Mike and I were at a reception last week for a woman who would deliver the keynote address at a conference the next day. The conference chair and her husband were telling us that our guest of honor had found a note in her room from the hotel manager apologizing in advance for the concert that would be happening that night in the adjacent arena.

“What kind of crazy thing do you think they have going on there?” The woman remarked.

We knew. It was a national music festival, billing itself as 150,000 watts of bass crunch, from a brand of noise they say is so intense “you can touch in the air.” It’s the kind of music Jack and all his friends have been talking about. Dubstep. Electro house hip-hop.

And, I kid you not one freaking bit, the concert promoter recommends earplugs.

Doesn’t that sound just so outrageously awesome awful?

Anyway, we happened to know about it because that’s where we’d dropped our 15 year-old off on the way to the reception.