My junior year of college was transformative. A major break-up. A shift in values. And the dance music/EDM machine began to take off. What really shook me out of my foundation, however, was Freefest during the fall semester of that year. It was my first official “festival experience” where I relished in the sweet nectar of artists like Neon Indian, The Temper Trap, and Matt & Kim.
But then my compatriots convinced me to stay in the pit for LCD Soundsystem instead of running off to see M.IA.
After the first drop in “Dance Yrself Clean,” I was in love. No urge to document the madness of the pit. No opportunity to worry about the homework I should have been doing, to overanalyze a conversation with a cute girl earlier in the day, or to think about the fact I hadn’t eaten all day. There was only euphoria and purity and love and truth in the pit that night. Honesty. It spoke to my soul and became ingrained in the fiber of my being. Later, I would describe it to my family as a religious experience; and like a sinner who found God, I began sharing the wealth with those around me.
I immediately went to the drawing board after getting back to my dingy dorm room and started building beefier, dancier mixtapes to combat the sterile, Top 40 laced dance parties on campus. 4AD. DFA. Fool’s Gold. XL Recordings. Anything new and fresh and made me feel something beyond the need to play beer pong. In the process, I discovered the incoming tide of progressive house and electro which was about to overtake the music industry (and my college campus in a mere matter of months).
The next semester, James [from LCD Soundsystem] announced that the band was finishing up and they were going to play one last farewell show at Madison Square Garden. Tickets sold out instantly. I was fortunate to attend one of the last Terminal 5 shows in New York prior to the penultimate curtain call. Again, I was lost in the sound. And what I shared with others in attendance was this beautiful mix of melancholy and catharsis. I didn’t want them to break up. I had just discovered them. They just awoke a fire in my belly and a yearning in my heart. But like all good things, it had to come to an end.
And once again, it changed me. It made me realize that moments are fleeting. That everything has a beginning and an end and, at some point, you will meet that same fate. It was then that I put my camera in my pocket. No more pictures. Just the moments, the memories, and the music. That’s what I was going to take with me.
Since then, I’ve gone to plenty of shows where I see waves of iPhones and cameras trying to catch each and every moment. Documentation. Archiving. Capturing the experience of music. Of being there. Evidence that you existed at a moment in time where a thing happened. And sure: sometimes I am still an offender and I try to get a snapshot of the evening. After all, it’s the culture we live in now. But the moment is meant to be lived because we discover parts of ourselves when we let go of the superficial nonsense that we allow ourselves to be ruled by. We find solitude and escape and something spiritual in it. It’s a bond that goes beyond anything else because we can enable ourselves to give up entirely to the people, the music, and the vibes around us; it’s a communal experience.
All of this led to why I became a DJ. I found the outlet and a resolution and a code to live by. And I wanted to share that with those who may be just as lost as I once was. I want people to feel something other than doubt or panic or anxiety. I want that cathartic release for others. And maybe – just maybe – that will lead some to put their phones down and dance.