As the economy crashes around us, Diesel threw itself an enormous thirtieth birthday bash in seventeen cities on Saturday night, as if to say, "Let them eat cake."

And that's meant literally. In New York, the party took place in a huge tent erected on the waterfront near Dumbo, where cake was offered: funnel cake, that is, along with popcorn stands, multiple music acts and acrobatic shows, all in keeping with the event's "circus" theme.

The event was a circus in other ways too. Crowds of people with and without tickets stood pressed up against the entry gates trying to get in as security guards and police kept them back, in a scene straight out of Children of Men. "No one is allowed in," they repeated, largely because the cops had shown up and the fire marshall had threatened to shut the whole party down.

I missed Chaka Khan in a mashup with Hot Chip, but managed to pass the Kremlin-like security in time to see Franz Ferdinand. Despite the chaos out front and the hundreds of people already inside, there was a surprising amount of breathing room. The stage and sound were incredible: two huge screens flanked the stage on either side playing visuals, while another giant screen behind the band punctuated the act. Franz Ferdinand played "Take Me Out," "What She Came For," a new song that's slightly darker than their usual, and "This Fire," among others. It was hard focusing on the performance, though, since I was still shaken by my entry experience and there were so many distractions. Including: Juliette Lewis squeezing by me to get to the front of the stage, Chaka Khan quietly exiting on the side of the tent behind me and circus performers in red and white suits lining up in front of me, preparing for their next between-acts show.

Once Franz Ferdinand had clambered off the stage, Dorian Orange's retro, circus-themed visuals designed for Diesel flashed across the screens, as acrobats were lifted by ropes from the churning crowd into the air, and more people, presumably, ate cake.

M.I.A. was next, teamed up with N.E.R.D., but not without a pre-show interlude of confetti, pumped out from a hundred feet above out onto the crowd. M.I.A.'s visuals were pretty exciting: geometric plaid patterns that slid vertically down the screens, and black and white blocks that were beguilingly simple. When she finally came on, she was accompanied by her protege, Rye Rye, who danced like a maniac in a bright pink wig and tight faded jeans, and nearly outshone her mentor. Somewhere amidst the bullet drills of M.I.A.'s hit, "Paper Planes," as girls stood gyrating on the bar in front of me and the crowd went generally nuts, I lost focus again.

What was this all about? People I ran into kept saying what a great party it was, and yes, it was by far one of the most spectacular and well-organized music events I've ever attended—kudos to Diesel for assembling such a fun roster of musicians, even if, in my humble opinion, the company is not nearly as cool as the musicians who performed to celebrate it. The amount of money Diesel must have spent on the New York event alone could probably have saved Lehman Brothers.

But beyond arguments about bands selling out (if "selling out" even matters anymore), there was something unsettling about it all. Cameras panned the crowd and screens erected throughout the tent displayed upturned, smiling faces and pumping fists. Downtown Manhattan stood looming at us just across the water, but being inside the tent meant being sheltered from the view. One quick side-step outside the circus, though, and you were confronted again with Manhattan's silent, gleaming skyline and behind you, hordes of disappointed people across a massive chainlink fence, still straining to be allowed to party.