The-Drum/Sich Mang/Zackmatic/DJ Baglady/Assorted other DJs/PeRfORmAnCe Artistes/Mannequins

Los Angeles, 2013

Around 1 A.M, I skateboarded through Skid Row to go to a ‘Microrave’ put on by a constantly moving L.A. art collective known as ‘Private Island’. I tried to locate the building in the increasingly darker alleyways of Los Angeles’ Boyle Heights neighborhood on my skateboard, zooming in and out of people sleeping on the sidewalks, ollying over blanket scraps and dirty old boots. Well, I wished I could olly. I sort of just went around things. When I finally found the venue, I was greeted by a nice young lady who took my money. She was wearing a camo jacket and looked like she was an extra from ‘The Warriors’. Inside was a fairly large warehouse space featuring several art installations: one on the right had a bunch of typewriters and vintage material punctuated by an overturned skateboard on the ground. I couldn’t remember if I left my skateboard there, but I’m pretty sure it wasn’t mine. I thought to myself that maybe it had some thing to do with myself. I got confused, and tried to remember the difference between the words “portentious” and “pretentious”. Staring out into space, I wondered if  I should take any notes and I then I didn’t. This was just my idea of Journalism at the time.

After wandering around a bit, I located the next installation and to the left were a bunch of mannequins. I took a picture of one and posted it to Instagram (the next day a Florida real estate company ‘liked’ the photo because it was hashtagged #privateisland and I think they probably have a bot that ‘likes’ things that have posh-sounding hashtags). My phone died later that evening, so no pictures beyond that were taken. There seemed to be a lot of ‘hot girls’ and Internet-friendly people on the dance floor, so I sidled up and bumped into a few people I recognized as being in the band/supergroup ‘Sich Mang’. I recognized a few people, including a guy that I met at a prior Private Island party. He had given me the wrong phone number and I called him out on it and he grabbed my phone and amended it. Then he disappeared. That was the last time I ever saw or heard from him again. I went to the patio area to try and find people I knew. A large percent of the crowd was smoking pot outside, myself included, and it was pretty chill. I gave a hit to a guy standing next to me and then I was like “are you in the band/group Sich Mang?” and he was like “yes” and I wished him the best in his set. Somebody, I think it was Sich Mang’s girlfriend, said “hey The-Drum is playing now??” and so we went inside and sure enough THERE THEY WERE.

Jeremiah of The-Drum seemed to be doing some sort of remix of DJ Funeral’s AKA Dubbl Dutch ‘The Killing’, a contemporary LA Club classic that is easily downloadable/streamable on Soundcloud. He was mixing it with some of Brenmar’s giggles and some other really cool stuff. I couldn’t tell what is going on behind laptop screen, but he was using a mouse most of the time and moving it really fast. The other guy from The-Drum stood behind him and watched, occasionally ‘pointing at things’ and clearly playing a ‘producer role’ in the direction of things. Then they stopped what they were doing and threw on some sick hip-hop beats and kids went WILD. It was ecstatic.

I was wearing a Beavis and Butthead shirt, which made me feel like I had free license to be really stupid and kids would just look at the shirt and go “oh, he’s into comedy”. I spent most of the time in the crowd dancing with my shadow, because shadows can cast the SICKEST visuals when you’re in the zone. Try it.

The_Drum played a short set and I heard them say something to Sich Mang like “git ‘er done” and there was some slapping going on and Sich Mang threw down some fat beats and the blonde guy in Sich Mang was getting FREAKY all up in something that looked like a Melodica minus the tube you blow into. Again, the crowd was ecstatic (aka on the drug Ecstasy). I plowed through a dozen or so Tumblr kids to get to the toilet and THANK GOD THANK GOD THANK GOD there was no line. I peed in the dark, probably on my foot or someone’s face, and went back to the dance floor immediately.

These were the two DJs that came next:

 One (1) mexican looking dude with long hair and

Another (1) guy with little tiny CDJ-lookin’ things.

Again, really not taking notes here.

At this point, it started getting really hazy, obviously. Most of the music was super-fast future-juke rave-vogue electro-bangarang good time shit and I was like “shiiiiiiiiiit”. I did a few karate kicks and spun around on an office chair for the hell of it. Jeremiah came up to me and asked me if he knew me from somewhere to which I replied “maybe a party?” and he asked if I was on Facebook and I said “no”. We exchanged e-mails and I gave my office chair another whirl-around.

I had completely lost track of time at that point and Zackmatic came on and played his brand of hyphy global techno-rave that’s perfect for 3 A.M. The last time I saw him he dropped Korn’s “Got the Life” which got a sizable mosh pit happening at King Eddy’s Saloon in Skid Row. Then all of a sudden that loud “wharehouse shutting it’s power down” sound happened and everybody booed, but it was all out of love. Really not joking about this, it was like the beginning of the Andrew W.K. Party Hard video but in reverse. I was like “oh shit, I didn’t even get any of these art cuties digits, what do I do??” so I decided to go skate outside. I overheard some dudes speaking French, and being a Francophile, I went over and started saying “un petit peut” over and over to them. They seemed impressed enough with my French skills that they invited me to the ‘afterparty’ down the street, but there wasn’t enough room in their car. I was like “no problem dudes” and skitched on the back of their Civic but ended up flying off of their car and down the wrong street and they took off and that was probably the last I would ever see them. I started skating around and realized I was completely lost, until I ran across a transvestite (is this offensive I don’t know he literally looked straight out of the Rocky Horror Picture Show) named Kent that drove me to the train station, where we parked and talked about the James Turell exhibit at LACMA and how fucking flakey everybody in LA is.

I got on the Red Line back to North Hollywood at 5 A.M. and fell asleep, only to be awoken by a scary dude yelling at me to get the hell off of the train because we were at the end of the line. I grabbed my board and bounded up the stairs into the early morning light and cruised back to my pad and thought about how silly everything was sometimes. All in all, it was a great time and I can’t wait until Private Island throws more parties like this!