A heads up to Miami's downtown cognoscenti: Michigan's esteemed Ghostly International label will be celebrating 10 years of forward-thinking music and subculture at White Room on Saturday, December 5. Founded in 1999 by DJ Sam Valenti, Ghostly has become one of the most highly-acclaimed international platforms for cutting-edge and genre-defying contemporary music and multimedia, along with its more dancefloor-centric sister imprint Spectral Sound.
Ghostly's eclectic musical contingent will be represented on December 5 by the experimental Detroit techno/avant-pop forays of Audion, a.k.a. Matthew Dear, electro-tech producers Michna and Bodycode, and synthpoppers Solvent, along with Get Physical's M.A.N.D.Y. and Miami's own DJ Conway. This much anticipated musical extravaganza also marks the return of Miami's
beloved SAFE, who brought us some of the finest underground electronic
dance music bookings of the last couple years, and will be teaming up with Miami's legendary festival audio designer Terry McNeil to guarantee this will be one night of mind-blowing sounds.
Click here to get your $15 pre-sale tickets. Ghostly International 10 Year Anniversary Party. Saturday, December 5. 10 p.m.-5 a.m. White Room. 1306 N. Miami Ave., Miami.
So it only makes sense that a beat-crazed cat like DJ Todd Stylez would rise from such a place. Just as it only makes sense that such a place would inspire DJ Todd Stylez to stretch above and beyond any traditional island boundaries. But even the boldest Bahamians weren't ready when Stylez started pumping house into their favorite dancehall. And when he added electro to soca, well, you might say the whole town flipped its lid.
Within minutes, it seemed, Stylez was the most in-demand DJ on New Providence Island. Infinity, 601, Charlie's Club, Fluid; Stylez slaked all their crowds' thirsts. But there's probably not island in the world that boasts the multitudes this man planned to rock. So after winning every DJ award New Providence had to offer, Stylez slipped away across the Straits and landed in South Florida. They say Nassau hasn't been the same since.
​Latin and Caribbean beats may be in Miami's blood, and when you track the rhythms back to Africa, their enduring presence does make a sort of sense. But of all the beats in all the world, wouldn't it make just as much sense for us to embrace the rhythms of East as well as West? But unfortunately, even in a town as wildly diverse as Miami, that kind of collision of cultures is damn hard to come by.
That's why next Thursday's set from DJ Ipek is so heavily anticipated. The Munich-born, Berlin-based superstar spinner happens to be the offspring of Turkish immigrants, and was raised appreciating the finer threads in rhythm. Consequently her patented blend of East/West electro fusion sounds as if it springs straight off the Bosporus.
Of course it helps her fusion that Ipek "keeps one leg in Istanbul," and that she spent a "few years in [the Turkish city of] Izmir." A year in London obviously didn't hurt either. But it's Berlin, where she's lived since 1982, that truly informs Ipek's form-splitting swing between worlds. It's a swing, by the way, that many considered anathema till Ipek came along and showed everyone just how it was done.
​Miamians take a rightful pride in our reputation as the northern-most capital of South America. But if we're ever going to truly be considered a world-class city, it'll be because of cats like DJ Mednas.
Mednas, who derives his moniker from a mix-up of his given name, Mehdi Nassiri, was born in Casablanca and raised in both Marrakech and Tangier. Like many a Moroccan, Mednas crossed the Straights of Gibraltar and ended up in Madrid, where he spent seven years, some of it at the American University. To complete his degree (in international business, naturally), he next hit St. Louis, the so-called the "Gateway to the West". Unlike those who heeded a certain nineteenth-century call, however, this young man did not continue westward. He went south, to Caracas, before finally landing in Miami, where he obviously was meant to be all along.
Even from a purely geographical point of view, Mednas has an enviable background. Hell, he's already lived in more countries than many people visit in a lifetime. When you consider collision of cultures to which he's been privy, it belies a scope few folks can even fathom.
Benton Galgay may play records, but he's got his own ideas about what it means to be a DJ. First off, aside from Wooden Shjips, there are very few new artists he's into spinning. And when he does wax au courant, it's on behalf of labels such as Sublime Frequencies, Needless Records, or RVNG of the NRDS, Turntable Lab, and Dublab, rather than any individual act. In fact, when Galgay was general manager at WVUM, he teamed with Turntable Lab on numerous occasions, and turned PS 14 into a de facto broadcast booth for that outfit's music.
What might be even odder about the White Plains-raised Galgay is that he's most fond of No Wave. For the unschooled, that's a short-lived, yet highly influential school of late-'70s/early'80s New York noisemakers which began with Teenage Jesus and the Jerks and James Chance and the Contortions, and pretty much ended with Liquid Liquid, Konk, and the 99 Records collective. And when Galgay's not reeling with that racket, he's into prog-pop like the Alan Parsons Project and Gary Wright, which is just the kind of music that aforementioned racket was in part formed to protest.
Then again, maybe Galgay's getting with the fluffier stuff of the '70s is simply a case of sheer irony, because he's also well bent toward neo-old school rock from Stone Roses and Primal Scream. And each of those bands does have some strands of No Wave running up their sleeves. It could also be that Galgay's an arch contrarian, and that he's loathe to lurk in the same corners as everybody else.
​For a cat who claims he'd play whatever it takes to get folks out on the dancefloor, DJ Damaged Goods sure has a rather rarefied playlist. A pairing of Soulja Boy's "Turn My Swag On" with La Roux's "In for the Kill?" MGMT's "Kids" with Ellie Goulding's "Starry Eyed?" That's just nuts. Add to this the fact that DG's likely to throw down Ginuwine's "Pony," and is also partial to tracks by dubstep producers like Skream and Jakwob. Yes, Damaged Goods specializes in stretching the borders of musical sanity. But this kind of crazy works wonders -- otherwise this DJ wouldn't be headlining both Louis and White Room.
Born Obi Tawil right here in the M.I.A., the Jordanian-Cuban has only been in on all the fast head spinning action since '06. But in those few good years he's made more than a few cool friends. And he's left more than a many few bodies happily trashed on the dancefloor. As Damaged Goods he got his start at the party Spiderpussy, when he was given a Basel-week shot by Andrews Lorenzana (a.k.a. previous Head Spins subject Al B Rotten).
And that was just the beginning of an onslaught that would find him rocking Revolver, the late, lamented Black Sundays at Bella Rose, and his own Misfit Fridays at the old Studio A. In fact, that Friday party was such a hit with the in-crowd that Goods and company took it across the causeway and set it up at Louis in the Gansevoort this past March. The party's been packing 'em in there ever since.
​Seven hours. That's how long Ryan Evans mixes up the mayhem at Buck 15 each and every Friday night. Seven hours. But if you're the kind of DJ who can begin with '90s hip-hop, segue through commercial house, and peak with classic rock and roll, well, seven hours is just another drive-by. The kind of drive-by that leaves the dance floor riddled with musical bullets and keeps people talking well into next week.
But the Orange County, California native isn't simply the kind of DJ who stands alone in this world of ours; he's keen on teaming with other head-spinners too. It's what he did back in the proverbial day, when he got his start at Revolver, spinning alongside such heavies as Lazaro Casanova and Gregg Foreman. And it's what he did through stints everywhere from Poplife (when it was at I/O) and Spiderpussy (wherever it happened to be).
It's also what Evans does now on Saturdays at the Vagabond, where he shares the booth with fellow resident Ray Milian and club co-owner Carmel Ophir. Here, though, Evans tends to keep his sound extra dirty, and he's as likely to slip you some Crazy P as he is to let loose with Bag Raiders.
​If you've been out and about anywhere in Miami over the past eight years, you've probably seen or heard the cat sometimes called Al B. Rotten. Rotten -- or Andrews Lorenzana as he's known to the DMV -- was part of the rag-tag gaggle of uber crazies behind the long-running weekly night named Spiderpussy. But once Spiderpussy crawled into history, Rotten and co-conspirator Johnny Strokes (born Rafael DeOnate) slipped into White Room and opened up Exposure, which turned out to be an excellent way to remedy those ho-hum Mondays. But tonight Exposure snaps into a hiatus itself, and now Rotten, Strokes, and company bring us a Friday party at White Room, Escape.
But rewind to the beginnings of Lorenzana's turn as a head-spinner. As Andrews the promoter, he's always been one of those who pull the strings that keep the nightcrawlers all tied up. But when Lorenzana truly became Rotten was when he stepped behind the turntables and started blasting out the classic punk from which he derives his moniker.
Actually, it wasn't a set of turntables -- it was two Discmans and a mixer. The place was the old Sushi Box, on Biscayne Boulevard, and Lorenzana was throwing a sort-of dinner party. But the music enthusiast also wanted to control the sound, so he threw down some of his favorite tracks. Then one night a week or so later, he watched as DJ Le Spam wowed the crowd at Spiderpussy, then at Lounge 16. It was then that the born host decided he could spin himself, and Al B. Rotten was born.
Few DJs would think to cut through Florence, Italy and New York City in order to get to Fort Lauderdale. Then again, few DJs have proven the logic of a circuitous route quite like Dean Michaels. In fact, it appears that Michaels is so intent on spinning his way straight into ubiquity, he doesn't care how many rotations it takes. And who's to argue with that?
Born and raised in Montville, New Jersey, Michaels started spinning while still studying at Florida Atlantic University. The Hush Lounge (now Scoop) up in Boca was his first gig. Then came Lauderdale's Art Bar, where Michaels helped bounce Broward into its dancing shoes before he headed back up to Boca to help launch a college party at Murphy's Downtown. That particular Tuesday night throwdown exists to this day.
During his studies Michaels, who boasts some Italian heritage, decided to avail himself of an FAU study abroad program in Florence. Eventually he'd end up one of the town's most active DJs. It all went down like this: An audition at the club Dolce Zuccherro turned into a three-hour set, and that, in turn, begat a two-night residency. From there he went on to Central Park, a sprawling spring/summer venue that comes equipped with its very own ferris wheel, and a center-city club called Universale.
​Sometimes you just want to have fun, without some egghead turntablist letting his noggin interfere with your nightlife. And you don't need no stinking holier-than-thou white label purist insisting that you worship every nuance of a track's rarity. You want to hit the club, and you want to dance -- that's it.
But just because you're into the fun stuff doesn't mean you want the DJ to dumb things down. Hell, you know full well that even the stupidest-sounding set takes a bit of smarts to pull off right. You also know that just because a DJ can spell LMFAO doesn't mean he or she knows where it goes.
That's why you dig DJ Ruen. The cat doesn't let his smarts get in the way of some good dirty fun. And whether he's housing up a party rocker or rocking out a house anthem, you know that he's minding the floor. So you're free to forget about everything except what you came for -- that is, to lose yourself.
​The knock on the door came late; too late for most folks. But DJ Heron was working in a recording studio, where work often doesn't start till the witching hour. And the cat doing the knocking said he was a friend of a friend who'd been working in the studio earlier that night, and that he was supposed to meet him. Was the friend still there? He asked Heron. No? Did anybody know where he'd gone?
Heron couldn't really see the would-be visitor's face, but his story sounded legit. So he unbolted the door -- and knew it was a mistake the moment he did it. At once the knocker had a gun to Heron's face and an accomplice by his side. Quickly, the two ushered the DJ back into the studio where they tied him up, wrapped a gag around his mouth, and left him to listen as they proceeded to clean out his entire studio.
Every machine, every microphone, every wire was carried out and loaded on to a waiting truck. Most devastatingly, though, the robbers stole Heron's hard drives, which were loaded with untold beats and rhymes. Beats and rhymes he could never get back.
​Saturday night, 2:00 a.m. A club raftered with Colombians and Venezuelans, Argentines and Bolivians. There are Cubans too, primarily born in Florida. And there's also a smattering of Italians. Pepper the crowd with a fistful of Yanks and then stir.
That's the stew. It could be La Paz; it could be Caracas; it could be Bogota before the wars or Buenos Aires under Peron. But it isn't. It's Doral, a six-year-old city that takes its name from its developers (Doris and Alfred Kaskel) and its cue from its infamous Golf Resort & Spa.
Out in that city sits a joint called La Covacha. For the past five years this has been the go-to place for ex-pat Latin Americans looking to live a more hometown-feeling high life on a given Saturday night. The party that's bringing 'em in is called Fabrika, and it does indeed serve to represent the very fabric of these lives.
​A Sunday afternoon barbecue on South Beach is probably not the best place to interview a DJ, especially if the spinner's been knocking back mojitos for a couple hours before you pose your questions. Then again, this is the Magic City, and a large part of its allure comes from the fact that pleasure almost always supersedes business. But after a curiously slurred preliminary, everybody sobers up to get to the matter at hand --to let it be known that we've gotta another hot chick head spinner in our midst. Her name? DJ Elle.
That's right, Miami's lured down another New York DJ. She's been shuffling back and forth between the two cities for a while now, but this time it looks like we've got her for keeps. Elle's first Miami spin was at Buck 15, which put her right in sync with the all the right locals. And since January, she's been holding court every Thursday at the Catalina, where she switches off with Miami's own Self Born.
​It's a Sunday evening at the local studios of WDNA, one of the only true indie radio stations in all of America. It's raining outside, an unholy alliance of torrent and drizzle, but in here there's nothing but sunshine.
Brazilian sunshine, that is. As if one were on the beaches of Rio during Carnival, or in the back alleys of a Sao Paolo favela, on any given day of the long, hot year. There's a beat to this sunshine, too, a heady mix of samba, bossa nova, jazz, forro, pop, rock, reggae and what's known as MPB -- that's musica popular brasileira. And it' s all just part of the aural arsenal of DJ Gene de Souza.
Most importantly, the music is all spun with a wonder and reverence befitting its history and place in the world. And it's delivered with such cool fervor you can't help but be swayed.
​First things first: M.Dot's name has nothing to do with either Michigan's or Maryland's Department of Transportation. But it could, especially when you consider this DJ's moniker does, in fact, have something to do with moving large groups of the public. In fact, it might take the DOT from both states just to handle the masses for which M.Dot spins each week.
See, M.Dot is the official DJ for the Florida Marlins. And if spinning for a crowd as large as that held in Land Shark Stadium doesn't amount to much to you, well, you need to get a better abacas.
Daytona Beach-born and Miami-raised, M.Dot now cribs it over in Naples, which is about the closest a cat can get to being far from the madding crowd without leaving the Sunshine State. That's not to say M.Dot's out of the action, mind you. It's just that he needs that bit of space to free his mind enough to go off each and every time he spins in front of nearly 40,000 baseball fans.
On any given Thursday evening at the Palms Hotel on South Beach, you'll find an intimate confab of hipsters swaying to a decidedly worldly beat. The party's called Sip and Spa, and, as the name implies, it's as heavy on the cocktails as it is on the massage. Actually, there may be even more imbibing than out-and-out spa works. But hey, a long, tall drink can be just as relaxing as any ol' mud bath.
The thing about it is, Sip and Spa swings in a way the Strip doesn't often swing -- and that is with a hush instead of a rush, a mellowness rather than a rabid madness. It's the feel one might find in, say, a reflecting pool, rather than the many-sided mirrors to which we've all become accustomed. And behind it all are the sounds thrown down by DJ Billy Paul.
Is a DJ a musician? Some say yes, some say no. If you say yes, what happens when the DJ ditches the turntable and kicks on the Serato? Are they still musicians? And what about the Pioneer CDJ folks? Or the Apple core crowd? Are they musicians too?
The question is as old as disco and has been revived at least as many times. The answer is also pretty much moot. What difference does it make if you consider a turntable to be an instrument as long as the person behind it is playing music worth dancing to?
But when it comes to DJ Danny Ashe, that question also becomes superfluous. See, Ashe has been a musician for nearly 20 years -- in fact, he still is. And he also happens to be one of our town's most happening DJs. So there.
When New Timesfirst caught up with DJ D-Up, the DC native was bringing his no holds barred "party music" to The Rose Bar at South Beach's infamous Delano each and every Saturday night. He also was swooping into the continually cool Mokai once a month or so.
Fast forward half a year and the cat's not only still holding sway at both joints, he's taken up with the Scratch DJ Academy. That's put him spinning everywhere from private corporate affairs to Crunch, where he gives after-work gym rats an uplifting beat to get fit with. Come fall, Scratch is also sending D-Up out on the high seas, for a five week throwdown with Royal Caribbean.
As choice as that sounds though, we're more interested in what D-Up's been doing for us lately. And if the rad mix delivered in his just-dropped Rare Form: Live at Mokai! is any indication, he's doing much more than even we expected.
Hurricane Wilma may have been devastating for a lot of folks, but not for Jenni Foxx. See, on that 2005 day after it hit, she happened to have a scheduled DJ audition at the Clevelander. But there was no power. And a few hours later, when power was restored, Foxx got a call from the owner. Seems the Clevelander's resident DJ couldn't make it across the Causeway, so Jenni got the nod, based on looks and charm alone.
Soon after, a similar thing happened at Buck 15, when Foxx got pulled in last-minute to spin one of Edison Farrow's Thursday parties. And that slot led to spots at both the old Madiba restaurant, and again at Buck 15, this time on Saturdays. She's been holding down that latter residency ever since.
Before the house turns totally to house music on Saturday nights in that downtown megaclub known as Space, all kinds of other action is kicking throughout the joint. A lot of that action goes down out on the club's infamous terrace, under the stars and in the shadow of a skyline of skyscrapers. That's where you'll find Miami's own DJ Knowledge schooling the party people on how best skip class and still get a degree in the high life.
I'm fooling about the school part, of course, but not about the schooling. Spinning in Space takes a certain know-how. It's a prestigious residency, and Knowledge has earned it. And the only thing this head-spinner has skipped is the chapter that says a cat's gotta wait his turn.
Counting stands in every hotspot on South Beach from Opium to Mansion, and stints all the way up north to Spirits, you might say Knowledge has gone straight to the head of the class. Of course, being repped by Irie's Artist Related since the company's first day doesn't hurt. Nor does the fact that Irie himself has acted as both tutor and mentor to the man known as Knowledge, helping him to gain the wisdom required to know the night.
Poppa E is a bad motherfucker. Find out for yourself every Wednesday night at Casa Panza, where he has a residency, and he and his band play three or more sets of jazz, blues, and R&B songs you already know the words to.
Some people might think it's strange to put a blues night in a Little Havana venue famed for its raucous Flamenco parties, but owner Ernesto, a rock musician born in Cuba says, "When people come to this country, they gotta learn cultural values and spread them too. Music is the only way to take down barriers, because music is universal." Casa Panza looks like a Medieval Spanish tavern, full of history and memorabilia. They've got 20 years on SW 8th Street and six Best Of Miami titles.
Long running semi-regular concert series, PLAID! returns to Churchill's Pub next week. After starting out in Hialeah many moons ago and being moved around a bunch the party starters, aka the Brand, started doing the series regularly over at 5501 NE 2nd Ave. Then they moved to NYC and some of them moved back and now they are doing it again. It's usually a gang-type of show with 274 bands playing on 16 stages, minimum. This edition is no different. The lineup includes the Brand as well as Pretty Please, Leonardo Valencia, Call it Radar, Sirens and Sealions, Dyslexic Postcards, Ouija, Arboles Libres, The Kut, In As Much, Mom and Poppa Squat, Prostitots, Joce, The Gray Girls, Trashly McGutless, Mathew Nomena, and The Winter Room. It goes down on Saturday, April 18th. Attendees wearing plaid get reduced admission.
P.S. For extra entertainment, go out back and watch the idiotic "punks" hopping the back wall because they want to fight whitey.
I received this encyclopedia length post as a comment to a blog about a blog. Coffee House Gypsies superfan Amanda wants you to know why she loves the Coffee House Gypsies. I caught them once on video. They were playing in a weed-filled trailer park in Wynwood during Art Basel 2008. I didn't get their name so I just made something up that sounded close to what they tried to tell me it was in hopes theyd see it and correct me. If you're like most people in the world, you haven't seen the video, so check it out and then read what Amanda's got to say, it's a lot of words. Maybe she should read to blind kids, it would keep her busy. Full response after the jump.
No ifs, no ands, and definitely no buts about it -- when DJ Jonathan Brody is asked to define his genre, he comes back with a quick and decisive "disco, disco, disco!" Sure, it swings "from new disco to Italo Disco disco-house," but in the end it's clear: this cat's got it bad for the four-to-the-floor.
Born in London but raised right here in Miami, Brody cites Escort ("a great group") as a key influence. However, consider the fact that the act is best known as the back track for the Muppets' "All Through the Night." It's either some joke or a stroke of genius on Brody's part -- and I'm thinking it's a good bit of both.
With DJs the world over claiming to be "open format," it's refreshing to stumble upon a spinner who actually claims a specific genre. In DJ Lennox's case, it's hip-hop, he says: "That's my foundation."
Still, Lennox is no fool about the vagaries of the marketplace, and he's not about to lose a gig because some wannabe club king has something vague in his skull. "With all this talk about open format," says Lennox. "I don't want to be labeled. I can play anything." And Lennox is right; he can kick it in any school. But when you hear the cat dropping the top in hip-hop, of both then and now, you kind of hope he never lets go of that game.
One of the best things about South Florida has got to be the wide array of music available to dance to on any given night. Forget "open format," whatever that really means. Sometimes the best is music is true to its roots -- a specific genre, done up right by a DJ fully devoted to a singular cause.
DJ Lee Or is just such a head spinner. He's a cat who's content to stick to his tech-house, no matter what sort of prevailing winds might blow down the strip.
Born in Tel Aviv, where the nightlife is as thriving as New York, and the cool is as temperate as Barcelona, Lee Or landed South Florida on the cusp of the new century. His first gig was at the Coliseum in Fort Lauderdale. But it was when Lee Or took over the turntables at Nikki Beach, back in, well, South Beach, for their loud and everlasting Sunday throwdown, that things really took off for the Israeli transplant.
Like the architecture degree he keeps sequestered, and the dizzying heights implied by his name, DJ Vertigo structures some truly classic nights on the town. Sure, the head spinner's using sound, rather than steel and concrete, to create what he envisions. But that doesn't make the edifices any less enduring, or formidable.
Born and raised right in Lauderdale, with bouts at both UM and FIU under his belt, DJ Vertigo's been putting the BPM back and forth between Dade and Broward for nine years now. His format is what's commonly called open, but to Vertigo it's simply "no rules; just music."
The fact that DJ Justin Sheppard is the son of a drifter makes sense
when you consider the smooth, supple soulfulness he brings to his
spinning. That he's also got a degree in computer science, however,
might not make as much sense, especially when you consider just how
dizzying he is. But this is the 21st century, and even the most
hedonistic among us must be completely comfortable with the soul of
technology.
And "hedonistic" is what Sheppard calls his style
of night sounds. And what's wrong with putting pleasure at the
forefront of everything you do?
Anybody who's ever heard a track by Chuck Brown and the Soul Searchers knows the deep power of go-go, that mighty blend of pure funk and raw soul that could only come from the streets of D.C. It's a heady mix of down-low and way-up-on-high that brings to mind nothing so much as the party of your life.
So it stands to damn good reason that DJ D-Up calls what he does, simply, "party music." After all, the cat was born in our nation's capitol. Better yet, his pops was a DJ too, back in the proverbial day. Which means D-Up's had that throwdown sound ground into him from the cradle to the streets.
Baroness Pannonica de Koenigswarter still looms in the margins of jazz
history. Until now, her contributions during the Fifties, Sixties, and
Seventies were known mostly to insiders, aficionados, historians, and
journalists eager to sensationalize her association with the death of
Charlie Parker, who famously died in her living room in 1955.
Though
de Koenigswarter's spirit flickers on in the 20-plus compositions
written in her honor, it would be impossible to overstate the extent to
which she sheltered, fed, bailed out, provided for, and acted as friend
and advocate to the musicians on New York City's jazz scene. In this
new book, you'll read about her close association with heavyweights
like Monk, Davis, Blakey, Powell, and, of course, Parker. During her
lengthy and informative introduction, de Koenigswarter's granddaughter
Nadine paints a poignant picture of her late grandmother as a woman
with a determined drive to nurture. De Koenigswarter, for example,
housed more than 100 cats.
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