Sometimes, rock stars are DJs

It’s Friday night, and I’m all set for a solid disco nap before heading over to Spaceland to catch the Blitzen Trapper show when a call comes in on the hotline from HQ. I’m needed at the Natural History Museum, stat. To celebrate the release of the Metromix-approved new Interpol album "Our Love to Admire" (the cover art of which was photographed at the museum), singer Paul Banks and drummer Sam Fogarino are DJing in the North American habitats hall. Oh, this I have got to see.

My last excursion to the NHM for something “cultural” resulted in me getting turned away from the Autolux gig there due to the overwhelming amount of people that showed up. I brace myself for a full-contact experience. But when I arrive, things are surprisingly sedate. There’s not even a line to get in. Hmmmm.

I wander inside to find a most colorful mix of the KROQ nation, industry types and the occasional scenester, like Har Mar Superstar. In the Grand Foyer, there are two open bars set up, not nearly enough to quench L.A.’s insatiable thirst. The line-up to the bars is almost comical, resulting in two concentric circles going around the huge dinosaur in the center of the room, which looks like it’s laughing at the absurdity of the situation. Being the practical sort, when I do get to the front I make sure to secure two drinks.

But it’s all so… civilized. I run into my friends Mark and Cara, and they’re already planning to bolt and hit Spaceland. Oh man, this is not looking good.

I wander into the hall where Paul and Sam will be spinning to find a crush around the DJ area as intense as any show. It seems as though every single person is sporting a camera. "Our Love to Admire" is playing softly over the sond system. The DJ set-up is on the floor, so visibility is kind of dicey (yes, I realize it's kind of weird that people look at DJs).

Around 10:30 p.m., Fogarino dressed in the Interpol uniform of red, black and dapper, steps to the decks to a huge cheer from the crowd. He starts playing dark post-punk stuff. His second track is TV on the Radio’s “Satellite.” Soon Banks, looking alarmingly casual underneath a baseball cap, steps up next to him amidst hysterical squealing from a lot of the ladies. He immediately switches it up and starts dropping booming New York hip-hip, which actually gets the crowd moving. The smash up front to get good pictures (which seemed to be the overwhelming priority of the audience) starts to thin out a little. Sam and Paul take turns playing records. The band's road-tested party DJ, bassist Carlos D, is nowhere in sight. Paul takes his hat off, and when the girls start squealing again he puts it back on. And that’s pretty much how it went. I snap a few more pictures of my own.

I do a couple of laps around the museum, checking out the exhibits when I spy my celebrity crush Busy Phillips looking amazing in little shorts. I’m not nearly drunk enough to talk to her, plus she’s with a guy sporting a massive beard. I don’t mess with beards, man.

The line at the bar is still a mess though, and I’m starting to feel my missed disco nap. It’s too late to catch Blitzen Trapper. Sigh. It’s time to call it. Museums are the new night clubs, and I'm cool with that.