sǝuoſ ǝuıɥsunS

I flew into Denver and texted Larry, the guy who was supposed to be picking me up, before the plane hit the ground. I sent another text while we were taxiing saying that I didn’t have any bags and I’d see him curbside. When I got outside I sent another text saying where I was and what I was wearing. Then my phone rang.

“Hello”

“Would you please stop sending me this crap?” Said the hoarse woman’s voice on the other end of the telephone.

“Larry?”

“Do I sound like Larry to you?”

She kinda did, but I wasn’t going to say that. Instead I began to apologize but before I could really say anything she hung up on me. So I called Philip, the promoter for the night and told him where I was. He said he’d call Larry and let him know. Larry arrived moments later and we walked to his car and drove to the club. Turns out Larry is a producer and a live performer as well, only he likes techno. We got along just fine. He’s a sharp cat and helped me set up and get everything squared away. Then we went next door for pizza.

Walking into the pizza parlor Larry and I were greeted by Jane, a dark eyed, olive skinned young woman who seemed a million miles away. We ordered and chatter her up a little. While we were talking I looked down and realized that Jane set a stack of her business cards on the counter in front of the cash register.

“Jane?” I asked. She looked at me calmly. “Jane are you in real estate?”

For a second she looked at me as if I were a magician. But then she got wise. “You see my cards there don’t you?”

I grinned.

Turns out Jane has three jobs (four actually.) One at the pizza parlor, another with Caldwell Banker selling real estate, baby sitting, and I never did get what the fourth job was out of her. Anyway, while we waited for our pizza I drew her picture on a cup. She talked about her boyfriend and how shed sold 4 houses this year already (her first year in real estate.) I was surprised and very proud of Jane. That’s not easy to do your first year out. Jane was certain that she was doing so well because she really, really loves it.

When the pizza was ready, we took out seats. Jane grabbed a beer and joined us. I bolted down two slices of pizza and then went to the club to perform. When I got there the opener was playing some nice music. The club was dark and a little sparse. By the time I was done with the first song it had begun to fill up. At the mid point of my set it was packed. People were cheering and going for it. I played mostly new stuff, made up a couple songs on the fly and went off right before singing “The absurdity of possession.” Then I played a couple of broken techno records and brought it all together with ‘Do it now’ at the end. People really seemed to be having a blast. I was too.

I think my favorite thing in the whole world is playing music for a packed club where people are screaming and dancing and cheering and yelling things through the curtains at you like “You are crazy! Oh my god… you are crazy!”

A highlight of the night was shortly after I began a woman appeared in the DJ booth. She had her hands on her hips. She looked like someone’s mother. I smiled at her.

“I know you think you’re all Mr. all that, but could you please play something funky?”

She didn’t say it in any kind of a nice way… she said it as if she were the last word, the authority, the woman who knows what’s what and she was doing me the unpleasant favor of clueing me into what needed to be said. What everyone was feeling. I smiled at her, scanned the crowded club, hands in the air, smiling faces all around me, and then leaned into her bleached hair and said “I don’t take requests baby, get out of here.” and she was gone.

For a second I thought I could have said that a little more politely. Maybe I could have given her the thumbs up, you know, as if to assure her that I was definitely going to get funky for her. But with the confusion over the word “funky” these days (which to me means James Brown, old school hip hop, and Bootsy Collins) might have meant Psy-Trance to her for all I know… and besides, I don’t take requests.

The next thing I know Doc is standing beside me and it’s time for me to go. I love playing with Doc. He gets on the decks and we mix out together. His bassline drops in and the room lights up all over again. I packed up and went up to the roof for a smoke and to grab the chance to catch up with Lois and Matt. I see John Nedza, he’s shaved his head and he’s smiling. I’m glad to see him. There’s a lot of people there, a lot of people hugging me, saying very nice things to me, it’s on. Jay and I go outside to smoke and catch up, but everyone comes outside with us and security came and yelled at us. We filed back in with our tails between our legs.

By the time I got up to the roof it was painfully clear that we weren’t going to get much talking done. The dj up there was blasting hip hop. I danced a little, talked with Matt a minute, and sat on Mikal’s lap for a moment. Then I went back downstairs to check out Doc’s set.

I danced until the end of the night. Hands in the air, bodies moving and shaking all around me. There were a couple moments where I had to reach over and touch someone I knew to re ground myself. I was elevated, happy, in the music, lifted.

Afterward we went to my hotel for a second so I could drop my stuff off and then out for breakfast. We talked about Bastille Day, and clarified that it was in celebration of the French revolution and not Paris ‘68. We talked about books, phd’s, philosophy, and it was refreshing after an entire evening of complete self-forgetting and love to be sitting at a table with two intelligent women talking about ideas.

Then I went back to my hotel and crashed for two hours, woke up and went to the airport. Lois and I hung out at the Airport a while talking things over. I missed my original flight and we killed an hour in the sun together smoking and talking and warmly being dear friends.

I had a fantastic time.