I remember the first days of my love of music. I can still feel the nascent rush of a new song, unknown notes and chords and ideas flowing into my brain. I remember my dad carefully tuning the dial on his Panasonic receiver, the matte-black set wiring patchy signals to wooden-boxy Yamaha speakers. I remember that vibe, man! To a child, this was indistinguishable from magic. As an adult, the feeling miraculously remains.
John Bonham died in September of 1980. I personally mark this as the pivotal transitory point into the rule of electronic music. Indeed, the last truly mysterious, ethereal band - one that never saw a large-scale digital release in their heyday - called it quits at this juncture, giving ideological rise to a form of music that Jim Morrison predicted in this eerie 1970 video.
And he was right, completely, spot-on. "[…] it might rely heavily on electronics tapes,” he said. "I can kind of envision maybe one person with a lot of machines, tapes and electronics set up singing or speaking and using machines.” We don’t have many reactions from that particular interview, but it’s reasonable to think that folks thought he was probably crazy.
Nevertheless, the wayward poet had envisioned the DJ.
One thing Morrison likely would have been unable to predict is the scope in which the modern DJ would dominate the popular music circuit. Indeed, the consummate party master - the controller of the decks, the pumper of the fists, the smoker of many cigarettes - has captured the hearts (but moree importantly, the minds) of cross-cultural, -economic and -racial boundaries.
As a society, we find ourselves at a point in which not only is being a DJ acceptable and accessible, but also increasingly desirable; recently, we’ve taken what was the control of an iPod at a house party, and turned it into a complete fucking monster. You need not look any further than Paris Hilton and Shaqueile O’Neill to understand the ubiquity of the art form; no further than soundcloud to understand its depth. It’s official - the age of the DJ has begun, and like a gold rush, everybody is vying to grab up scarce land.
And the magic is only intensifying. Today’s top producers, fitted with increasingly sophisticated programs, tools and educational resources, are pumping a consistent spate of music into the collective conscience, designed to make you question the very nature of reality. They do so practically* for free, and they do it for a) the love of their craft, but more to the point, for - b) the chance to get bookings. But gravity makes shit roll down hill.
To be a DJ today is to be a DJ in a world saturated by DJs. While the most popular, rising, techno, tech-house, dubstep et al coming out these days is completely, mind-glowingly jarring, it is also protected by little more than DRM and quality paywalls. Putting a track on YouTube is practically suicide for record sales; any armchair DJ can lift a track thusly, process it through a rendering program, and be on their way with a 420kbps version of the latest Detroit Swindle cut, ready to play at the club. This process doesn’t make the end result noticeably less intense. Thought it does pose somewhat of an ethical dilemma — should laypeople be able to access such powerful, thought-melting music? Or should it be reserved for revered, time-tested and dedicated DJs?
Whatever the answer to this question may be, the fact remains: if a producer/DJ wants to make a life out of their craft, they must produce, they must distribute, and they must be ready to be stolen from - and compete with - the masses. It’s classic, evolutionary, kill-or-be-killed bullshit. But it’s also the way it is. Nature dictates everything, all the way down to dance music.
However, despite what I’ve laid out, I’m left with one thought: maybe a world saturated by DJs is a good thing? Hear me out - my rationale being, if there is an ever-increasing number of mixes entering the fray, supplemented by a surging amount of new dance-music fans to vet (and vote on) these mixes, the cream will eventually rise to the top, right?
Oh god, we’re fucked.