Find Me (Truthful Lies Trilogy - Book Two) (22 page)

One ear listening to the music she’s
playing, and the other listening to my mix, I start to get busy. An
hour later, I have something I like. I wait for the band to take a
break and then I call them over to listen to what I’ve done. “I
loaded the demos you gave me into my iPhone yesterday, Vikki. Check
it out.”

I play the mix for them.

Their reaction is not what I expected.

It’s better.

Silence, absolute silence. The four band
members are seated on the concrete floor and looking up at me in
awe. And then, as if suddenly awoken by a flask of poppers, Vikki
cries out: “OH MY FUCKING GOD! IT’S AMAZING!”
Gawd
.

Andrei the drummer, almost skinnier than I
am, says, “Fuck, Blaze, is
so
good!” His accent is thicker than Vikki’s when she’s
grooved into using it, but not as thick as Terminator
Vlad’s.

The boys of the band go back to their
instruments and Vikki comes closer and gives me a hug. “Can you get
us into
this secret
place at Sacrament?”

“Let me find out.”

I call Randy—because I’m still a little
intimidated by Gavin the Grande—and ask him. I explain that it’s a
band that I’ll be mixing music from.

In a gentle Sri Lankan accent, he says,
“It is really Gavin’s call, Blaze. I have to check with him. I’ll
call him after this and let you know. Have you checked the internal
forums of
Sacrament
yet?”

Uhm, no, I was getting drunk
with my new best friend, and then experiencing all-new levels of
physical ecstasy with my
new boyfriend.
“No, not yet.”

“
Do it, Blaze. It’s important for you to
realize what an effect you’ve had on this crowd. There’s one guy on
there, calls himself
HouseNation
—read
what he has to say. He’s a big name, even though he doesn’t come
across as it in the forums. Anonymity and all. But I know
him.”

“I’ll do that.”

“
Do
it, Blaze. You must. And, look, remember, please
don’t tell Gavin I gave you those credentials.”

“
Yes, of course, Randy. No need to worry
about that. But...uhm...may I ask why
—”

“
Why I am doing this for you?”

“Yes.”

“
Blaze, I started the
House Market
parties for the love of it. Sure, I make
money from it. Sure, it would be great to get you onto my label.
But, those of us who been around awhile—us old people from back in
the day—we came into this scene for the love of it. There ain’t no
more real raves these days, no more soul in them either. It’s all
thousands of people hearing Kaskade or Guetta now. Bah! That’s all
OK, but, those of us who been around, well,
we remember
. We remember the closeness of it. It was like a
resurgence of the sixties and stuff. And, well, that died as more
and more people got into the scene. TBA parties became big money.
The drugs got out of control. None of us wanted that, you know. But
where there’s drugs, there’s crime, and, well, then Mayor Giuliani
got involved and everything crashed. A lot of the bad stuff
disappeared—I confess, and I don’t deny that—but so did the good
stuff.

“
The Few
, as I like to remember us. Because the
soul
of it, Blaze, came from
The
Few
—those of us who
started the parties in our living rooms, one DJ in the corner
mixing from so far down in his soul that the rhythm reverberated
across the walls and minds of all of us in those parties. And,
well, there was maybe other factors there that made the music a
little more spiritual, I suppose.”
The dope.
“But, that’s another topic. Point is: there was a
union there. A closeness amongst us. Well, that got taken away as
well. The Giuliani tidal wave took everything with it. The good and
the bad.

“
Fast forward to present
day:
MudderFUCK
! We got fuckin
Paris Hilton
calling herself a DJ!? URGH! GOD! It’s a damned disgrace,
Blaze. And, well, you and I—even Gavin—we look at that shit, and...
It’s just
sad
, man. It’s
sad. It’s a travesty of something that was so much smaller in terms
of people, but so much bigger in terms of soul.

“
Then you got that moron from Forbes
writing an article about ‘How to Become a DJ in Four Easy Steps’ or
some shit. God, what an
idiot
!
Hilton brought about that shit. It’s the ultimate in mockery of our
culture, Blaze. They’re dragging our names through the mud. And, of
course, we got some DJs with heart also... But, well... You know, a
lot of these guys unfortunately also have fried brains. But that
isn’t really it, either. Van Gogh’s brain was fried all the time.
And look at Madonna. Heck, I’m not convinced that Dali wasn’t off
his rocker half the time either.

“
The point is, Blaze: People like me, the
real believers in the culture, we look at you and we see hope. I
know this comes across a little intense. But it’s true. That secret
club Gavin runs? Sure, there’s a lot of sex and, well, maybe some
other stuff as well, but you know why he does it?
The
heart
. Only the best
play there. It’s the closest we can get to those
closed-doors,
To-Be-Announced
parties we used to have; where it was all about the music,
and especially about the soul.

“
I think you
understand what I mean, Blaze. Because, as young
as you are, you got that
spirit
about you. That essence. It comes across in your music. And
I don’t know why or how—maybe you’ve had a really hard life or
maybe you’re just so in tune with aesthetics that you’re a prodigy
in the area. I mean, would a modern-day Mozart write symphonies, or
mix beats?”

That one gets a little laugh out of me,
but only a little one. Because, mostly, I’m just in stupefied awe
about all he’s saying.

“
But you do get it. You’re like the sound
technician all us old fogies have been waiting
for
: Someone to
bring back
what we lost. Back in the day,
House had meaning and TBA parties signified a way to escape this
crazy world and find some peace for the week.” He sighs
deeply.

“You’re an old romantic, Randy.”

Wistfully, he says, “Ah, yes, I am.
Emphasis on
old
. Point is,
Blaze, your music means something. And it means something more than
money. There is a core of true-blue supporters of the old sounds,
people who’ll go to the ends of the earth to see that sound make
its way back. Most DJs just copy what other DJs do these days. It’s
rare that a DJ brings something new to the scene. But when he
does...
God
! He changes
everything.
Everything
!
Remember
Cash
Money
? Oh, no, you
weren’t even born yet—”

“
I know who
Cash Money
is.”

“
You do? Wow. You see!? You got heart,
Blaze. Show me another twenty year old who knows about the
Greats.”

“
Twenty-one. I’m twenty-one.”

“
As I said, not even born! Blaze,
without
Cash
Money
, there woulda been
no
Jazzy
Jeff
, no
QBert
.
Cash Money
brought a whole new level of
scratching to turntablism, and then that spread to Hip Hop. Now you
tell me about a Hip Hop rec that doesn’t use some of what
Cash Money
brought to the music. Now think
of
Chicago
House
back in the
eighties. Sure, it was a movement. But movements are started
by
people
.
Think
Frankie
Knuckles
,
Felix da Housecat,
DJ Sneak, Phuture
. These
boys were the new breed.

“
You
, Blaze. You’re the new breed.

“I know, this sounds revolutionary. Well, us
old school types take our stuff pretty passionately. But I think
you do, too. Am I wrong?”

My throat has swelled up. Because you
can’t be told by someone that you’re
All That
—especially when there isn’t an ounce of betrayal
in their voice—and keep your cool. I think it’s easier to keep your
cool when people are mean to you, like when I slammed a mug against
Xavier’s cranium. If he’d been nice to me,
genuinely
nice, I think that alone would’ve been a mug to
my
own
cranium.

“Blaze? Did I scare you off?”

“
Uhm, no, Mr. Randy—I mean, Randy—no, not
at all. And, yes, I
am
passionate
about the music.”

“
I know you are. Blaze, I’m gonna talk
business
wichoo
quickly.
And it’s not the reason I been kissing your ass the last five
minutes. And I’m not kissing your ass. But I know it might sound
like it. If you sign with
House Market
, we’ll keep the music pure. I’m not saying you not gonna
make money. You will. But you’re not gonna be Afrojack or Armin van
Buuren with us. That I
can
guarantee you, because we’re too small to offer you that.
You’re also not gonna be stuck with me. But I wanna be the one to
break you out. Because, when you do move over to the big names—when
you sign with
Ministry of Sound
or
Armada Music
or
something—
House Market
will still be remembered as the label that broke you out.
And an artist’s first record is always her purist. You know
that?”

“
Uhm, I can imagine.
Randy, should I focus on anything
particular on Saturday? Any type of artist—”

“
Just don’t sell out, Blaze. That’s all you
gotta know. Many people need to in order to survive. You don’t.
Your sound is unique enough—and good enough—for it to create an
entire genre of its own. Look, if things go well this
Saturday—which they
will...
Well,
Blaze, I’m glad you called...because I wanna talk signing you up
for the label. Now. Not later.”

I feel the sudden urge to sit. “Oh. Didn’t
you want to wait
—”

“
Check the forums, Blaze. Then call me. And
we can talk business. In all honesty, I’d like to get this done
before your set with Gavin at
Sacrament
. Nothing changes there. And this won’t affect you working
with him. In fact, it’ll compliment it. So, what do you
say?”

The room starts whirling. I
sit on the ground and cross my
legs. “I say
yes
. Of course.
Wow.”

“
OK. We’ll talk numbers soon enough. Check
the forums! And check what they said about that
Mad-Ass Hat
as well. His style started drifting months
ago, so scroll back. You’re not the reason he was booted, not even
close.”

“Will do.”

After putting the phone off, I
do just that. In light of
Randy’s endless kudos to me of the last ten minutes, the forum’s
content seems meager. But it isn’t. It’s every artist’s dream.
Thirty-seven pages of people talking about “how hot
Heaven-Leigh’
s
style is.” Deep analyses of my music which make me laugh, and
praise praise praise. And then some.

And for what purpose?

Randy’s
words spin in my head:

Don’t sell out, Blaze.

An artist’s first record is always her
purist.

And yesterday:

The folks who come to
Sacrament’
s underground room are purists.
They talk about House as if it were fine wine.

Then I look for what was said about
Mad-Ass
Hat
, the dude who thinks
I’m the reason for him being out of a gig at the very club I’ll be
playing at in six days. I type in his name in the search box and
hit enter.

I don’t need to look at the content of the
threads. The headings are clear enough:

Mad-Ass Hat needs to go!

Mad-Ass-Hat: Gavin, why are you
torturing us!?

Mad-Ass Hat: Sell-out!

Mad-Ass should go back to making
hats
.

I guess no one said co
nnoisseurs couldn’t be vicious—as vicious
as that dude
Skitz-O
, the
very first negative post I read about myself online.

“
And what happens if I get on
your
bad sides?” I whisper to
myself, still staring at my phone’s browser. “Will you eat me up as
badly as you’re chewing up
Mad-Ass
now?”

I feel a strong urge to find this
Mad-Ass
’s
number, to explain that it
wasn’t
me who got him booted. It was “the people!” And then? Would
it sting no less? And what if he went to Gavin and told him about
the forum—the one DJs are not supposed to know about? And now I
know why they shouldn’t, because a DJ shouldn’t be subjected to the
statements of people’s taste. Even if the statements are true, the
music is all we have.