I read this in another blog...

The morning music portion of the Black Party is an entirely different vibe than what precedes. The sexual urgency and the aggressive cruising is removed. The men on the dancefloor are noticeably older. Many of these older guys sleep all night and arrive at the Roseland specifically for the morning music portion. We smile and acknowledge each other as friends, even though we only ever see each other at this time. We are survivors, all of us, a fact underscored, amplified, by the 20, 25, 30-year old tunes being played, each song removing us to a place and time back when we danced with The Lost. In the music, we find our truths, we find our souls, we find ourselves, we find The Lost. It's not uncommon to notice someone dancing with tears rolling down his face. Still, he dances. He dances in memory, in tribute. He dances with his hands up to heaven, channeling love, channeling spirit. He dances with a head full of photographs, full of touches. Certain songs may make his heart ache, his throat tighten, his tears flow....but he dances to that motherfucking record. This is no somber requiem dance, it's a smiling-through-tears celebration of memories. I've told friends that I go to church once a year, and it takes place during the last hours of the Black Party.