I had high hopes going into the New Year’s Eve bash at Santos Party House. Featuring an all-star cast comprised of indie/electro group Gang Gang Dance, motivational partier Andrew W.K. and the infamous Misshapes DJs, it promised to be, at the very least, a good place to dance with my friends and drink free champagne.

Besides the DJs themselves, there was nobody I recognized from the Misshapes parties of yore, and with the exception of some girls in sparkly dresses, a smattering of cute dykes and two statuesque men (obviously off-duty drag queens), the crowd skewed toward fellows of the “Where do I go for bottle service?” variety. Indeed, on my way to the bar for champagne, three dudes proceeded to get all up in my shit. The music as well failed to recreate the post-punk heavy funfests that once filled Luke and Leroy, with techno club-pumpers and mainstream pop hits dominating the play list. Songs started only to be switched out right away and, at one point, it sounded like they were actually playing the radio. It wasn’t until 1:15 a.m. that the formerly popular trio played The Smiths’ “Hang the DJ,” wishful thinking, yes, but it was also the first song all night that actually got me excited to dance. You have pretty boyfriends, fancy clothes, Gothic flair and a book, for crying out loud; all I ask in return, Misshapes, is that you play good records.

Santos honcho Andrew W.K. marked the New Year in characteristically enthusiastic fashion with a 96-second countdown and balloon drop, surrounded on stage by backup dancers and all the fans that would fit. He briefly alluded to the year’s rough spots, then reminded us “we’re all alive and we’re gonna make the best of it! 2009: your time to shine!” He then launched into his set of party anthems, dedicating them “to anyone who is maybe not alive.” Overflowing bottles of champagne were passed around and I downed as much as I could before security demanded I take my friend, who had seen better nights, home. I was sorry to miss Gang Gang Dance, but otherwise happy to leave one hot mess in favor of tucking another into her bed. — Jamie Peck