When I offered to do a mix for a friend's gallery opening, I decided to play with the idea of focus. Focus not merely as that which sharpens an image, but also as a concept that in its capacity to manipulate time draws attention to particular moments otherwise taken for granted. Just as the photographer frames the world, making permanent that which would otherwise be fleeting, I wanted the mix to locate and then riff on common moments in otherwise discrete--even disparate-- compositions. Were there, for example, sonic intersections between Fleetwood Mac and Dead Prez? And if there were, how would we be able to identify them? I was interested, then, in the ways one would have to listen so to be able to identify such intersections. I was interested in what methods would be needed to make these intersections knowable to the listener. This was my start.
Somewhere along the way, the mix got away from me. Time and its unsympathetic adherence to movement took control, and my plan for a quick 30 minute CD, meant to be given out at Alex's opening, became an almost 7 hour monster, mixed live and in a single take. In short, I—unlike my man’s photography—lost focus.
My friend and I have a phrase we use any time we hear a DJ lose focus in this way. The phrase: spiders on mescaline. It refers to the chaotic webs produced by spiders injected with the drug. In both webbing and mixing, disorder exists where structure should. Specific to the mix, the phrase refers to sets that lack the context needed to maintain momentum. Songs follow each other with no discernible pattern, seeming to start and stop with all the force of a collision. These collisions are not due to technical mistakes, but, rather, with the DJ’s inability to make sense of time. Energy, song length, key and phrasing muddle, and every song seems to be at odds with what has come before and after. Fearing that I had created a mix that warranted the phrase, I quickly shelved it.
Somewhere around January, however, I came across the mix in my files and decided to put it on. After I finished,it still felt too long, too bloated, perhaps even a little desperate, as if this were my last mix, and I wanted to show the world all that I had. But it also, in parts, made more sense than I remembered. Even my disregard for song length seemed to mark the moment in a way that felt right. So I started playing it for friends here and there, and, surprisingly, they seemed to like it, too.
I decided to put out the first 3 hours and name it for those moments where even I can’t make sense of what comes next.
… and with that, enjoy the mix: http://www.sendspace.com/file/
