If you are on this website chances are you really like electronic music and DJ culture. If you really like electronic music and DJ culture, chances are you have read Last Night a DJ Saved My Life. If you haven't read Bill Brewster and Frank Broughton's classic novel, I highly suggest you get on it. If there was a bible for people that want to know every last fact about the history of dance music development this would be it—the book traces this culture from the first song to ever hit the airwaves in 1906 to reggae in the 1970s. It will also help you pick up the opposite sex at record fairs, the Boiler Room, and anywhere else large groups of DJ nerds gather.Because author Bill Brewster obviously knows his Salsoul from his Nu-Groove, he's been tapped to curate the next Late Night Tales After Dark compilation, which comes out May 5 and features many classic gems that you probably can't afford on Discogs. A DJ has clearly saved Mr. Brewster's life more than a few times, so we asked him to tell us about those killer moments.FIVE DJs WHO SAVED MY LIFE…"Well, not literally, you understand," says Brewster. "They're not doctors. When they're great, they can make you forget about your dreary mortal life and take you to transcendent places. So let me take you on a little trip down memory lane. A lane where, in this instance, neither David Guetta nor Tïesto have travelled.Ian Dewhirst, The Warehouse, Leeds, 1980
Until I visited the Warehouse for the first time, all the DJs I'd ever seen had talked [on the mic]—in some cases, they could scarcely stop their fucking yapping—so this was a revelation to me, because I thought DJing was putting on one record after another and little else. It was the first time I'd understood that it was a set, a performance, and each record contributed to a mood that developed through a sequence of different songs or tracks. It was like discovering the world wasn't flat after all. And it was in Yorkshire, too, where they still do actually think the Earth is flat.Junior Vasquez, Sound Factory, New York, 1992
Junior on his home turf: that's what a journey sounds like to me. A proper journey. It was my first trip to New York and I'd bought so many records that I had to ship them back by sea. If you only ever went to this space as Twilo, I pity you, because it was a shadow of the mighty Factory. I arrived at 2am and the night was only just starting to build. I left at midday, wrung out and drained. So this is what it all means?! Junior was then on a major Farley & Heller tip so he was busting loads of their productions and remixes, often one after the other. He also played his remix of Rosie Gaines' "Exploding All Over Europe," which no one outside of New York had heard (it eventually came out as a bootleg under the name "Explosions" by Musk Men). He would play an hour of coruscatingly tough house, the sort that made you feel like you'd pass out if he played one more. And, just as you were about to flop, the lights suddenly came on as he played Sounds of Blackness's "The Pressure." The relief! The joy! That room, that DJ, that period. Little comes close. When I moved to New York two years later, I went religiously every Saturday until the day it closed. Its closure was the inspiration for our own party, Low Life.François K and Juan Atkins, Vinyl, New York, 1995
I learnt more about really good DJing in two years living in New York than ten anywhere else. It almost feels like its part of the DNA of the pavements and parks of the city. This night was a one-off in the space that later became the home for Body & Soul. Juan Atkins warmed up for François with a superb, flowing mix of techno and house jams, which left a perfect platform for François to head off into the land of beyond. It was a masterclass in tempo and mood and atmosphere, as he darted through one style and another. Many of the songs are still embedded in my head. He played Fela Kuti's "Upside Down." He played "Baby I'm Scared Of You" by Womack & Womack. He played house. He played disco. He played everything. It was wonderful. It wasn't even hugely packed which had the benefit of allowing everyone to get loose on the dancefloor. And, you know what, we did, all the way through the night. Each time I hear "Upside Down," I'm back there in that dark room in Tribeca. Magic.Danny Krivit & Tony Smith, Low Life, London, April 2010
We had recently published a book of Vince Aletti's called The Disco Files and decided it would be a great idea to get a pair of New York legends (Dann, I'm sure you know, but Tony was resident at Barefoot Boy in the early '70s) to mark the occasion. They went one further and decided they would only play music released during the period the book covered (1973-1978). Frankly, it sounds like a potentially disastrous idea. But those motherfuckers turned it out. They played back-to-back for nine hours and the room jumped, grooved, sweated, and screamed through all of it. Well-known classics, exclusive edits, obscure gems, all met with the same amazing response. We've thrown some pretty great parties but this might well have been the best we've ever done.Bruce Tantum, Low Life, London, February 2013.
Great DJing is rarely about technique. It's often a happy by-product of their skillset, but it's by no means essential. Anyone who tells you different is a clueless ass. Example number one. You've probably never heard of Bruce Tantum. He's an old buddy of mine from New York. Every so often we ship him over from the Tri-State area in a crate full of vinyl and get him to play at our own party in London. Last time was for our annual Valentine's shindig. He played last and was suitably refreshed by the time he came on to play. But he busted out a series of incredible (mainly old) house records that had this dreamy, ethereal quality, as though all of them had been produced specifically with this set in mind. So much of a great night is as much about the mindset of the dancefloor as it is the DJ—and a truly great one has the capability of re-programming them to suit their needs. This was one of those nights when we were all floating on little fluffy clouds led by Bruce's sublime selection and hilariously bad mixing.
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Until I visited the Warehouse for the first time, all the DJs I'd ever seen had talked [on the mic]—in some cases, they could scarcely stop their fucking yapping—so this was a revelation to me, because I thought DJing was putting on one record after another and little else. It was the first time I'd understood that it was a set, a performance, and each record contributed to a mood that developed through a sequence of different songs or tracks. It was like discovering the world wasn't flat after all. And it was in Yorkshire, too, where they still do actually think the Earth is flat.Junior Vasquez, Sound Factory, New York, 1992
Junior on his home turf: that's what a journey sounds like to me. A proper journey. It was my first trip to New York and I'd bought so many records that I had to ship them back by sea. If you only ever went to this space as Twilo, I pity you, because it was a shadow of the mighty Factory. I arrived at 2am and the night was only just starting to build. I left at midday, wrung out and drained. So this is what it all means?! Junior was then on a major Farley & Heller tip so he was busting loads of their productions and remixes, often one after the other. He also played his remix of Rosie Gaines' "Exploding All Over Europe," which no one outside of New York had heard (it eventually came out as a bootleg under the name "Explosions" by Musk Men). He would play an hour of coruscatingly tough house, the sort that made you feel like you'd pass out if he played one more. And, just as you were about to flop, the lights suddenly came on as he played Sounds of Blackness's "The Pressure." The relief! The joy! That room, that DJ, that period. Little comes close. When I moved to New York two years later, I went religiously every Saturday until the day it closed. Its closure was the inspiration for our own party, Low Life.François K and Juan Atkins, Vinyl, New York, 1995
I learnt more about really good DJing in two years living in New York than ten anywhere else. It almost feels like its part of the DNA of the pavements and parks of the city. This night was a one-off in the space that later became the home for Body & Soul. Juan Atkins warmed up for François with a superb, flowing mix of techno and house jams, which left a perfect platform for François to head off into the land of beyond. It was a masterclass in tempo and mood and atmosphere, as he darted through one style and another. Many of the songs are still embedded in my head. He played Fela Kuti's "Upside Down." He played "Baby I'm Scared Of You" by Womack & Womack. He played house. He played disco. He played everything. It was wonderful. It wasn't even hugely packed which had the benefit of allowing everyone to get loose on the dancefloor. And, you know what, we did, all the way through the night. Each time I hear "Upside Down," I'm back there in that dark room in Tribeca. Magic.Danny Krivit & Tony Smith, Low Life, London, April 2010
We had recently published a book of Vince Aletti's called The Disco Files and decided it would be a great idea to get a pair of New York legends (Dann, I'm sure you know, but Tony was resident at Barefoot Boy in the early '70s) to mark the occasion. They went one further and decided they would only play music released during the period the book covered (1973-1978). Frankly, it sounds like a potentially disastrous idea. But those motherfuckers turned it out. They played back-to-back for nine hours and the room jumped, grooved, sweated, and screamed through all of it. Well-known classics, exclusive edits, obscure gems, all met with the same amazing response. We've thrown some pretty great parties but this might well have been the best we've ever done.Bruce Tantum, Low Life, London, February 2013.
Great DJing is rarely about technique. It's often a happy by-product of their skillset, but it's by no means essential. Anyone who tells you different is a clueless ass. Example number one. You've probably never heard of Bruce Tantum. He's an old buddy of mine from New York. Every so often we ship him over from the Tri-State area in a crate full of vinyl and get him to play at our own party in London. Last time was for our annual Valentine's shindig. He played last and was suitably refreshed by the time he came on to play. But he busted out a series of incredible (mainly old) house records that had this dreamy, ethereal quality, as though all of them had been produced specifically with this set in mind. So much of a great night is as much about the mindset of the dancefloor as it is the DJ—and a truly great one has the capability of re-programming them to suit their needs. This was one of those nights when we were all floating on little fluffy clouds led by Bruce's sublime selection and hilariously bad mixing.