We start out with the camera whirling around the outside of some really deluxe house that I could never afford even if I sold off all of my relatives, and then we zoom inside where Afrojack is sitting on top of a low bookcase. (Is it no longer cool to have actual chairs in your crib?) Cut to Dorothy as she primps in front of a mirror, then we have all of the guys going through their wardrobes and picking out slick things to wear while they hump the air. (Apparently Dutch people get horny quite easily. Good to know.)
We roll into a montage of people continuing to prepare for some type of festive event, with Dorothy brushing her hair, the Sherman boys fingering fine couture, and Afrojack alternately throwing a stuffed animal into the air and then making out with it. (Seriously, the Dutch are a lusty bunch.) There’s also some mess about the really fancy cars parked around the house, Dorothy enjoying people taking pictures of her with their phones, and everybody crammed around a tiny breakfast table as if it’s the only place to eat in this cavernous dwelling. Apparently you enjoy your food better if you can barely move.
Then we start getting shots of limo drivers (or possibly thieves) lugging baggage out to cars, so I guess we’re going somewhere even though I don’t understand why they would want to do so. (If I lived up in that very fine house, I would never leave. Or get dressed.) Anyway, we make our way across town to a… recording studio? Why would you need luggage for that? There must be some serious costume changes involved with making a record these days. No wonder CD’s are so expensive.
So we get to watch the gang record a song, which, based on the documentary footage, requires that people chase each other around the studio with an odd little stick thing, possibly a microphone. (Are they trying to record body noises for the remix track?) Dorothy shows off her cheerleading skills, Afrojack likes to do things with his hands, and the Sherman guys seem to find everything incredibly funny. (Perhaps recreational drugs are not as tightly controlled in the Netherlands. Might need to check into that.)
Then we pile back in the fancy cars and head out to do some clothes-shopping, because there just weren’t enough things to wear in the 74 pieces of luggage they’re already dragging around. They invade several boutiques, Dorothy seems to have a fetish for slogan buttons, and Afrojack has a small orgasm whilst trying on a jacket. Properly stocked, the gang heads to an airport so they can board the “Afrojet”, one of those private planes that are entirely too small for my sense of security. I don’t like tiny planes, even if they serve designer vodka and there are attendants who will rub things for you.
After some shots of happy people being airborne without the presence of screaming children being ignored by their parents, we land somewhere that might be Italy. (There’s some guy wearing an “Italia” t-shirt. Of course, he could just be lost.) The gang piles into another fleet of limos and off we go to a fancy casino hotel where it appears that Afrojack might be performing shortly. (Or maybe he just pays people to put up signs about him in the lobbies of buildings he might enter. Who knows.)
Okay, I guess they will be putting on a show of some kind, since they all pile into what might be an area where sweaty people could eventually be dancing while electronics blare. They run through a sound check which just happens to coincide with the noises we’re hearing in the song, a nifty bit of editing that makes everyone seem very talented. Done with that, the gang heads out into the streets once again, where they engage in some potentially-obnoxious activities like doing a line dance on the sidewalk and joining in a sing-along with somebody who is playing an accordion. (Yes, apparently they still make those things. Write it down, you never know when someone might need this information.)
There’s a second round of line-dancing (actually, these folks are pretty good, yet another nail in the coffin of worthlessness that is my life) and another sing-along, this time where they appear to be using a non-burning trashcan as a stand-in campfire. It’s important to note that at no time does anyone try to disrupt their revelry or even glance at them with more than a second thought. If you tried doing these spontaneous and fun things in the States, the Republicans would pass some type of law against it. And then raise your taxes while swearing that they won’t.
The imagery and the song suddenly stop for an artsy pause. (Or a moment of reflection on the time before the Republican Party went completely insane.)
Then we start up again, presumably later that night, with the gang in full swing doing their DJ’ing and singing. Of course, everyone on the stage looks fabulous and everyone in the bouncing audience looks appropriately lubricated. (There are lots of glowsticks being waved in the air.) Dorothy and her aggressive jewelry confidently get the crowd to pump their fists, and Afrojack gets them to bounce in unison, or at least not hurt each other as they pogo about. Everyone seems to be having a great time, and no one is worried about unimportant things like paying bills or getting old.
Some clever person decides it’s time to get out some champagne, and that sends the crowd into even more of a frenzy, especially when another clever person drops confetti on the undulating bodies. (It’s really not a party until some trees have died just so you can watch pretty things floating in the air.) The alcohol and bits of color gives everyone more than enough energy to have one of those fascinating evenings that no one will really remember in the morning. We close things out with Afrojack leading the crowd in what might be some spontaneous hand aerobics and then lunging into the masses so they can love on him while Dorothy’s power vocals echo throughout the building...
Click Here to Watch the Video on YouTube.