30daysontheroad

And So It Goes

nospam@example.com (Neil Feineman) — Mon, 28 Apr 2008 11:01:42 -0500

So here I am, Sunday, April 27th, writing on my old iMac, surrounded by my things for the first time in 37 or so days. And I’m thinking that if this were a movie, I’d hear a noise, wake up and realize that I'd be dreaming. But there's only the sound of Northern Exposure 3 playing and this isn't a movie, so now I'm forced to deal with the fact that the Sasha and John Digweed Spring Club Tour 2008 is over.

Tours, like all major life events, have messy endings and here's a preliminary attempt at one of them. The Portland gig went well but, like all of the week's Pacific Northwest shows, failed to supply that bit of magic that makes the night truly memorable. Indeed, for the first time on the tour, the cities, not the gigs, provided the days' best moments.

But San Francisco, which was a family affair, changed all that. It began with the hijacking my niece Hillary from her Davis apartment so she could get her first taste of electronic music. After a shower and al fresco lunch on Jordan's parents' terrace and a ferry across the bay, we had a last go at the soon-to-be-renovated Warfield, which I went to for the first time when I was on tour with the Psychedelic Furs in 1979. And despite a slew of competing parties across town, including Danny Tenaglia, the place quickly filled up and, from Kazell's first beats, the fans were on board.

To me, this gig, not Coachella, was the true end of the tour. Evidently, many of my L.A. friends, who had come up for the night, felt the same way. Regardless, everyone in the theater was rewarded with an epic performance from everyone involved, from Kev and Sasha and John to Alex, John Seb and Felix. The feeling of a job well done permeated the bus, with everyone crowding into the bus' front cabin, watching Robot Chicken, male bonding and trying to hold onto the buzz.

And suddenly, just like that, there was Coachella. We were herded into a parking lot loaded with tour buses just like ours, which served as a potent reminder that no matter how special you feel when you're on the road, you're just a cog in the machine at Coachella. But the people around, all long time friends and family like Randy, Siouxz, Stephanie, Steve, Neil (Thomas), Damien, etc, gave the day a proper sense of occasion.

After the set, which flew by in a frenzy, there was that moment when you knew it was over. Given the choice between staying at Above and Beyond and Prince, most of us headed to the bus for an afterparty. But exhaustion got in the way of elation. Not wanting to say goodbye to all the new people and not wanting to waste a chance to spend a few more hours with Patrick, John and Sasha, I bailed on Sunday’s Coachella party and hopped a ride back home on the bus.

And there something very funny happened. Always wanting a chance to ride the bus, David the merch meister, had borrowed Blake's credentials so he could escort James Zabiela back to his own artist tent. By the time Blake realized it, we were caught in the traffic back out and had to wait on David. Without even asking, he jumped on the bus and, as it crawled back to Los Angeles, finally got to talk T-shirts with John, fulfilling the ultimate fan fantasy.

I didn't do too badly either. I got to spend the final moments of the tour with Patrick, a true gentleman in the best sense of the word, and John and Sasha, who have been towering presences in my life for so long. And I got to get dropped off two blocks from my place at dawn by the Sasha and John Digweed tour bus. It was cinematic enough to remind you that every so often, movies can't touch real life for high drama and perfect endings.

After-Party

nospam@example.com (Neil Feineman) — Fri, 25 Apr 2008 18:18:00 -0500

At last, the Underground. I was too tired to make Vancouver work for me, but as soon as Jordan, David and I were waltzed into the cramped but colorful apartment of a friend of a friend, our spirits lifted. This woman knew how to run a party, and seemed to know every hipster in town, most of whom kept dropping into her by now smokey living room. It was the first time in a while since I had been in a real home and for the first time put off going straight to the club in favor of real life.

The gig itself was fine, particularly for Felix, who subbed for John Sebestian, who waited in his Seattle hotel room through the night by the phone should Felix need him. Perhaps because the tour is somehow in its final leg, the show is as much about hanging with your new friends as it is about the music so the night fled by.

Then, in what was the first after-party of the tour, some of us made our way to a house in which local legend Kevin Shui played a dazzling set in the basement, keeping the crowd dancing well into the morning. It was the perfect ending to the night and the most potent demonstration yet of the alternative ways of keeping the dance community current. Speaking of that, this was written on my phone in the balcony while Kazell was spinning his best set yet. He is an incredible dj and the nicest guy ever so its great to see him figuring out how to set up John and Sasha so perfectly. John has just walked on stage so its time to hit send so I can stand up and throw my hands together for Kevin, who deserves it.

Paid For In Full

nospam@example.com (Neil Feineman) — Thu, 24 Apr 2008 13:31:29 -0500

I have reached that point in a tour when the blur of the road has taken on a life of its own, where running into a girl in Vancouver you met in a hostel in Mexico three days ago makes all the sense in the world. In any event, yesterday was Seattle and what with the Space Needle and the market and the high hipness factor, it's one of the most likable places we have seen. Although, they were up against Hot Chip, who had sold out a venue blocks away.

Still feeling the lure of Mexico. I spent most of the night hanging around the merchandise booth selling t-shirts. The room filled up and got to experience a hard hitting set that was heroic because they were, in Sasha's case, exhaustion from back to back flights across the Atlantic to the west coast and, in John's case, food poisoning. Both must have been standing on sheer force of will but as Sasha said with a trace of irony, 'The show must go on.' It's a tribute to both of them that no one else even noticed the sacrifice.

Stoked to get to Vancouver, we left after the gig, drove to a rest area on the border and crossed the border at sunrise only to be denied entry into Canada because we were loaded down with work equipment and lights on permits. Sometime after 12, we had unloaded every business card, tripod and link for Sasha and John into a storage unit in Blaine, Washington, paid for in full for the next 30 days and were making our way into town. We had a blast meeting new friends and eating our first real meal in someone's home in 21 days. And now it's after 11 and John is layering the rules of the night and Felix is making his vj debut and the tour is almost over and this is no time to be writing anything more than 'cya!'

neil

Afterglow

nospam@example.com (Neil Feineman) — Mon, 21 Apr 2008 12:12:25 -0500

Walking into the venue last night, a cavernous trade show-exhibit hall, the first reaction was the same as the one we had to a tented field in Guadalajara and a parking lot in Monterrey: "Oh, shit. This isn´t going to work."

But then, as the opening DJ Carlos gave way to Kazell and 11 o'clock, the room began to fill, soaking up some of the echo in the sound system and once again, the party went from sleepy to epic in minutes, instantly validating Cookie and our local friends' prediction that the dates would start great and only get better every night.

Although it may be the moment speaking, some seven hours later, I'm stil thinking it was the best party in the history of the world. Regardless of how long I stick with that statement, the evening, if not these past four days, has been revalatory. Consider, for instance, that Mexico is a poor country. Kids don't always have power books, high speed Internet or $50 in their pocket. Radio doesn't play electronic music, and the press pays scant attention to it. Yet somehow they turn up intent on having a great time, determined to handle whatever the DJ throws at them.

By the end, they show their gratitude with an intensity that can be frightening. Last night, after a triumphant six hour set in front of thousands of people, we had to run out the back door surrounded by bodyguards who fended off fans who literally threw themselves in front of John and Sasha. It's one of those things that you probably had to be in the middle of to really understand, but it was too cinematic to believe as it was happening and confusing afterwards.

But, as one person explained it, that kind of behavior, in addition to the endless demands for autographs and pictures, is merely a sign of gratitude. It means so much to them, he said, that people of John and Sasha's stature would come to Mexico to play that the fans are moved beyond all rational levels of behavior to express their thanks.

In fairness, other than the Elvis mob scenes, it's the same in America too. But there are so many more people in Mexico giving that kind of support that you have to wonder where the disconnect is. Somewhere around Monterrey, we realized that they'd play for as many people in Mexico in three days as they will in 20 days of touring America. Considering the amount of time and energy expended to reach each of the countries, those of us who care about electronic music in the States need to figure out where the disconnect is.

We should know more about that Tuesday night in Seattle. For now, though, I'm in a Chilango state of mind, and want to hold on to the Mexican "afterglow" for as long as I can.

neil

Monterrey Perfection

nospam@example.com (Neil Feineman) — Mon, 21 Apr 2008 12:06:42 -0500

After a few days, the Mexican dates have become a mini-tour all its own. We fly everywhere, so the rock star vibe is more pronounced. And it´s a small group - John, Sasha, Kev, Patrick, Mike D and Cookie, all of whom have worked with the guys for years, so there´s a relaxed off-the-clock feel to the proceedings.

Even so, Monterrey is something of a revalation. It is Mexico's third largest city and prides itself by being more like the States than Mexico in its pursuit of modernity, culture and commerce. Still, the venue feels more like 60s Fellini than anything else. Held on the grounds of one of the last working drive-in movie theaters in Mexico, it is tucked into the mountains, and is surrounded by glowing red towers and, if one were to look past the stage, the lights of the city. Threats of rain has caused the promoters to tent the place, and the youngish audience gives the night a ravish feeling.

On the surface of it, there's not much reason to think the venue will hold Sasha and John's interest, but things picked up as soon as Kazell, flanked by two beautiful dancers projected on multi-paneled screens, took the stage and gave them and the crowd a funky set that had everyone's hands up in the air from the get go. John picked up the pace with a transcendent, housey set that even he, a notorious perfectionist, was pleased with. Taking the bait, Sasha responded with his own introductory salvo and from then on in, they fed off each other flawlessly, leaving all of us shell-shocked by what we all thought to be the best set yet of the tour.

As a special bonus, we even got a "mystery guest," Tim Skinner, who was an integral part of Delta Heavy but has since left the music world in favor of a more stable career in real estate and renovation. Based in Orlando, he picked Monterrey to drop in because the venue sounded interesting. It was a random bonus, and continued the trend of this being a family affair, with old friends appearing without any rhyme or reason.

Although the crowd would have stayed well into the day, around five a.m., the guys ended the night to the strains of the John Graham song Sasha has been calling the record of the year. Then, because being mobbed by the fans was a concern, we tried to engineer an "Elvis has left the building" escape by piling into a van that had quietly pulled up behind the stage entrance. The only problem was that the driver was not by the car, which was locked. So we stood there in full view until she came running up. It was comical and a sort of perfect conclusion to a fabulous time.

By then, there was only one question left. If Monterrey was this good, what in hell will Mexico City, which has been sold out for days, be like?

neil

Hasta la Vista

nospam@example.com (Neil Feineman) — Wed, 16 Apr 2008 16:49:54 -0500

Sometimes everything you know is wrong. Had you talked to me some 48 hours ago (or read the blogs), I would have sworn that the equation was simple: Big cities, super clubs, Fridays and Saturdays and four hour sets trump anything a smaller city on a weekday would offer.

But then along came St. Louis, a small club with filthy bathrooms and no amenities and several hundred people, and, last night, Minneapolis and suddenly your generalizations are thrown out the window. Despite the ten hour drive, we got to Minneapolis with several hours of daylight left and an upscale club, Epic, that once, long ago, belonged to Prince.

As this was the last show before next week’s Seattle gig for everyone but John, Sasha, Kev and Patrick, a "hurry up and get this over with" attitude would have been understandable. But not with these people. Jazzed by the production values of the club, which allowed the visuals to reach their full potential, and an enthusiastic audience, some of whom had waited ten years, driven several hundred miles or juggled work schedules to see their heroes, Kazell, Sasha and John responded with what many of us thought was the best performance of the tour so far.

By now, the sets are so tight, the tracks so fluid that, some 12 shows into the tour, you thank your own lucky stars that you can see this sort of brilliance on display on a nightly basis. And by the end, as Sasha and John are mobbed like rock stars with fans gathering around the stage, begging for autographs, pictures and a chance to say hello, you figure that no matter what, you must have done something right with your life to be part of this caravan.

The only downside to the Minneapolis experience was saying goodbye to people like John Seb, Felix, Alex, Terry, Blake, David and Jordan, even if it’s just for a few days. They are family now and the gigs won’t be the same without them. So here’s to their own private adventures. And to Mexico. If Minneapolis is any indication, they aren’t going to know what hit them.

I’ll tell you all about it when I get back, or when I can find an Internet café. Until then, “Hasta la vista, baby!”

neil

St. Louis Blues

nospam@example.com (Neil Feineman) — Tue, 15 Apr 2008 17:04:29 -0500

The ride from Chicago to St. Louis lived up to its reputation as one of the most boring on record and, despite our best shot, only added to the element of unshakable fatigue that’s become a fact of life. As usual, we got lost and wound our way through St. Louis’ surprisingly nasty ghetto. The disconnect between the club whirl we’ve been living and the despair and decay around us added to a sense of dislocation so, by the time we wandered into the club just before sunset, I failed, for the very first time, to get excited by the prospect of that night’s show.

Since everyone was leaving right after the show, there were no hotels so we dragged Kev (Kazell) outside to do the first formal interview with him of the tour. As an old friend, there are few better things on the tour than watching him not just nail the set night after night, but also be enjoying himself so much. That being done, we took advantage of the extra time to sit down and have a real meal, with actual vegetables and other assorted real food.

From there, it was on to the club. Since it was still early, I took a detour onto the tour bus to talk graphic design with the tour’s exceptional art director, John Sebestian. Maybe it was the food, but I found myself nodding off in the middle of the conversation. I couldn’t shake it so I ended up thinking a disco nap was in order. It’s something I rarely do and with good reason because, like I always do when I allow myself the luxury, I woke up around one in the morning.

I sheepishly walked into the club for the set’s final hour. Sasha was pounding (from the sound of it, inside my head), and the club, empty the last time I was there, was crowded with people pogo'ing up and down to the frenetic beat. Most of the ones I talked to had never seen Sasha or John before and were wondering what had taken them so long. And, by the end, I realized that Sasha and John had won a room over again.

At the end, I admitted to the club’s stage manager that I hadn’t expected the reception from a Monday St. Louis crowd especially given our experiences with small town weekday clubs. “We weren’t sure either,” he said. “But given who these guys are and what they do, we weren’t too worried.”

I wish I could say that the energy was contagious and that we jumped into the car full of energy, ready to drive all night, as we had planned, to Minnesota, the last leg of this part of the tour. But despite David the merchmeister and my assurances we would stay awake and help with the driving, both of us were sleeping by the time we had hit the freeway. Some 30 minutes later, Jordan had pulled into a rest area, where we spent four hours sleeping against the windows.

We got back on the road only because it was too cold to remain stationary. So here we are, some six hours later, still hours away from Minneapolis, wondering if we’ll get our second wind before the crew gets a five day vacation and I go to Mexico on a three-day, whirlwind romp through the trio of dates down there. In the meantime, however, I’m sort of stuck looking out the window, counting the miles and hours until we finally roll into Minnesota and a gig I might actually stay awake for.

Still Living

nospam@example.com (Neil Feineman) — Mon, 14 Apr 2008 20:01:12 -0500

Part 2

From there it was onto Chicago and the House of Blues. Easily the best venue on the tour, it had been sold out for four days. The buzz about the night was palpable and everything seemed right on track. After finishing the two blogs, which ended with the observation that one of the best things about the road was running into old friends unexpectedly. Hearing it was snowing outside, I pulled on my jacket and walked out to the corner to check it out.

During the time I was writing the blog, I was wondering who in Chicago would turn up. As I did, I realized there was one couple, Chelsea Kalberloh and Art Jackson, who I should have contacted. But I didn’t have their emails or phone numbers on me and just filed it under one more screw up along the road. So the last thing I expected was to have Chelsea run out of the restaurant, as surprised to see me as I was to see her.

Even funnier, she had just asked Art, her husband, if he thought I would be in Chicago on the tour. Like any reasonable person would, he told her he doubted it. But then I walked by the restaurant in full view. He’s an accomplished chef and had hooked up tickets on his own as a treat for Chelsea who, making the story even better, was going to begin her birthday at midnight at the House of Blues and end it later that day in the Cayman Islands.

The reunion was even more appropriate since it was Chelsea, a journalist of extraordinary skill and my senior editor at Revolution, a magazine about electronic music we had worked on, who I had sent to interview Sasha and John some eight years ago. Unlike most of the other editors on my staff, who felt Sasha and John too popular to be important, Chelsea had always encouraged my deepening fascination with the progressive house world they created. So, as Art said when we were all sitting up in their opera box catching up, the serendipitous meeting was “Kismet.” I couldn’t say it any better.

The show itself was flawless, the perfect ending to an up and down week. The day off was spent atop a funeral home where friends of David Barr, the merchandising man, lived. I wasn’t crazy about the location. But these people, modern hippie/activist birders, were so warm, kind and intelligent that the ability to curl up on a couch in their sunny glassed-in patio, talking about non-electronic music subjects like fire burns, the decline of American pragmatism as a philosophical doctrine and Shakespeare made for a life-affirming day off.

(Odd fact: The starling, a predatory bird, was introduced to America by a director who, wanting to represent every bird mentioned in one of Shakespeare’s plays, onstage. He imported the starlings for his production, which took place in a park. Rather than stick around for an encore, the starlings escaped and have flourished every since.)

But now, Chicago is behind us. St. Louis and another week of cars, trains, buses and airplanes are just down the road. Even though this is going to be the tour’s most grueling week of all, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Living for the Weekend

nospam@example.com (Neil Feineman) — Mon, 14 Apr 2008 19:55:32 -0500

Part 1

There are not many times in your life when the weekly itinerary includes Chicago, St. Louis, Minneapolis, Guadalajara, Monterrey and Mexico City – unless it’s the week before which touched base in Washington, Nashville, Columbus, Detroit, Toronto and, again, Chicago. There’s a reason why it all starts to blur, and a reason why the near-constant exhaustion leads to judgment errors that only make matters worse.

In Saturday in Chicago, for instance, our laptop was stolen out of our unguarded area in the House of Blues. It was our fault for leaving it there in the first place, but the two blogs about Detroit and Nashville were lost with it. Rather than try to recreate them in toto, I figured it was easier just to bring you up to date.

Living for the Weekend was the original headline for the Detroit blog, and took up the difference between gigs in places like New York and the smaller markets we hit during the week. The bigger gigs tend to be the more memorable, but the smaller cities have a certain charm because the audiences, although less responsive as a whole, are starved for DJs like Sasha and John, turn out in force for the show, as if honored by visiting deities. Despite the abbreviated sets and 2 a.m. load out, these shows to the outposts, as it were, are legitimate rewards to the locals keeping these somewhat isolated and underground scenes alive.

Detroit, or more accurately Pontiac, Michigan, was a case in point. Although scorned by much of the techno “purists” in the beleaguered city, many of the city’s great old guard (from local club legend Dan Serdell, Kenneth Thomas, the Picture This crew, Chuck Flask, Aaron Sigler and the like) was there, giving support and, hopefully, getting plenty back. Even the Paxahau people turned up, but close was no cigar as they mostly kept to themselves in the basement room, playing to their own friends.

And then, at last, it was Friday, and a return to longer sets, bigger audiences, better clubs. The tour had some momentum now, and Toronto couldn’t be gotten too fast enough. And then, just as everything seemed to be falling into place, we hit an unexpected left curve. Border issues kept Sasha out of Canada, forcing John to play a full set in his place.

It was a major blow to moral. While a full set from John Digweed needs no apologies, it was foolish to pretend that people were excited about seeing the two play together there. Rather than give in to the heart-breaking sense of despair, though, the crew, by now a tight knit machine, rallied around John, determined to make it a night to remember.

The speed and dedication they brought to the task was moving: A little more than a week ago, these people were strangers. Now, everyone from Patrick, the tour manger and Kazelle to the journalists, sprung into action, unloading the truck and helping assemble the stage, making sure everything got done. I am reluctant to wear my laminate in the club because it makes me feel self-conscious, but this was one night I wore it outside my shirt, in solidarity with a group of professionals who’ve become very important to me in a very short time.

To be continued...

Hope for Columbus

nospam@example.com (Neil Feineman) — Fri, 11 Apr 2008 12:24:53 -0500

Counting Miami, we’ve been on the road for three weeks and are now facing the realization that a day off almost makes things worse because, when you lose the momentum of the road, the only sound you can really hear is your body, laughing at the idea you can beat the demands of the touring.

Columbus, a town in which I have great friends, proves the point. We rolled in early in the morning on Tuesday. I planned to catch up with the group that night, but as much as our host, Seth Yenderusiak, tried to fill me into what’s happening around town, I was so tired that I just pretended to be following the converstion. Finally, I gave in to the inevitable and fell asleep in the middle of a sentence around eight p.m.

The next day (could it really have been only yesterday?) was spent doing laundry and trying to get organized for the evening. It began, thanks to Chad and Aaron, with a fancy dinner at BOMA, a stunning converted church with one of Columbus’ highest-rated gourmet dinners.

After a year – oops, three weeks – of Burger King veggie burgers, Cliff bars, grilled cheese sandwiches and coffee, Jordan and I didn’t know quite what to do with plates of spinach salad, real salmon and fancy dessert. Given the shoddy state of the bathrooms that are available to you on tour, it’s not a great idea to eat like this before a gig but it was more than worth the risk, since I had forgotten how restorative a good meal among friends could be.

Then, with accounts settled, it was time to go to the club, Karma. There was a buzz about the show, but Columbus is more a weekend town so there was some question about how the guys would fare. Kazell hit his stride early on, as did the audience. From then on, through Sasha’s opening set and a particularly fierce salvo from John, they were determined to maintain the energy. And they did, once again leaving the room crowded, screaming and begging for one more.

I know it’s a repetitive conclusion since it has happened exactly this way night after night. But especially in these secondary markets, which don’t get the chance to hear DJs of this caliber very often, there is something gratifying about seeing people you’ve run into in Miami or the big cities in their hometown, keeping these small local scenes alive. While these nights don’t have the epic scale or the built-in glamour of the higher profile New York or Los Angeles gigs, they are outposts of family nonetheless and, perhaps more than the city gigs, are special. As my friend Brenda kept yelling, pointing to the ecstatic dance floor as Sasha and John brought things to a close, “Columbus. Wednesday night. There’s hope yet.”

Stand By Your Men

nospam@example.com (Neil Feineman) — Tue, 08 Apr 2008 12:06:28 -0500

Although Detroit and Austin might disagree, Nashville residents are justifiably proud of their place in America's music pantheon, comparing it to New York and Los Angeles as a music industry town. But the place is known for country and Christian rather than electronic music so the gig, on a Monday night that saw Memphis playing in the Final Four, was a crap shoot from the beginning.

And that's too bad, because the Nashville dance community, including such stalwarts as DJ Ron (http://dancemusic.about.com/) and Terry Grant, whose first two records were released on John's Bedrock label several years ago, was there in force. Although the community is fragmented into the expected drum 'n' bass, house and trance contingents, it's small and supportive enough to turn out in force when superstar DJs roll into town.

City Hall itself is an old warehouse with a concrete floor, high ceilings and minimal amenities. The sound system was underwhelming and the crowd, estimated by the locals to be around one thousand strong, was enough to make them proud. And although the music, from Terry Grant to Kazell to Sasha and John, was accomplished, the evening felt a little flat. Perhaps it was because they played deep and concentrated on music that was, as one local commented, beyond Nashville's threshold. In any event, it's like a blind date that ends with a peck on the cheek instead of a kiss that's heaven sent.

Having said that, the only people who seemed to mind were those who had seen them in Miami or earlier in the week. Everyone else in the surprisingly diverse crowd went home happy. And the hardcore fans who stayed until the end screamed themselves hoarse, thrilled to see their heroes in their hometown. Seen in that light, that peck on the cheek still felt pretty damn good.

neil

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The Razor's Edge

nospam@example.com (Neil Feineman) — Mon, 07 Apr 2008 17:13:07 -0500

Sitting in a Motel 6 outside Knoxville, seeking a break from electronic music, I was reading Daniel Pinchbeck's 2012. There, in the first chapter, after a quote from patron saint Jack K - "Mad to live, mad to love, mad to be saved" - was another quote. This one was from Allen Ginsberg, claiming that the beats' goal was to resurrect a lost art, knowledge and consciousness. Then Pinchbeck chimed in with the idea that evolution and destruction enjoy dancing the tango together on the same razors edge. And then I realized that even in Knoxville, TN, in a 40 buck motel, at nine in the morning, try as I might, on this road at least, there is no escape from electronic music and the truth that lurks, in Pinchbecks words, between chaos and noise.

neil

One Crowd

nospam@example.com (Neil Feineman) — Mon, 07 Apr 2008 12:33:16 -0500

By the time we hit Washington, exhaustion has set in. Manifestations include delayed reaction time, a constant search for lost cell phones, keys, toothbrushes; a short ride from a Maryland suburb to a friend's house takes two hours, rather than the 40 minutes it should, because we are too tired to cope with a new city's signage, one-way streets and maze of freeways that are as confusing as they are congested.

So, when finally heading into the night's venue, Ibiza, it's easy to feel that the gig is an afterthought to last night's New York triumph. The club is as modern as Webster Hall is old; the lights and visuals are more modest due to the room's configuration and, as one local says, most of the people in the long line that snakes around the club have come more because it's Saturday night than because of Sasha and John Digweed.

But then something happens. The club fills up with people that the doorperson says she hasn't seen in years. The backstage area fills up with a horde of Red Light (the company that manages Sasha) employees, who made the drive up from Charlottesville and turn the room into a family affair. Kazell plays a hard opening set and Sasha and John surprise everyone by spending the next three and a half hours pulling out a selection of songs that they've yet to play in the past two weeks.

In a riff off the Tolstoy quote that all happy families are alike, what is most amazing about tonight is that despite the different venue and the Saturday night crowd, by the time they had been playing for several hours, the crowd, whether they know who Sasha and John are or not, is reduced to a single, screaming mass who all too soon are chanting "one more song."

While we're not in town long enough to make any intelligent assessment of the Washington scene, for the second night in a row, we get to talk to someone from the Deep Dish camp. In New York, Bobby Koehler, Yoshitoshi's Director of Marketing, fills me in on the techno underground of New York, telling me about a roving warehouse party that seems more than worth a trip to the city, and about the emerging collaboration between Dubfire and Richie Hawtin. And in Washington, Ryan Saltzman continues the conversation, giving yet another reason to think that the dance community is increasingly committed to facing the future together.

This tour seems to be proving that on a daily basis. Although the press in various cities continues to label Sasha and John as either trance or progressive house DJs, I doubt anyone who really listens to the sets can come away with an accurate label for the genre of music they are playing. Instead, they have gone way past genrification. These days, they sound only like Sasha and John Digweed and that's all anyone needs to know.

neil

New York, New York

nospam@example.com (Neil Feineman) — Sun, 06 Apr 2008 13:52:00 -0500

After two days on the road, Sasha and John Digweed rolled into New York’s Webster Hall and, whether this was an intent or not, obliterated any notion that their glory days in the City ended with Twilo. This may have only been the third day of the tour, but it was clear by the speed at which everything came together that something special is happening right now..

You can feel it on their team who have come together at remarkable speed. Because Sasha and John set such a high standard, everyone, from the people who do the merchandise to the sound and light artists to the opening DJ, Kazell, and the management team is on point, both as a matter of professional pride and, more importantly, to live up to the high standards being set in the DJ booth.

And there is every reason to think that quality is being responded to in kind. Consider, for instance, that despite constant reports about the death of the electronic music scene, the entire floor of Webster Hall was packed so solid that movement was near impossible until well past five. The stalwarts of the New York dance music world were all there, proving that not everyone’s gone and taken day jobs, and the fans, hungry for more, had to be finally ushered out at 6:30 unsuccessfully screaming “one more, one more.” Although I’m a proud member of the Los Angeles component, they have us beat when it comes to a night like this.

Speaking of beat, I’m currently driving into the Washington gig wondering how in the world they, much less me, are going to bring that level of enthusiasm and intensity to tonight’s performance. Considering John and Sasha have spun nine times in eleven days (on top of traveling thousands of miles in the interim), it is a remarkable demonstration of physical endurance and one more reason why they are Sasha and John Digweed and we’re not.

neil

Chimes of Freedom

nospam@example.com (Neil Feineman) — Fri, 04 Apr 2008 17:21:28 -0500

Two weeks after leaving Los Angeles, we are dealing with the effects of sleep deprivation and the shift to becoming nocturnal animals. Staying up until four or five every morning, sleeping on strangers’ couches and floors, subsisting on coffee, water, egg and cheese bagel sandwiches and veggie burgers, navigating two to three cities and 400 or 500 miles after the gig and spending the remaining time inside a club have begun to take their toll.

Thursday’s routine was Boston in the morning, Philly from four to three a.m. and New York right now. When I was a baby and lived here, Bill Graham was my babysitter. Now, thanks to Sasha and John Digweed, his son Alex is a friend. So the branding of clubs and theaters by Live Nation as the Fillmore makes me very sad. For the most part. Sometimes, though, the theater lives up to the legacy. Tonight’s local, the TLA, is one of those places, with walls that have soaked up decades of good music and an efficient, courteous staff that to a person makes you feel welcome and respected. Bill Graham would, I imagine, be proud. Now all you can do is hope Live Nation knows when to leave well enough alone.

On the second night of the tour, everything comes together. Kazell is on point, the lights and visuals are a thing of beauty and, in what’s sure to be a regular occurrence, Sasha and John find their way quickly and keep the crowd dancing and clapping until the two o’clock curfew.

Then, wanting to get back to his family early, Sasha foregoes the bus, which doesn’t leave Philly until lunch Friday and we hotfoot it back to New York. He grabs shotgun, tolerates the r&b on Jordan’s iPod for a song and a half and then pulls out his CDs. He puts on a John Graham track that is as great as it is weird, and I settle in, thrilled by the idea of him “spinning” a car set the hour and a half into New York. But all too soon he falls into a deep sleep and that particular fantasy remains just a fantasy.

neil