown and mentally going through her closet.

"You don't have to dress up," Clark said. "I wear a cute dress or sometimes jeans and a nice top."

Regardless if the pair ends up at Sean Kelly's or not, the doors open and the drinks start pouring at 10. The line flexes out until 11 as everyone tries to get in for the two for one cover of $3.

One of the DJs is fully engaged with a laptop, which lights up his face as he chooses the next song and also moving to the sounds with the crowd. Halland bobs on the speaker and effortlessly snaps shots of the crowd. Some couples break into smiles and others are caught in the moment, as if Halland's camera doesn't exist.

"Get up front and do your thing," Baumann said. "Abi's particular talent that works so well is she is able to capture expressive moments in a very natural way."

The trio's Flickr page is overrun by thousands of pictures in vibrant colors of the good, the bad and the ugly, but in a tasteful way.

"There's that tipping point when people are loose, the night has gone on long enough that they commit themselves to getting on the dance floor," Baumann said. "It always takes a certain amount of encouragement in the form of drinks to get out there and start dancing."

Prehab

Thursday is undeniably the new Friday, so before the weekend hangover hits, the Badlander hosts Prehab, a dance party so epic you might forget you have class in the morning.

"This is the place to dance — this is where the dance floor is," said UM alum Karl Jones.

It all started the first Thursday of August this year. Dead Hipster, long time the Thursday night staple at the Badlander, packed up and moved to Sean Kelly's (see Ms. Duffy's story). Prehab filled the dancehall's void with new DJs, a new name and the same old debauchery, faithfully photographed and uploaded to Flickr every week.

The feel is similar and the drink specials are the same — with the addition of $1 PBRs — and the entrance fee is a dollar cheaper. The real difference comes down to the music, the crowd and the space. And, of course, the catchy name, courtesy of former prehab DJ Jimmy Nasset (DJ James Two).

One of Prehab's DJs, Kris Moon, has been spinning for 18 years ­— half his life. He said he keeps the regulars happy by playing new styles and songs, but gets the other half dancing by playing something they might have heard on the radio that day.

"I have a pretty wide palate of sound, so I don't just play one or two main things," he said.

Songs range from club and pop remixes, with a sprinkling of dubstep and hip-hop throughout the night. Always though, Moon said, the goal is to make the crowd move.

"That's the skill you can't really teach," he said. "You just have to learn, as far as reading a crowd."