My excursion to Motor on Friday, Sept. 25, for the second day of the Decibel Fest didn’t go as planned. I twisted the release valve on a pressurized work week too early, and my memory of the party is smeared across my frontal lobe like highway bugs on a windshield. Saturday I pulled a Rabbit at Rest. But on Sunday, Sept. 27, I was ready to make up for lost time.Sole Repair is a cool little venue. Its warehouse-like interior renders the Capitol Hill joint ideal for all sorts of cultural occasions, from art shows to honking mad DJ sets. I knew this going into the final night of the Decibel Fest and was pleasantly unsurprised when I stepped inside and encountered a DJ named Mimosa mashing-up pop vocals with wobbly EFX and jarring bass. (Note: According to the schedule, Mimosa was responsible for the set I witnessed from 11:30 p.m. to 12:30 a.m. I couldn’t find anyone at the venue to confirm this, however.)The kids loved the music, as evidenced by the mosquito cloud of B.O. buzzing in my nose. All those dancing machines were sweating it up on the floor, and many were smiling–and in some cases, snickering–at their own energy and stimulation, sexual or otherwise. In other words, Sole Repair had the stench of a high school locker room and the vibe of a rave–which, come to think of it, may be a tautological description: Lockers rooms are dark and musty and filled with hormones and people hiding in the open; and raves are, like, ditto. DJ Mimosa was positioned directly over the crowd on the second floor, and he took full advantage of his Mt. Olympus status by actively encouraging his people with wild gestures. When he wasn’t signaling for more, more, more, Mimosa was lost in his own world, firing on all pistons, heating up and blasting off, animated and alive. He looked more like a loopy classical conductor than an electronic music jock, many of whom act as if they’re afraid of their own shadows when performing. But Mimosa was in full-on Donald Glaude mode. I mouthed a “thank you” in between sips of my Amstel Light.His set was a part of the Muti Music Showcase, a reference to the San Francisco-based label known for its bass-centric sound. Mimosa walked along a tightrope of high-energy pop vocals slathered over deep, abyss-kissing beats. I heard T-Pain, 2Pac, and Lil’ Wayne mixed with punishing, dubstep-infused productions. To say Mimosa was trapped between worlds wouldn’t be inaccurate. But it would undercut the care he took in devising a strategy. And Mimosa needed a strategy, as some of his vocal selections could have fallen flat. I, for one, don’t want to hear “I’m in Love with a Stripper” at all, let alone at Decibel Fest, an event dedicated to underground dance music. And yet, I have to admit it worked. Mimosa edged up against the aggressive but slow-moving machinations of Southern hip-hop and then subverted expectations with his pop sensibility–with, of course, the exception of Lil’ Wayne, whose frog croak has a universal application. As with all the Decibel events, the show at Sole Repair featured visual artists performing alongside, and in tandem with, the DJs. There were two people slated to handle eyeballs on Sunday night–Techgnome and Pete Rand–but I was unable to determine whether they were working together or separately. (Something tells me my dream of landing a gig as a beat reporter at a daily has flat-lined. Aw, shucks.) No matter: Although the cityscapes passing by on the wall left something to be desired (we’ve seen those countless times in car commercials), the general hyperactivity of the moving images nicely complemented the expanding and contracting spaces of the sounds. A girl whose hair was matted to her face with sweat summed up the effect of both the aural and visual forces when she turned to her dance partner and said, “My mind has exploded.” And then, like that, her brain matter evanesced.