I didn’t expect the journey to Berlin to be linear, and my path back to the States sure as hell wasn’t…but let’s not get ahead of ourselves here. On with the story.
After my nervous breakdown that spring, I decided to stop being scared to take risks. I’ve always been a big dreamer, but never had the confidence or support to take any of my ideas seriously. Well, this time it wasn’t so much confidence but desperation that made me go for it. Either way, my lifelong dreams of living abroad and making music were finally gonna happen.
So a bunch of my relatives live over in Germany. My dad and his siblings had all fled Vietnam and scattered around the world, and we somehow ended up in the suburbs of New Jersey while my cousins ended up with universal health care, tuition-free education, a kickass rail system, and weekends in Amsterdam. Let me tell ya, sitting at a table where everyone flows between German, Vietnamese, and English as I’m reppin’ America with my unilingual skills is slightly humbling.
I was going to stay with my relatives for about a month while I searched for jobs, apartments, and gigs. That way I’d have a safety net for when I got to Berlin.
Well, things didn’t work out according to plan. Let’s backtrack for a minute…
A few months earlier, I was down in San Francisco and met this rad chick at a party (no, no, it’s not what you think—we’ll get to my college phase some other time). We kept in touch, and she later passed on some info about a gig. A friend of a friend, who runs a girly punk label out of LA, was looking for a female DJ to join them on the Vans Warped Tour.
Yes, that Warped Tour. It’s the longest-running touring festival in the country (going 14 years strong now) and draws over 500,000 sweaty emo kids every summer. The gig would pay a daily stipend, along with meals, and you’d travel around the country on a tour bus for 2 months.
I’d emailed the label owner a month earlier, but never heard back. Then, out of nowhere, I got a response. She wanted me to join them on tour. And, of course, I got this offer when I was over 3000 miles away.
A flurry of emails and phone calls were exchanged over the course of a week, and an acute sense of panic overwhelmed me. She needed an answer, but my head was spinning with confusion. I couldn’t sleep, I’d randomly break down crying… My anxiety spurred on a serious bout of homesickness, so I’d scribble in my journal because I had no one to vent to.
I was stuck again… Right as I thought I was finding some direction in life, I was faced with a huge conflict: living in Europe versus DJing around the US. Both would change my life, but in completely different ways. Plus (masochistically), I knew that whichever one I chose, I’d regret not doing the other one.
After losing much sleep and battling a few panic attacks, I agreed to go on tour. I figured that Europe would always be there, but I might not get another chance to do something like this.
Holding my breath, I was back on a plane to JFK with a future full of the unknown.
Sounds modulated. Time evaporated. Reality dissipated.
Thoughts take on new shapes as the BRAINWAVE SELECT knob is turned.
Synthesis lesson: filter out people, places, and things which do not add to your life. Subtract negativity. But take this with a grain of salt, or your ideas may become distorted.
Mod Matrix? Screw the blue pill. Take the white one. All six of ‘em.
These thoughts, and many other manic and surreal ones, raced through Miss Jade’s head as she played with her Axis of iLLness. Every waveform that her synth emitted seeped into the pores of her brain. LFOs hypnotized her with their cyclical trails, and filters cut off the outside world with a high frequency. Oscillating between reality and a dream-like state, she tried to drown out the noise which reverberated through her mind.
Overwhelmed with synthesis overdose, she told herself what she had to do next (without delay or needing anyone’s feedback):
Attack the sound with your knowledge, and your self-doubt will decay.
Sustain a positive attitude so you can release your creative vision onto the world.
She was entering a Werdhole™ that’s never been discovered— not knowing or caring what was on the other side.
Ladies and gentlemen, we are now entering the Werdhole™: a means of traveling from one galaxy to another while all boundaries of space and time are blurred. This shortcut allows you to reach places of über-radness as the universe greets you on the other side with a huge “WERD”. Recently discovered by one of today’s top synthesists, Albert Einsteinberg, VsT.
Things have been moving at warp speed recently. dejaded, which started out as a fuzzy concept in my journal six years ago, is starting to take shape and has been growing steadily every week. Nerd Revolt’s debut performance is in a month, so we’ve been cranking away on beats at Command Central®. Not to mention I’ve gone snowboarding nine times in two weeks and I bike to every studio session. For the first time in my life, I feel healthy, positive, and creatively fulfilled. It’s crazy to think that just a few years ago, I was getting crunked at afterparties a few times a week, complicating my life with toxic relationships, and getting wrapped up in all the scene bullshit.
How did a reckless party girl from NYC start realizing her dreams in a remote corner of the country that she didn’t even like when she visited?
A whole string of events led up to me moving to Seattle, but first— I had to hit rock bottom.
In the spring of 2006, I fell into one of the worst depressions of my life. Daisy, my dog of 14 years, passed away from cancer and it tore my world apart. For the two years leading up to that, I was becoming more and more self-destructive, numbing myself out with drugs and mindless partying. When she suddenly died, all the people I thought were my friends disappeared. I found myself completely isolated, working dead-end jobs (telemarketing anyone?), and living at my mom’s house. I’d dropped out of grad school, had no clear goals, and was blazing down a road to nowhere.
That’s when I decided that I needed to wake the fuck up and live in the moment.
I quit my job, got rid of my cell phone, and bought myself a year of health insurance. Packed up my laptop and Oxygen 8 and got myself on a plane.
I was going to make beats in Berlin.
To be continued…
With Yuki off the radar and Nation on red alert, Rekraktor Overlord knew he had to jump on his mission immediately. The techno community was quickly withering away, and he needed to combat this dangerous outbreak before it claimed more victims.
Unfortunately, there’s no cure for E. Gotism. Once it takes root, it starts invading the music, the vibe, and the culture. Everything starts to degenerate soon after that, and then the scene eventually dies.
Years ago, R.O. discovered something known as The Disease. Technically, it had always existed in small numbers, but was never researched. It’s defined as an all-encompassing, semi-psychotic disorder in which one is completely obsessed with synthesis and technology. This isn’t just typical gear lust. Jobs have been lost, girlfriends abandoned, friends alienated, meals skipped, outside worlds forgotten… When someone’s hit with a bad case of it, they may start speaking in waveforms, be eternally haunted by stuck MIDI notes, and have romantic and/or sexual feelings for their gear.
On his missions down to Earth, the O-Lord exposes people to the mind-warping virtual reality program known as Rekraktor (which can induce many forms of The Disease). R.O. spreads this around the underground in hopes that it will counteract E. Gotism, giving rise to a new generation of synthesists that will colonize planets across the universe.
These missions have been part nerd activism, part social psychology experiment. Now more than ever, he needed to be aggressive with planting the Rekraktor seeds inside the brains that could handle it.
Before he set out on his mission, he made another visit to the Profit 5-R for guidance.
In one of his five voices, the wise synth anxiously conveyed his insights.
“Overlord… I had a startling vision last night. There must be a new strain of The Disease. It’s something I’ve never sensed before– an e-mutation, perhaps. But I do believe its presence is very near, and you best go investigate. Hurry…the MIDI Clock is ticking.”
So far, we’ve covered sketchy promoters, scumbag DJs, and what happens when dance music gets the Hollywood treatment. But there’s an obvious source of drama that I haven’t touched on yet: relationships. Over the years, I’ve had my share of fucked up ones, ranging from the slightly dysfunctional to the utterly masochistic.
Not that they’re all that bad. I think relationships are great for expressing your thoughts (during 13-hour World War III fights), learning about yourself (by having every character flaw in your existence pointed out on a regular basis), and sharing your life with someone (after giving up your hopes, goals, and dreams until a severe mid-life crisis hits).
So of course, let’s start with the most psycho of them all…Justin.
How did we meet? Well… that’s an interesting story. It was back in the summer of ’04, after that breakup with the guy I’d been spinning with. I’d been toying around with the idea of producing for a while, having played instruments since I was 5 and feeling burned out on DJing. I found out about this Electronic Music Producer course in NYC and decided to take it.
Okay, so let’s get this out of the way– Justin was one of the teachers there. But you know how it goes. I dug him. He dug me. We got down.
And just so you know, the novelty of dating your teacher quickly wears off. Picturing them naked in class starts out kinda hot, then it’s sort of funny, then it’s plain fucking weird. Try being in a fight and not wanting to interact with them, but you don’t wanna make it obvious in front of your classmates. Or have them ask for suggestions on improving the class, see these things implemented, and then they take all the credit. Yeah…not exactly what I signed up for.
Right away, I saw signs of his über-clinginess and started feeling suffocated. I tried breaking up with him a couple times, but that would only trigger his abandonment issues. He’d remind me of his ex-fiancée leaving him and how he tried to kill himself. What was I supposed to do?
But eventually, I did break it off. Soon after that, our class was ending, so I organized a party in the East Village where a few classmates and I were going to spin. I went with one of my guy friends, which I didn’t think would be a big deal.
Wrong. Justin grabbed my arm, dragged me into the bathroom, locked the door, and blocked me in with his leg. Sticking both middle fingers up at me, he lashed out insults and threats, assuming I was trying to flaunt my new boy toy in front of him. Meanwhile, I had a set to throw down, but he had me locked in there so long that I never got to play.
I finally escaped and left with my friend. As we walked down the street, Justin jumped out of a moving taxi, threw himself at me, and demanded that I go home with him. He asked where I was going, where I was staying. Obviously sketched out, I ended up staying at my friend’s for a couple nights. Justin started showing up at my house drunk in the middle of the night– banging on the door, yelling at my roommate, and doing other sorts of emotionally disturbed and disturbing things.
When he finally realized it was over, he came by to get his stuff. During the exit interview, I stoically stared at the wall and just waited for him to leave. Actually, the only thing that made me cry was that he asked for his Logic key back (and I was in the middle of a project, goddamn it!).
Lessons learned: screen for Borderline Personality Disorder before getting into a relationship, realize that some things are better left a fantasy, and own your fucking studio gear.
Hi, and thanks for tuning in to this week’s edition of The Nerd Survival Guide! It’s a scary world out there, and we’re here to help you keep hiding from it. This 128-step sequencer program is designed by the Ministry of Nerd Health & Wellness, and is guaranteed to let you live a normal life again. The best part is…you won’t even have to leave your cave!
Some features of our award-winning program include:
friend feed reader
Do your friends complain that you never hang out with them anymore? Is your studio time keeping you from interacting with anyone except your machines? Now, with friend feed reader, you can automatically compile everything that passes through your brain and share it with people in real-time. That’s right– the Really Simple Socialization (RSS) feed instantly publishes all your thoughts, so you can completely bypass all human interaction. The new version even allows you to use it along with your Interface-book account!
The Juan Atkins Weight Loss Program
Too many late nights chowing down on Carl’s Craig Jr.? Is that Kraft(werk) Mac & Cheese going straight to your ass? You’ll shape up in no time with the revolutionary Juan Atkins Weight Loss Program. First, we’ll put you on a raw sound diet (it’s okay—you can have processed sounds once in a while). Then we’ll make sure you’re getting a healthy balance of saturated and distorted fats, since a little fatty diet is better than a no-fatty one. And remember, always use graintables made of whole grains! If all else fails, the included “Bombin’ Ramen” cookbook will show you over 3 million different ways to serve up the timeless, mindless classic.
Virtual Anal-og
Come on, admit it. You’re sexually frustrated. Porn is 2-D and so 21st century, while human relationships are just plain scary. Plus, we all know that girlfriends cost time and money, which means less time for making beats and less money for studio gear. What’s a nerd to do?
Virtual Anal-og introduces you to a whole new way of getting off. The computer simulation gives you a totally interactive experience, letting you entertain your nerdiest and dirtiest wet dreams. Audio or MIDI in? How about both? Just be sure to use clean cables! Also, with our new and improved MIDI Cock, you can synchronize your orgasms with the EXXXT button. Our Deluxe version comes with the oral (and we mean oral) medication V.A.gra, helping you reach the highest states of ecstasy (without depleting your serotonin levels). Now shipping with the Pre-cum S. Fire In Her Box and iCok– the dongle that gets around!
More details up ahead, plus a chance to win a new Axis of iLLness synthesizer! Stay tuned.
On emergency Nerd Bot Mission. Will return shortly.
R.O. grumbled. He hated when Yuki left an auto-reply on the feed reader, but then again she was the Master Nerd Bot. Keeping things running smoothly was extremely critical, since all the hermits of the universe depended on it.
The first Nerd Bots came to life on Planet Bambooshay, where all the synthesists had become so isolated in their studio caves that they started to lack social skills. Basically, these creatures are little animal-cyborg hybrids– complete with all the cute and cuddly features of what humans called “pets”, but also armed with superpowers beyond our understanding.
In Bambooshay’s early days, it became obvious that there was a downside to alienation. While many nerds were content spending their whole lives underground, some wanted to go on missions back to Earth to spread The Disease™ (which we’ll get to soon, little grasshopper). However, interacting with the humans became impossible with everyone’s worsening symptoms of Critical Hermitude.
The answer? Nerd Bots. They’ll keep you company while you perform earth (or other planet)-shattering experiments in the studio, fetch and retrieve data from the outside world so you don’t have to, and even morph into humans so you can appear to be social in group settings (and more importantly, avoid all non-synth-related conversation). They don’t really help with social skills per se, but they make it so that you’ll never need them.
This was all conceptualized by the Overlord when he first arrived on the planet with Yuki. Once a mortal cat on Earth, she began displaying telepathic abilities once R.O. split the cyborg pill with her (hey, he only wanted to start with half). Rekraktor realized that, with her special powers, she’d be his link to the world so he could hide out at Command Central® as much as cyborg-humanly possible.
Meanwhile…
Somewhere light years away, on a planet known as Jupiter-9 Lives, the Master Nerd Bots gathered in their official labyrinth. But this was no mission. This was a secret meeting to address one and only one agenda. The most important one of all…
“How will we take over the universe?”
So far, all the drama I’ve mentioned has had to do with small-time players. You know, the scenesters who put more energy into appearing to have all this status, but are still slaving away at their lame day jobs. Alright, amateur hour’s over— let’s dig up some dirt on The Industry.
It was the winter of 2004. I was semi-unemployed, yet going out and partying my ass off in NYC. How? Well, this cabbie crashed into me in the East Village, totaled my car, and left me with a wicked case of whiplash (not to mention a million panic attacks). I took a leave of absence from my job (a nice excuse to get out of social work for a bit), collected disability, and got a nice chunk of change from my car insurance. I was psyched to have time to focus on DJing, so I threw all my energy into the beats.
That’s when I heard about this national female DJ competition presented by Blow My Penis Magazine. The selection process was straightforward: you submit a 30-minute mix, the editors of BMP cut the entries down to a group of semi-finalists, and then a “panel of celebrities” would choose the 3 finalists. These lucky girls get flown to LA to compete in a spin-off, where the best female DJ in the universe will be chosen. The crowned winner of the Mix America Pageant will win gear from a company who bid for this great product placement opportunity, a gig at the Winter Music Conference, and an opening slot on the Beats ‘N Boobs Tour, featuring an all-female lineup.
Cool, why not? I sent in a mix and a couple weeks later, right as I was about to go on the decks at Sin Sin, I got the call. Holy fuck–I’d been chosen as one of the finalists and was going to LA! Side note: I got slightly drunk that night.
The next few weeks were a blur. My leave of absence was running out, yet I wanted to practice all day, everyday. So, in a somewhat impulsive, delayed adolescence move, I said “Fuck it!” and quit my job so I could focus on this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. I mixed day and night, preparing for the 30-minute set that I’d throw down in Hollywood.
Then the big day finally came.
Butterflies galore. Got picked up at the airport and met the other girls, who were super chill and friendly. But the whole thing was so surreal. I felt like we were on a reality show where everyone’s forcing themselves to act relaxed, yet you know you’re all feeling self-conscious and guarded. I felt trapped between not wanting to appear too anxious, yet not wanting to kiss anyone’s ass. Nerve-wracking to say the least. There was an obvious tension in the air as we all went out to eat, watched a movie together, and did interviews which felt like spy missions from the editors (what was this, a fucking social psychology experiment?).
On the night of the spin-off, I started realizing that this was nothing like I’d expected. It was one big shiny commercial, and the contestants were all pawns in this weird marketing scheme. After all, this was sponsored by an energy drink company and took place in the middle of Hollywood. So naturally, there was the red carpet, a strike-a-pose photo shoot while holding cans of a drink that I hate, and lots of high heels and silicone around. Silly me…I thought dance music was an underground thing, not a lifestyle brand.
Finally, competition time. At this point, my main goal was to not puke while spinning. I’d never played for more than 50 people and I’d never mixed on a big system. Now I was supposed to play in front of a crowd of 800 and compete to win? Too bad Xanax wasn’t on hand…
So I had the first slot. Suddenly, once I was up there, all my nervousness evaporated. High on a chemical cocktail of adrenaline and endorphins, I put every ounce of energy and inspiration into that set. I felt totally in control and wasn’t scared of taking any risks. Friends had warned me that I should keep it “trancey and proggy” for the LA crowd, but I chose to play the bleepy tech house and nasty, searing breakbeats that moved me. I lost myself in the moment, dancing around the booth, feeling the bass shoot through the soles of my feet. Then, in a blink of an eye, it was over.
The other girls threw down really great sets too, and by the end of it the audience was going off. Then, the gut-wrenching moment when the winner was chosen.
Silence before the announcement: eternal. Sound of not hearing my name: deafening.
Later that night, I called my friend Giedrius back home while hysterically crying on the floor of my hotel bathroom.
“I put everything into that set… what a fucking waste. I quit my job to do this…”
“You didn’t quit your job to do the contest. You did it ’cause you love the music. Didn’t you say that you played your best set?”
“Yeah.”
“Then how is that a waste?”
He was right. I came back to New York with a huge sense of accomplishment and growth, fueled by this trial by fire experience. I’d stayed true to my style and sound, and had absolutely no regrets. The opinions of a couple judges and marketing directors doesn’t take away from any of that. Oh, and it’s nice that I can slam down energy drinks that I actually LIKE now.
Okay, so you may be sensing a theme here. After clocking in about a decade in the scene, I’ve been fucked over, let down, misled, jaded and frustrated… But what about the mistakes that I’ve made? What about the friends and supporters I did have, but never appreciated until it was too late?
Summer, 2004. It was one of the darkest times of my life. I’d just started playing out the year before, and it was all a big messed-up whirlwind. Right when I moved to NYC, I met 3 other DJs who all spun breaks and had the same amount of experience playing out as me (=ZERO). We formed a crew and played parties together, but things got out of control. There was a ton of testosterone and coke-fueled competition between us, and I dated one of the guys in the crew for about a year. This guy broke up with me (and I later found out he cheated on me with our “friend”–never trust the “I’m giving her DJ lessons” excuse, ladies!), and everything fell apart. The crew and all its minions removed me from their circle, and I felt completely isolated and hopeless.
That’s when I met Marcell. I’d just gotten booked to play at Opium Den and swung by before the gig to scope it out. After walking in, I heard him spinning a deep, trippy, funky-ass tech house set, and I was impressed with his flow and energy. I struck up a conversation with him and instantly picked up on his genuine, warm vibe. His sharp wit was engaging and his smile disarming. From there, we began one of the only true friendships I ever made in New York.
In a scene where egos are dominant, competition is fierce, and people will rarely help you unless you can benefit them in some way, he was a breath of fresh air. When I met him, I was discouraged about starting over and moving forward with DJing. He knew this and was adamant about booking me at his parties, even though I had absolutely no following (a risk on his part). He introduced me to other DJs, promoters, and his friends, proudly welcoming me into the house music community without any hesitation.
I remember one time after I played for him, he told me, “I’m gonna book you whenever you wanna play. No one knows who the fuck you are, but people need to hear you and you need to get out there. I don’t even care if I lose money on it.”
Being new to playing out, I was incredibly naïve and thought that maybe all promoters were like this–maybe they were just nicer and less competitive in the house scene. Many shady promoters later, I realized that he was a rare breed all around–but by then, it was too late.
Towards the end of the year, we started getting closer. Things were going great with his party at Sin Sin, and he asked if I wanted to start throwing it with him. We also talked about collaborating on music… there were so many pipe dreams in our conversations.
Then I stopped hearing from him. He wouldn’t answer emails, text messages, or phone calls. He wasn’t showing up to his own parties. Weeks passed by, and weeks turned into months.
I finally got a call from him in August while I was at my shitty distributor job. I was really bitter, hugely resenting the fact that he just disappeared out of my life without any explanation. I felt betrayed and ditched by yet another friend, and figured he just didn’t care. He went on to tell me that things were really rough for him, but I was dismissive and cold.
“I’m at work–I can’t talk now. I’ll call you soon.”
I never did.
In October, one of our friends posted up on a message board that Marcell had been missing for a week. They were searching for him in New York and New Jersey, but to no avail. My eyes rolled down to the bottom of the thread. His body had been found in New Jersey. He would’ve turned 25 the next month.
I realized that my ignorance and lack of communication blinded me to the reality of the situation. By hanging onto my resentment, I lost sight of what our friendship meant to me. What I thought was him blowing me off was really him struggling with a devastating case of bipolar disorder (something I never knew when he was alive). What I thought was his selfish attempt to crawl back into my life was really a call for help.
At his funeral, I talked to his friends that knew him longer than I did. None of them heard from him all year, so only after he was gone did I realize I was one of the only people he reached out to. He was there for me when I was hurting but when he needed me to be there, I let him down. I’ll never forgive myself for that.
Not a day goes by that I don’t thank Marcell for what he taught me: that being truly passionate about the music and supporting other artists is a responsibility of people in the scene. I feel his presence in my beats, in my writing, and in my dreams. He never got to see me become dejaded while he was around, but I’ve got a feeling that he’s reading these words from his place up in the sky…
It’s been a few days since The Boy with the Small Synth left her. He didn’t really take the “one filter” thing too well, but that’s not too surprising. It’s a defense mechanism common among those with Napole (filter) eon Complex– taken from Freud’s filter envy theory, of course.
Trying to avoid the outside universe, Miss Jade hid away in her apartment for the night. To lull herself to sleep, she laid in bed swiping through the MIDI channels of her Selektron™ (touch screen technology is oh-so-vintage). It’s a portable little cube with television-like screens on each side, giving you all-day synth programming whenever you want it. There are different filters to help you sift through the channels, like High Pass (stoner movies), Band Stop (VCO news & information, featuring “All Things Untwittered”), and Blow Pass (raunchy robot porn).
Maybe it was her current depression or a sudden masochistic impulse, but something drove her to turn on the one filter she’d never used. Conspiracy theorists have buzzed about it for years, but only recently did Public Axis Television start broadcasting warnings about it. It was the High Cut filter.
It was rumored to have been created by certain men in the electronic music scene. The concept behind it was that whenever a female artist showed any signs of High self-esteem, she needed to be Cut down. The programming supported this sinister movement by exploiting and degrading women in ways both crude and subtle, so men could guard their precious territory at the top of the food chain.
Miss Jade wasn’t sure if she believed it. The filter’s publicist defended its integrity, asserting that the programming was meant to celebrate women in the scene. He implied that the female critics were self-pitying and ungrateful, and should instead be happy for having such exposure. Either way, Jade had to investigate.
“Your synths are soft… but is your stomach too? Spending too much time on synthesis books, and not enough time perfecting your looks? Hi. I’m Slim Synthia, and I’m here to help you land that gig you’ve always dreamed of–without the hassle of actually having to know anything! Stop wasting time working on music and learning sound design, and start working on that hot stage body of yours. Introducing Absynth of Steel®. Now you can lose weight and feel great–without having to touch the LFO rate!”
“…And welcome back to American TI Doll! Let’s introduce our next lovely contestant to the stage. She’s got ultra-sexy filter sweep moves, thousands of presets which she can amazingly alter with a predictable twist of the cutoff frequency knob, AND she’s even read a little of her synth’s manual–the part on how to power it on. Let’s hear it for Blow Frequency Oscillator!”
A knock at the door. Jade peered out through the peephole (shape: Axis logo) to find unfamiliar eyes on the other end. As she swung the door open, her heart stopped.
“An urgent package for you from the Post Mixer Office, Miss Jade.”
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