I Made It To Basshunter's Dressing Room! ... And Was Sorely Disappointed.

For weeks I raved about dreamy Swedish DJ Basshunter coming to Seattle. My love for him was further cemented after conducting a phone interview during which he came off incredibly charming and humble.

I finally had the chance to meet Basshunter in the flesh at the King Cat Theater on Saturday following his high-energy show. However, I almost missed my opportunity because a 16-year-old girl approached me crying in the bathroom.

"Are you rolling?" she tearfully asked me.

"Huh? Like on ecstasy?"

"Yeah... I've never done it before. I don't even drink. I'm so scared. I don't like how it feels."

My heart kind of broke for her. She looked a little like my younger sister. So I consoled her by sharing with her the several mishaps I experienced while at Wazzu. She thanked me and scurried away, so I then ran back toward the lounge at which my friends with V.I.P. passes were already sitting with Basshunter.

The guy's hot as hell in person. He invited me to sit on his lap and declared, "So you're the girl I was flirting with on the phone!" (I would have preferred, "Oh my god. You're even more beautiful than I dreamed you'd be.") But whatever. The guy is several notches above me in hotness, so I'll take whatever I can get.

After we took a couple photos with him, we stood aside and chatted with the publicist. We noticed that during this time, a few moderately good looking to very good looking girls were being pulled aside for what Basshunter promised would be "after hour drinks."

It sounded like something that was going to turn into a big fucking orgy, but my girlfriend and I rolled with it. At about 4 a.m. we followed several bouncers, ladies, and Basshunter to his dressing room where we smoked cigarettes and drank Coronas and vodka. The DJ had his eye especially set on a brunette in a black sequined dress who looked like Audrina Partridge from The Hills.

I'm not sure exactly what I expected out of the 4 a.m. get together. I went for several reasons, namely because a) Basshunter's fucking hot and b) The journalist in me is always curious to find an angle nobody else has before.

The angle I found was sadly not that cool. I was tired from dancing all night. And I felt lame sitting in a claustrophobic room drinking shitty beer and chainsmoking. Basshunter didn't really talk to any of us--he talked at us, as if he really enjoyed the sound of his own voice. He would make random statements, and the girls would indulge him with huge bursts of (undeserved) laughter as though he were Robin Williams. There was no actual conversation that went on.

At one point, a man walked in and Basshunter asked him, "Hey, what's that on your shirt?" The man looked down and Basshunter proceeded to flick him in the face. Everyone--with the exception of us--laughed hysterically. (My girlfriend actually scoffed and announced, "That wasn't even funny," which was met with glares by the other girls.) The sucking up stopped just short of everybody telling Basshunter how huge his cock was and giving him hand jobs.

I don't condemn the guy for his behavior. If I were a hot single male who women threw themselves at, I'd be incredibly arrogant. I'd think I was hot shit. I'd tell jokes that weren't funny and think I was witty. I'd sleep with everybody in that damn dressing room. And while Basshunter acted like sort of a tool during the so-called "after party," he was never anything but friendly and gracious with his fans. And he's a fantastic showman onstage.

But sometimes it's easy to forget that the way an artist portrays themselves isn't necessarily how they are in person. Hell, it's easy to forgot that an artist is a regular person. But I was hoping Basshunter would be... well, cooler. And less of a prick. I was disappointed.

I don't have a problem with fans fucking musicians. I think it's a good story for both (or more) parties and if that's your deal, good for you. I'm pretty sure Basshunter screwed the Audrina look alike that night. I actually wouldn't be surprised if he screwed the other girls in the room too. What's funny is that I always thought I had it in me to be a groupie. I firmly believed that given the opportunity, I'd try my hardest to get down with a hot musician. Instead, the whole experience made me feel gross. Sitting in that dressing room with all these girls who were acting like some dude who makes cheesy pop music was equal to the Dalai Lama in grandness was fucking ridiculous.

Halfway through my Corona, I got a text message from a friend that read, "We're across the street eating at the Hurricane. How's Basshunter?!"

My response: "We'll be right over. Save us some hash browns."

We stood up and thanked everyone for their hospitality. We hugged Basshunter and his publicist--who for the record, was way cooler than his client. The other girls in the room looked thrilled that we were leaving.

A few venue staffers still lingering and finishing up business looked surprised to see us heading out so quickly. "No groupie love for you?" one guy joked. "Nah, we're hungry. And we felt sleazy in there," I replied. He grinned. "Of course you did," he said with a laugh. "It is sleazy in there."

Minutes later, my girlfriend and I were recapping the evening with our friends in a dingy booth at the Hurricane. It was glorious getting to shovel all-you-can-eat hashbrowns in my face to soak up the alcohol in my system. In fact, I'd say it was the best part of the night.