Saturday, July 24, 2004

It was around 9:30 p.m. when I found myself looking up at the Manhattan Bridge from a Brooklyn street corner down by the water?s edge. I was waiting on line with dozens of others to get into the Lunatarium. They were hosting a party entitled New Nation, some sort of multi-purpose festival with DJs, bands, carnival acts, and activist organizations. The heads at Complacent were involved, so I already knew the angle: somewhere between revelry and revolution. These functions are rarely ever without their share of hedonism, which was the very thing that made me wary about going in the first place. Decadence and I just don?t see eye to eye lately. Then again, when you tell yourself that you?re trying to live life like you know God is watching you (and sometimes acting as if you never said that to yourself), the tug-of-war between the spirit and the flesh reminds you that this battle is a daily operation?with no signs of an end anytime soon.

Visuals from a laptop were on display along the side of the warehouse with people text messaging from their cell phones in order to fill in the blanks of the broadcast statements. A man appears from around the corner in a white suit and a preacher?s collar, speaking through a megaphone. ?Now appearing on stage?the beautiful?sexy?Female Bureau of Investigation! Your chances of getting laid will increase greatly if you see this band! One can only hope that they investigate us?conduct a search?pat us down?? Apprehensions or no, too many people I knew were performing for me not to be there, plus there were some acts that sounded interesting. So I paid my ten bones, cast my dispersions to the side and walked in.

F.B.I. provided live funk and soul from a garage space. Opposite them was a tent area peopled with various organizations including Greenpeace, Dancesafe, and The League of Pissed-Off Voters. Functions like these always bring an interesting mix of people out: the ravers, hippies, hipsters, hackers, b-boys and b-girls, the well-to-do, the down and out, the anarchists, the activists, the undecided, and everyone else in between. Spent about the first half hour walking around and talking with random folks in the crowd (it?s amazing how easily my Boondocks/Okayplayer t-shirt can start up a conversation), as well as catching up with some heads I hadn?t seen in a while. It?s always wild when you see people from different areas of your life all in one spot. I could already tell it was going to be a memorable night.

I was encouraged to step into the garage to check out Femm Nameless, an all-female afrobeat band. Live bands that lay down a danceable groove are definitely my flavor right now and these sisters did not disappoint. They were tighter than a mosquito?s posterior from the moment they started and quickly whipped the crowd into a dancing frenzy. The lead singer (who also played a mean trombone) brought the politickin? to our doorstep in between songs: ?It?s not only about making your vote count, but who counts the votes. DEMAND YOUR MOTHERF**KING RIGHTS!!? The crowd answered back with cheers of approval. They closed their set with a cover of Fela Kuti?s ?Water No Get Enemy,? leaving us wanting more. We clapped, stomped, and chanted for one more song. The femmes took the stage and absolutely KILLED Fela?s ?Zombie,? which I was secretly hoping they would perform. I went nuts. Once it was over, I made a beeline to their booth to cop their CD.

By this time, the festivities under the night sky began to resemble a carnival. People piled onto a bus that ran on vegetable oil that sat across from a van serving as a confessional booth. Out near the water, short films were projected onto a silver screen and people took turns being tossed back and forth on an apocalyptic-looking machine complete with a body harness. Got a nice hook-up from one of the activist booths handing out goody bags from The Nation. Meanwhile, anti-Bush administration shirts were a big hit that night ? ?My Bush would make a better President? for the ladies, ?My Dick would make a better Vice-President? for the men.

Video installations of Dubya and protests line the walls inside. People are having their faces painted in a corner. A naked man walks among the crowd as if nobody's supposed to notice that the emperor has no clothes on. Three rooms separate one series of sounds from another. Just around the bend emanate the sounds of disco and tribal house. My man Jordan?s got the multitude body to body on the dance floor. The lights go out and screams of delirium erupt. I leave this scene to condense my two carry bags into one, just in time for the DJ to drop ?The Nervous Track? by Nu Yorican Soul. And from there it?s on. I think it was Tyler Askew of Rude Movements holdin? it down on the tables. Deep and soulful house met up with broken beat in the mix. Every musical experience so far was further confirmation that I was in the right place?and my friends hadn?t even taken the stage yet.

During a 15-20 minute wait on the porta-potty line, I was entertained by The Hungry March Band, a raucous dose of Mardi Gras spirit infusing their performance. Between Femm Nameless and Tyler Askew, I danced so hard that I was literally wringing sweat out of my Boondocks tee. Luckily, The Nation goody bag had something to change into: a short-sleeved shirt that simply read ?November 2.? I made it back in time for the second half of 3rd Party?s set. As always, they did their thing ? real hip-hop at its finest. Rabbi Darkside, Farbeon, and my man Hired Gun sound better every time I see them. The way in which they trade verses off each other and keep the crowd going consistently is a beautiful thing to witness. And it was just getting started up in there. A seamless switch was made from 3rd Party to Open Thought, and the hip-hop flow continued. MC/beatbox artist Baba flipped verses off the dome, including a freestyle about hooking up with Dawn (his fiancee). That in particular was a really touching moment, especially if you know them and what a blessing it is to see them walk through life together. Baba called Dawn up to the stage (who was taken to the spot blindfolded by members of her bridal party, including my wife) and just kicked the verse, then kissed his bride-to-be as the crowd applauded and cheered.

(Let?s just stop there: how many hip-hop shows have you been to that celebrate love in such a fashion? Or even take the time to mention it? I didn?t even think about that aspect of it until just now.)

It had become a bit of a sweatbox inside and my wife needed to get some air, so we headed out for a few minutes. A drum circle started by the water with fire dancers adding their own pyrotechnic movements to the spectacle. Feeling the breeze come off of the river, reality begins to set in. I began to think about the war of economics that my wife and I fight daily, the idea that the money that I make at my current job is half of what I used to make at my previous one, and the bills still have to be paid. The fact that my wife's full time gig ends mid-August and then it's back to grad school, leaving us with nothing but my current salary to live on. The lack of savings, the abundance of passions and dreams, and how the two sides never seem to come to a compromise. Beth and I held hands under the bridge, the wind from the water numbing us both, trying to make sense of it all.

Back inside, the crowd was merely concerned with the get down as DJ Rekha hit 'em with the bhangra beats. Around the corner, DJ Chrome assaulted body movers with dark drum and bass as MC Hired Gun supplied microphone motivation. After about 20 minutes or so, I retreated to a corner to rest. The sounds from different rooms began to bleed into each other and the visuals would follow suit. George W. loomed large on a wall while a video manipulator put words in his mouth with a few clicks of a mouse. Behind Bush Jr. came a parade of protestors demanding to be heard, refusing to leave until their concerns were addressed. This symphony of sensory confusion provided an apt soundtrack to what I was feeling at the moment, let alone the political climate of our nation at large.

Watching the sun rise during the drive home, synapses in my brain called out for a rewind. Tyler Askew's set came rushing back to my memory, along with the feeling of euphoria while dancing to certain selections. It was good to have been in the midst, to party and politick alongside so many. What we do with the information that we have shared and received remains to be seen, although word has it that $16,000 in donations were raised for a number of political and activist organizations that were there that night. One thing's for certain: no matter what happens, the next few months leading up to Election Day are going to be quite interesting...and that's probably putting it lightly.

?The records we?ve always loved were doing something culturally massive. We would love to bring [our label] into the mainstream. Are we doing something so much odder than Outkast? No. You know, people always say that good music cannot be successful and that?s a load of sh*t?we figure, we all have to listen to the radio, why not let our team win? I?m being an optimist. The day I stop believing this, then, I have a depressing A&R job.?

- James Murphy of LCD Soundsystem and DFA Records, ?Sup Magazine, Issue 13, Summer 2004

Reading James Murphy?s sentiments about music did my head in the other week. In the midst of the oh-so-hip attitudes of the underground, this guy unabashedly embraces pop music. Keep in mind that the DFA label is responsible for some of the most exciting music being released at the moment. It?s this wild mixture of punk ethics alongside danceable grooves. It?s rock music for rump shakers, an odd musical mutt that features blistering guitars rubbing up against funky bass lines, frenzied percussion and syncopated hand claps. It?s uncompromising and hard-hitting, but there?s something undeniably catchy in its song structure. I can hear it in the work of bands like The Rapture, The Juan Maclean, !!!, and others. The way that they rock so funky can be traced back to bands that were doing their thing in the late ?70s-early ?80s like ESG and Liquid Liquid. I am completely fascinated with this sound at the moment, and have been marveling at the idea of punk bands that wanted to move butts, that didn?t mind creating a locked groove through organic means.

A cat like Murphy amazes me. When you listen to the label?s output and read an interview like the one in ?Sup Magazine, it?s clear that he?s not trying to clutter an already oversaturated music industry. He is committed to making quality music, and DFA?s definitely doing that. At the same time, he is not solely doing things for a certain market. He is open to the possibilities of a larger listening public. He even tried working with Britney recently, but the sessions didn?t go well (apparently, Ms. Spears digs The Rapture). And again, he?s not trying to dilute the airwaves; plenty of other production companies and music imprints do that already.

I find that those within the under can?t even front on a lot of sounds being flaunted by the corporate signals, and Britney?s a prime example. I?ve seen people wear the ?Spear Britney? T-shirt, but I know several hard techno heads that are feelin? her song, ?Toxic.? I?ll never forget the first time I saw the video for ?Boys.? That was the day I learned that there?s so shame in Pharrell Williams and Chad Hugo?s game: The Neptunes will work with anyone. It was bad enough that the choreography was straight out of the video for Janet Jackson?s ?Nasty.? Pharrell is perhaps the poster boy for overexposure (even more so than Diddy at his peak), but I can?t front on him. Alongside Chad, they have laced many an artist with a damned catchy beat. Is it any wonder that so many of us find ourselves listening to certain artists that we swore we despised? Once The Neptunes work their magic, the obligatory head nod session will ensue soon after.

They may work with a host of R&B folks and rap cats, but let?s face it?Pharrell and Chad are as pop as Jiffy, and they?re workin? that angle for all it?s worth. They can drive me nuts at times regarding who they work with, but never cease to pleasantly surprise me with a certain production or remix job. Ever hear their remixes for Sade?s ?By Your Side,? Daft Punk?s ?Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger? or Air?s ?Don?t Be Light?? Off the meter. It was their N*E*R*D project that made me first pay attention to them. I thought In Search Of? was going to be the Stankonia of 2002 and the album that brought black psychedelic pop back to the consciousness of the masses, but it didn?t quite work out that way.

One of my constant musical inspirations is Prince, who obviously knows something about crafting a great pop tune. Andre 3000 has certainly been taking notes over the years because ?Hey Ya!? was a monster. Both Outkast and Prince are perfect examples of good music being able to be successful. Both have also been able to freak the pop aesthetic and make it an integral part of their respective takes on music. Pop doesn?t have to be a bad thing. It can be catchy while not insulting your intelligence. I immediately think of three acts from the alternative rock landscape in that regard: The Cardigans, Stereolab, and Cornelius. All three have been able to work within a pop context and not become watered down in the process. The Cardigans have even performed sweet and sugary interpretations of Black Sabbath songs. Listening to Cornelius can be quite the genrecidal experience, but one constant always remains: his undying love for The Beach Boys and The Beatles (two ensembles that arguably drafted the blueprints for creating the quintessential pop tune). His vocal harmonies are lessons learned from the school of Brian Wilson. And Stereolab?I don?t know where to begin with them. They can convey a world of emotion with songs centered around two or three chords. Between the strum of the guitars, the occasional accompaniment of a brass section, and heavenly vocal harmonies, Stereolab represents everything enjoyable about pop music.

As of late, I?ve been obsessing over a pair of electronic music artists: Matthew Dear and Junior Boys. Dear has been touted as one to watch by a number of underground dance publications and he totally lives up to the hype. He has recorded a number of minimal techno singles under his own name as well as songs under two different monikers (Jabberjaw for the Perlon label and False for +8). Recently he has taken a turn towards vocal pop material and the results have been extraordinary. His debut album Leave Luck To Heaven includes several of these works, the most infectious of which is the lead-off single, ?Dog Days.? What amazes me about the track is how accessible it is without losing its underground integrity. It is a musical halfway point between techno and house with a repeated four-bar vocal chorus. Take that chorus out and it wouldn?t be the same ? it?s so necessary to the success of the track. To say that Matthew Dear is in a zone would be an understatement. Only a few months after the release of his debut album, the Backstroke mini-LP came out this month, featuring more vocal heavy work. It has quickly become a favorite of mine. As for Junior Boys, their album Last Exit came out about two months ago. I?ve only heard snippets from two songs released as singles, but my curiosity is peaked. Try to envision what would happen if an urban contemporary/hip-hop producer invited an ?80s synth pop outfit to their studio. In other words: Timbaland meets Depeche Mode. Yes. Seriously. FOR REAL.

All of these acts can be successful if given the right exposure. Good music deserves to be heard by as many as possible, no matter where it?s coming from. It?s funny how so many of us that support obscure artists tend to get upset when mainstream success comes their way. We?ve been known to turn our backs on them altogether. I can remember when Fishbone started getting more exposure. It was somewhere during the release of The Reality of My Surroundings, circa 1990 or so. They were a musical guest on Saturday Night Live and had made an appearance on The Arsenio Hall Show. Part of me was happy for them, but another part of me wondered what the hell was going on. Why is it that when others come to know what some already know about a certain artist (particularly one with mad talent and limited exposure), the first question that the informed want to ask is ?Where have you been??

I?ve been guilty of asking that question on many an occasion and then some. I would even go so far as to call people ?musically ignorant,? back during a time when I didn?t know half as much about music as I do now. I once hosted a college radio show in this condition, which means that I have an entire listening audience to apologize to. I can?t speak for others with their ears to the underground, but as for myself, there was this selfish part of me that always wanted to keep the music to myself. It?s as if I didn?t trust too many people having it at once because if that happened, there was a greater chance of the sound becoming tainted to mainstream influence. So I always wanted to make clear distinctions between the underground and the commercial, but the lines have seriously blurred over the past ten years. And I?ve come to realize that if I really love an artist, I won?t penalize them by keeping how great they are to myself. Now I want the world to know what awaits them underground. It?s like James Murphy said in that interview: ??why not let our team win??

I?m starting to think that being hip takes far too much effort. I am tragically un-hip. I?m too excited about music to have a ?cooler-than-thou? attitude about it. I want to run out and tell as many people as possible that the antidote for cluttered airwaves does exist, contrary to popular opinion. So for someone just coming into the knowledge about some leftfield sounds that I may have known about for a while, the question isn?t ?Where have you been?? If anything, I should ask them, ?Aren?t you glad you?re here??

It?s always good to see your friends and associates make good. Although I was tired, sweaty, and really craving sleep when I got home after work Wednesday night, I fought it off and made my way down to a bar on the Lower East Side for a friend?s record release party. Enter Ezekiel Honig, organic electronics wunderkind, whose debut album for Microcosm Music (2nd album overall) is receiving critical acclaim from various sources. I believed in what he was doing from day one. He makes some of the most heartfelt laptop tunes that the ears will ever be blessed to hear. Just seeing his CD packaged all professional-like makes me smile. The album in question (People, Places & Things) arrived in select stores this past Tuesday.

A mix CD by his buddy Brett a.k.a. Clever, drum and bass DJ extraordinaire, was released the same day. He?s been exploring the leftfield areas of d&b on an imprint called Offshore Recordings. The CD (Troubled Waters) provides a summary of Offshore?s travels up until this point. Prior to its release, it had already received the seal of approval from DJ Dara, Dieselboy, and Simon Reynolds (author of Generation Ecstasy). On top of that, the CD is currently featured in the Virgin Megastore?s Union Square location with its own listening booth.

While I don?t know Brett that well, I have heard his earlier mixes ? all of which have been stellar. As for Ezekiel, what can I say?Zeke?s my man. Our friendship dates back about eight or nine years, back to our time at SUNY Albany. He was a sick DJ back then and it was no surprise when he began to make his own music, but what he?s doing now?I had no idea that all of that was in him.

The label release party was held at Spill (formerly known as Bauhaus) on the lower east side of NYC, right next door to where the Orchard Bar used to be. It is also where Recess located to, a party that I was once a resident DJ for. I hadn?t been at a Recess function since last October, so it felt kinda weird at first. But the decor of Spill is totally different from the Orchard Bar, with carved-out seating arrangements and flat-screen TVs lining the wall and a kickin? sound system. Almost made me forget that I have a thing against bars, and I hadn?t felt that way in a long time.

A DJ named Lindsay warmed up the night with a wonderfully eclectic set that bounced from old disco and R&B to house and electro. Heavy ?80s influence in the mix, too. Been wanting to see her spin for a while cause I knew she had deep crates. After some technical difficulties, Zeke was up and running. Staring intently at a sleek-looking PowerBook, a man and his laptop ran through material from the new album and selections from his three-inch CD single on Red Antenna as well as his first album released on his own label. Friends waved, whistled and chatted him up while strangers head nodded and even shook their rumps a little bit.

When it was all over, applause and cheers were offered up by the faithful. Zeke just kinda gushed behind his Mac and handed the reins over to Clever, who proceeded to lead the crowd straight into sinister step territory. Hated to leave, but the next day brought another work day, so I slipped out and made my way to the subway (which consistently finds new ways to screw up my route home). I drowned out the drunk people on the Metro-North train with a Michael Moore text and the music in my head, doting on the possibilities of Ezekiel and Brett?s success. I honestly believe that Wednesday night was just the beginning and that it will pale in comparison to what awaits them both in the not so distant future.

No, the heat in this place hasn?t gotten to me. And no, you?re not hallucinating. You?ve read exactly what you think you?ve read. I never thought I?d say it, but some workplace drama made me think twice. It all started after lunch yesterday.

Rob, an admin that sits on the other side of my cubicle wall, had called his cell phone company. His phone was on the blink due to no fault of his own; apparently, it?s not the first time that the phone has malfunctioned. So he calls customer service to get an upgrade, a service that he did not want to pay for. He had to explain this scenario at least four times because every time he talked to someone, he needed to be transferred to someone else. The dynamics in his voice would change with each person he called. Rob would start off all calm, then get louder the more agitated he got. So imagine this taking place four times in a row, the dynamic peak reaching a new plateau with each conversation. The phrase of exasperation went from ?Are you serious?? to ?Oh, you?ve gotta be kidding me? to ?This is bulls**t,? and ending with ?F**k that!? Meanwhile, the rest of us are answering calls while all of this is going on, phone receiver under one ear while plugging the other with our index fingers.

Things continued to go from bad to worse for Rob. Before long, whoever he was talking to would hang up on him. This happened twice, possibly three times. I remember Rob being connected to someone and the first thing he said to them was, ?I am not going to curse at you, so please don?t hang up on me.? After a few minutes, that person hung up on them, too. It was at that moment that I realized I was doing something right. Honestly, the mere fact that I?ve stuck with this for eight months is worthy of acknowledgement. Anybody that knows me knows that I despise phones. And yet, I still come in and do my thing. I answer the phone, I return calls, I troubleshoot queries, I try to get back to people as quick as I can, I strive to remain courteous at all times, and I like to think that I succeed more often than I fail. While Rob?s experience on the phone sounded far from pleasurable, it made me feel better about what I was doing. As my co-worker Matthew so aptly put it, ?If you?re talking to a customer and they never have to say ?F**k that,? you?re having a pretty good day.?

There?s an extremely funny TV show on the BBC entitled The Office. There are moments when my time here at Rosen Publishing mirrors that show. Every now and again, I just look around at everyone and think to myself, what on earth am I doing here with these insane people? There?s a boat cruise coming up in two weeks that the office is hosting. While I?m looking forward to it, the idea that I?m going to be on the boat with these fools with no feasible way of getting back to shore on my own is a little?well?frightening. I can?t front, though: I?ve grown accustomed to these nuts. They?re a lovable bunch ? crazy, but lovable.

When the time comes, I?ll fill you in on all the cruise details. Don?t you worry about that. Because after all?I?m here to help.

Here at my office, the air conditioner has once again proved itself to be a non-issue. It?s the third day that we?ve been working without it. Regardless of the fact that it?s one of those typical NYC summer days full of haze and humidity, it still feels better outside compared to in here. You could sit and do absolutely nothing and you?d still end up sweating. There is an air conditioner that?s working right now, but it?s placed in the middle of our main hallway blowing in one direction while spitting water from its grates. It may as well be an overgrown fan. Furthermore, it?s currently rigged in front of one of the bathrooms, which leaves only one accessible for employee use. It is also partially blocking the pathway to our printer, so every time I print something, I?m penalized with a face full of A/C spittle.

We currently have fans situated over our cubicles, but it doesn?t do much good unless you stand up. I entered the office today and was hit by a blast of cool air, which made me think that either the A/C was fixed or we had some kick ass fans. This only applies to the front desk area, however. The further back you travel in our office, the hotter the climate becomes. When we do remember to take a break (if the heat hasn?t already made us fall asleep), we make an immediate beeline towards the water cooler. Unfortunately, we?ve exhausted the ice cream supply. And all I can think about are the ice pops in my freezer at home. Meanwhile, I try to answer and return calls while not falling asleep in the process. It?s not oppressive, but it?s not good for working conditions, either. Still, I can only complain so much when I know that there are far worse situations that I could be in. All I have to do is take a walk outside and witness those sitting on the streets with their last few possessions and a sign explaining their plight.

I once saw a couple that needed money for a hotel room stay. I had passed them on the street at least three times in one week. One day, I decided I had to do something. I went to the ATM, took out a $20 bill, and placed it in their collection cup. I figured they needed it far more than I did. The next day, I?m on my lunch break, and I see the same couple?on the same street?hustling for the same reason as the day before. It broke my heart. Their problem was far bigger than my temporary solution. And it?s not like I didn?t know that at the time, but the reality of the situation isn?t easy to deal with, especially when you see several other individuals in that same situation. Maybe they really need that money for food, clothing, and shelter; maybe they?re asking to fulfill an ulterior motive. That?s not for me to judge, though ? that?s between them and God. If I have it to give, then I ought to. Such a principle is not always easy to keep in mind when you?re thinking about your own jacked-up situation, when in the struggle to make ends meet you find that they rarely introduce themselves.

Within the last year and a half, I was kicked out of a good paying job that I didn?t really enjoy, went through six and a half months of unemployment trying to find a gig that suited me better, walked through the one door of opportunity that actually opened, and have spent the last eight months in an entry-level position doing the one thing that I despise most: answering phones all day long as a customer service rep. But I know everything happens for a reason, and when the Lord decides that I should move on and move up, He will supply me with what I need to make the transition. Until such time, I?m stuck here with a motley crew of co-workers, slightly insane and sometimes rude customers on the other end of the phone line, and an army of oscillating fans. And right now, I think I?m okay with that. I?ve got music, I?ve got dreams, and I?m equipped with the insight that my present situation is not how it will always be. While it may not be the most desirable scenario, it?s still better than so many other places I could?ve ended up.

Perhaps I?ve gotten used to the stuffy climate of the office ? it doesn?t feel as bad as it did yesterday. I shake the drowsiness off of me as the fan above my head tilts from left to right, right to left. It?s not easy to overcome, however. I suspect this wrestling match will continue until it?s time for me to go home.

Think anybody would mind if I brought a Slip ?n? Slide in here?

Three words: DAY PARTIES ROCK.

I can do nothing but smile when I think about last Saturday. The night before, Beth told me about the DJ lineup for the first session at P.S. 1 this summer: Madlib, Peanut Butter Wolf, and Trevor Jackson. My jaw almost hit the floor. There was no question as to where I was spending the day on July 3rd. Wifey needed a ?me day? as she called it, so she wished me well and I was off to Queens.

As my feet touched the terrain of the urban beach, Madlib was setting the mood with a number of assorted soul, funk, and jazz gems. I don?t even think I was in there for ten minutes when he dropped the needle on ?Diggin? In Brownswood? by DJ Rels (brilliant slice of future soul). So I start cuttin? a step to that. Peanut Butter Wolf makes his way down the steps that lead towards the museum and smiles in approval. I bow in acknowledgement. Had to let him know that I was here to rep for Stones Throw.

Those two controlled the groove for the next four hours with hip-hop, some disco, some Latin-flavored joints, a little electro, all types of stuff. The DJ booth was right in front of the museum?s entrance, which you had to walk up steps to get to, so the sound system was naturally elevated. I did dip into the museum for a hot minute to check out the exhibitions, but I?ll have to head back on a day when I can take or leave the acts outside. I kind of felt as if I was doing the artists a disservice. Here were these amazing exhibits that I wanted to give my full attention to, but couldn?t because my main reason for coming was outside. Thankfully, most of the exhibits will be there until the end of September.

I knew that I would receive some sort of confirmation regarding my relationship with music if I went. I danced practically the entire time that I was there, as if all the energy that had been stored away from not being able to go out for a while was saved for this particular day. Hardly knew anyone else that was there, but the few people that I did recognize were all DJ colleagues, including my man Fflood, in town from California. So the only people I knew were fellow groove purveyors. Couple that with the fact that the three men that I came to see were highly accomplished DJs/producers in their own right ? that?s confirmation.

But it gets better. Trevor Jackson closed out the event with a two-hour set and KILLED IT. His offering was a positive education in house, techno, electro, and funk. By the time his mix began, the place was packed and heads were ready to dance and have a good time. A number of adults had brought their children along, and it was really cool to see them dancing and running around, having a great time. One kid was up on their guardian?s shoulders during Trevor?s set, throwing their hands in the air and all smiles. I danced alongside heads from around the way as well as some that lived as far away as San Francisco, Switzerland, and the U.K. Sharing such a great vibe with the people around me from all walks of life just reminded me of what a joy and a blessing it is to be alive.

On top of all that, Trevor played two songs that I have on my upcoming mix CD: Liquid Liquid?s ?Optimo? and Carl Craig?s ?Tres Demented.? The former song opens up the second half of my mix while the latter closes it out. I couldn?t believe it. As ?Tres Demented? faded up in the mix, I absolutely lost it. For anyone that?s heard the track, it?s Craig at his most primal and tribal. It?s all pounding drums with shrieks and yells that build in intensity as more elements are added. By the time the beat really kicks in, there?s no way you can?t get worked up into a frenzy. So I really let loose by that time.

Like I said, there were a number of people I didn?t know, but apparently they noticed me. Several of them commented on the fact that I had been dancing almost all day and seemed somewhat amazed by my amount of energy. (If you go to my profile, there?s a picture of me in the midst of body movin?. I?m wearing my ?got vinyl?? t-shirt. That?s pretty much what I looked like for six hours straight last Saturday.) I ended up taking pictures with a few people, which was fun, silly, and slightly odd. I?m far from a celeb and I?m no club kid. I?m just a guy that believes that music is God?s gift. Dancing without inhibition is how I show my appreciation. Maybe people needed evidence that you can have that much energy while dancing and not be high at the same time. Who knows? All I know is that I came to have fun and I added to the positive vibe of the day. I was where I was supposed to be.

During the last song of Trevor Jackson?s set, I made my way up the stairs and through the crowd to the DJ booth. When I got there, I thanked him for the set and especially for Liquid Liquid and Carl Craig. We spent the next few seconds talking about how wicked a track we both think ?Tres Demented? is. I also gave him props for the Playgroup Partymix, a megamix he created that packs over 200 songs into the space of an hour.

?Thank you for Music Appreciation 101,? I said. Trevor gives me this curious look and says, ?How old are you?? ?Thirty,? I reply. ?Oh?you?re a young guy, too,? he says. If Trevor?s in his early thirties, I?d be surprised. I figure him for late twenties, but he may be older than that.

I make my way towards the subway, hugging a few people on the way out. The world could?ve ended at that very moment and I still would?ve had a smile on my face. Exhausted but exhilarated, I head home, thinking to myself, if I had a chance to rock a crowd that size, could I pull it off?

I close my eyes, smile, and proceed to tell myself that I could.

I?ve recently stolen away enough time to start working on a new mix CD. This one will be entitled back to the party. The last two mixes that I?ve done (while musically diverse) have been very contemplative and introspective in nature. I wanted to do something different this time around. I?ve been long overdue for a celebration. I know of others going through this life that feel the same. So this one?s for all of us who just want to blow off some steam, throw our hands in the air, and surrender to a good beat. I?ve been describing the mix as ?a lo-fi booty shake session.? I just wanted to make a mix for heads to get their groove on to. It was largely inspired by two different events that I spun at. The first was Sound Unity Project 2 (three days of music and camping), which occurred last July in Upstate New York. The second was a party in Poughkeepsie, NY called Squeeshee back on January 31st of this year. Both hold a special place in my heart for different reasons and the playlist consists of a number of songs that were a part of my sets at these functions.

The mix will be about 80 minutes long and will include house, techno, disco, soul, and funk tunes. The process of recording has been a bit unorthodox, however. Usually I record live from two turntables and a CD player straight to tape. After that, I dump everything into the computer and try to clean up the sound. I currently only have one turntable, so I?ve been recording each song individually into my four-track mixer and working the segues that way. IT?S HELLA WEIRD. And kinda feels like cheating. But I didn?t want to bug anybody else in terms of using their setup. That and I?m impatient. I can?t see myself waiting around to record until I either buy a new turntable or get the old one fixed (which could cost more than just buying a new one, in some cases). I suppose that?s what I get, but with the way I work, I can make inferior equipment do some pretty impressive things. But this is the first and last time I?ll record a mix under these circumstances.

Still mixing down the audio, which hopefully won?t be too painful. The 2nd part has already turned out louder and more bottom heavy (mucho bass) than I would like, but the show must go on. We?ll see what comes out in the wash. I want to record a mix after this that?s more experimental, but that will be further down the line and with a more traditional dj setup. Anyway, here?s what made the cut for the latest mix. I hope to have it online by early August, perhaps even before that if time permits. Enough of my babbling, peep the playlist:

mouse on mars*diskdusk*thrill jockey
metro area*dance reaction*environ
the nick straker band*a little bit of jazz*prelude
cookie monster & the girls*c is for cookie (sweet version)*ninja tune (uk)
roy ayers*running away*polydor
cosmic rocker vs. zeb*hashish*codek
djinji brown*chango?s house*seven heads
aardvarck*non spoken (track b1)*delsin (the netherlands)
claro intelecto*tria*ai (uk)
the soft pink truth*soft pink missy*soundslike (uk)
the rapture*killing*dfa
liquid liquid*optimo*soul jazz (uk)
the soul searchers*blow your whistle*harmless (uk)
the joe cuba sextet*bang! bang!*tico
$tinkworx*whut*down low
ezekiel honig*cape cod getaway (john tejada remix)*microcosm music
matthew dear*in unbending*spectral sound
akufen*in dog we trust*force inc. (germany)
!!!*intensifieder ? sunracapellectrohshitmix ?03*touch & go
serge gainsbourg*marabout (bob sinclar remix)*mercury (france)
underworld*rez*wax trax!/tvt
carl craig*tres demented*planet e communications

Don?t know how many of you in the NY/NJ area watch Eyewitness News in the morning, but it?s always amusing to watch the celebrity birthdays scroll by on the bottom of the TV screen. This morning?s roll call was particularly humorous. Along with folks like Fred Grandy (TV?s Gopher from The Love Boat), there was also Mr. Josh Davis a.k.a. DJ Shadow. The fact that Shadow was even included was somewhat cool. The fact that he was mentioned in the same list as Gopher was downright hysterical. Even better than that, however, is how he was listed.

?Rapper DJ Shadow is 32.?

That?s right. You read that correctly. Rapper DJ Shadow is 32. Unbeknownst to him, he has joined a long line of DJ/producers that MC on the side. Either that or the folks at Eyewitness News still aren?t able to distinguish the difference between DJs and MCs. Then again, seeing as how they don?t even use the term ?MC? when referring to those who rock rhymes, I think we all know the answer to that one. I suppose it?s my fault for expecting more from those that only report on hip-hop culture whenever there?s violence going down or an arrest taking place.

At any rate, a happy birthday shout out to Josh Davis, student of the drum, master of the sampler, a sick archivist and digger of great music, and one who reminds that the possibilities in hip-hop instrumentals are endless.

And if you spot him spittin? verbals, let a brother know.

For those of you that may still need evidence that common sense has been outlawed by present-day society at large, check this out?

Last Monday, my wife parks the car across from the Pelham Parkway subway station and we make a mad dash for the number five train. Within one stop of our travels, we hear this commotion in our subway car. A man starts yelling at a somewhat malodorous individual to go back into the car from whence he came. Almost immediately after, this loud individual presses the emergency call button and says?

?Conductor, there?s a bum on the train that?s stinkin? up the whole car. Get him off.?

At this point, we?re on our way towards the East 180th Street stop. About a minute later, he presses the call button again. ?Are you gonna get him off?? Then he tries to get confirmation from the people around him. ?Nobody wants to smell that s**t. Am I right??

With all the attention he was paying to the bad odor (which, in the grand scheme of things, was a walking, breathing personification of hard times, mind you), he was completely oblivious to the air of aggravation growing around him. You could feel it rising to the surface. The only thing that the rest of us wanted was to get to wherever we had to go on time. And the self-appointed Smelly Bum Patrol was seriously getting in the way of that. Keep reminding yourself that he used the emergency call button for this situation - not because someone was having a heart attack, not because someone fainted, but because someone smelled bad. While it may not be pleasant to be around, smelling bad still isn?t a federal offense. Unfortunately, neither is being rude or stupid.

So we pull into East 180th Street and sit there. Big Brother Buminator hops onto the subway platform and finds the nearest police officer. ?Yeah, he?s over in the next car. Yeah, that car over there. He?s stinkin? up the whole train.? At this point, the natives are beyond restless and muttering obscenities to themselves as the conductor comes over the loudspeakers.

?Attention passengers: we are experiencing delays at this time. We should be moving shortly. We thank you for your patience.?

He would repeat this twice over the next ten minutes. To make matters worse, we see another number five train pull up. We watch people depart and board the train. And we watch this train that was once behind us pull out of the station. Now here comes the icing on the cake: do you think the man who caused all this ruckus actually stuck around when that other train pulled up?

That?s right, boys and girls: he held up our train, he boarded another one, and left the rest of us behind. And I?m sure when Tuesday morning came along, we were all secretly hoping that we?d see him. I haven?t seen him since, actually. I?m starting to wonder if he takes an earlier train most of the time or if the wrath of last Monday caught up with him and I just don?t know about it. Honestly, I hope the latter isn?t true. Although he was pushy and careless, it?s not within my rights to bring down that kind of judgment. On the off-hand chance that somebody made sure that he would catch a bad one, I?m not saying they should?ve killed him?

But I understand.

People who own IPods: they?re everywhere. And if you live or work in New York City, chances are you know a Pod person. On the off hand chance that you don?t, you?ve probably sat next to one on the bus or the subway. Maybe you?ve seen them in passing. It becomes a game after a while: spot the telltale white ear buds.

However, I?ve noticed that white ear buds do not necessarily a Pod person make. Could just be a regular FM tuner or CD player. Some Podsters have tried to throw me off the trail by donning different headphones, disguising the fact that they?re receiving transmissions from their fearless leader. But others proudly show off their allegiance like a badge of honor, IPod strapped to their shoulder bag, clipped to their pocket, strapped around their wrist. I once counted five Pod people on one street corner alone in NYC. This isn?t just a phenomenon?THIS IS A CULT.

Within my cluster of cubicles at work, I sit across from a pair of Pod people, their white-faced players leaning against their computer monitors, a mixed bag of sounds from Tom Waits to Jay-Z occurring between them. I myself rock online mixes and radio show archives. My pockets are way too lean to keep up with the IPod?s current price. It?s clearly become a luxury item at this point, not just the cool thing to have. Hipsters aren?t the only ones who have them on the hip, but older, well-to-do jetsetters have them, too. Accessories come in a bunch, including special IPod leather covers made by the likes of Gucci and Coach.

Pod people rate each other?s playlists online. If they spot each other on the street, one might look down at another?s player and jack in with their own headphones to see what they?re listening to. (While that is an actual phenomenon, I can?t see that happening a lot in Gotham?not without someone getting their face rearranged in the process.) I sit on the sidelines with a curious eye, staring at the next pair of white ear buds that pass me by, wondering if this person?s ?one of them? as well. Heck, all I want is a CD player with MP3 capability. I ain?t picky.