What were you doing last night? Wait, we know: you were at the Hollywood Bowl watching Hot Chip. That’s what you were doing because, according to the crowd there and our Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter feeds, we saw that you were at the event. You, too, got to see the band perform and also got to place yourself at the center of massive droves of people in drunken hysterics caused by music. It was fun, albeit a bit hectic, as that is a part of the Bowl’s charm.

The event was the final installment in KCRW’s World Festival 2. It was undoubtedly the entry in the series that might as well have been called “Buzzword Hipster Wine Bottle Mom Glow Light Teenager Fun Dip 2012.” It featured Omar Souleyman opening up the show followed by Passion Pit. The venue was absolutely filled to the brim and, as we approached it from Franklin, masses of people in cut off jean shorts power walked with tote bags of wine toward the Bowl. In this moment, we realized we had submitted ourselves as participants in “FYF 2: Worldly Boogaloo.”

We clawed our way through the masses to get to our extremely far stage left seats in Section Q. We found our friends and settled in to drink some wine and listen to Passion Pit, who we arrived to at the top of their set. Looking around it seemed bare enough in our section to spread out. In a snap, the luxury was removed as masses of people made their way into seats. This made it so we were no longer able to watch Awkward Loner Male Dancer With Glasses On His Head or see Chill Bro With No Shirt And Nice Chest nestled in his pack of ladies. In a matter of seconds, the Pit’s Pied Piper music had drawn every single Cool Mom and Teenage Cool Kid out from their minivans and into the seats around us: it became Mom Rave 2012.

As we watched the band and the people, we remembered just how fantastic the Hollywood Bowl is as a venue. With the exception of the sloppy Cool Moms and Dads who sat next to us in seats Q1 61 through 67 who kept smoking a bowl and sloppily doing bumps of coke off of a car key as if we were living in an early nineties movie about sordid businesspeople, it was great. Funny enough, all this madness cleared the area after PP finished up their set. This was the moment when we realized we had downed all of our wine and that we should investigate getting more wine.

We debated when to go (Do we sit and talk while it’s somewhat quiet as they change sets? Do we go now and wait in line? Do we go when the band performs? Do we suck it up and turn sober?) and settled to go halfway-ish through Hot Chip. We excused ourselves to hit the upper snack bar and were greeted by huge (H U G E) lines. As clever as we thought ourselves, we scaled a staircase to another snackbar, which had guards alerting potential customers, “Sorry: the lines are closed.” This fired a sharp, fast signal from our brain down to our feet: the bars were closing and we had to run up to the upper bar ASAP so we could get some booze before it closes. We darted up the stairs and got into two lines, one long one and one short. After five minutes, I jumped from the big to little line after friends’ urging. Sadly, the big line had two people at the register and those people were in and out quite fast. As five songs blasted through in the set, we got to the front and realized we had to buy a bar as their supplies were low: we ordered four glasses of beer (for two people) and a bottle of some white wine (for two people…because all the wine-by-the-glass was sold out).

Hustling back, we were able to catch the latter part of Hot Chip. The band was excellent and sent the remaining concertgoers into a dance coma as no one could stop moving. There was even a moment when a group of five teenage girls donned in glow stick outfits did seven laps around our section like overexcited DayGlo chihuahuas. We all became Awkward Loner Male Dancer With Glasses On His Head and endured the Chip’s slightly assaulting visuals because it is simply what you do when at a Bowl concert as such.

The show ended with everyone attempting to coax an encore which, sadly, did not happen. The lights came on and we were left to face our drunk, happy, sweaty selves and the mild guilt associated with it. Among the Hipster Fun Dip Cattle, we shuffled down the long hill that enclosed the Bowl and made it back to the clogged streets. We tried to video tape the madness but, alas, the insanity just did not translate. We wandered and figured out a suitable post-game for a 10PM ending of a show, which–naturally–is a trip to Akbar by Metro. When life hands you Mom Rave 2012 at the Hollywood Bowl, you take it and you run and wave hello to all your friends who showed up, too.