Layers of Awesome

Long drives to and from Texas translate to a lot of repetitive hours spent listening to XM radio.  The Better Half and I flipped between the stand-up comedy and techno radio stations, finding ourselves hearing the same handful of techno songs over and over again.  One overplayed tune that still catches me off-guard every time I listen to it?  Five Hours, by Los Angeles-based artist Deorro the Masked Avenger:

Every time I listen to it, I get to that transition at 1:30, and I think I’m hearing an old Deadmau5 track.  Every time.  Well…hopefully not anymore.  But still.

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j.phlip Therapy

Reeling from a week-long disaster of a vacation down to Texas (surprisingly enough to me, it had nothing to do with Texas itself; I actually can’t wait to make it back to the Lone Star state), most of my free time this month has been spent on OCD cleaning sprees of my house followed by long, unbreakable naps.  I’ve spent a lot of time stuck in my mind, obsessing over why I’m still living in Michigan and why I surround myself with the people that I do and this and that…and I’ve not spent nearly enough time plugged into the techno-verse, which is admittedly far more enjoyable.  Time to get back on it. I’ve been leafing through the virtual pages of j.phlip’s repertoire on SoundCloud and YouTube, and I can say that DirtyBird’s lone female definitely lives up to her self-claimed dance-friendly reputation.  All of her tracks have me moving my body. From newer releases, like the haunted percussion-heavy Wurk Continue reading

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Meet j.phlip: Say My Name

For most people, Movement 2014 is a fading memory.  Festival-goers in the Midwest are gearing up for this weekend’s Lakes of Fire mini-Burning Man, which is immediately followed by the sold-out Electric Forest.  But, for me?  Well, I think Movement 2014 is going to stay at the forefront of my mind for a little while longer, not just because I haven’t set aside any funds for such high-profile events, but also because there are so many artists that I was introduced to at Movement, and who I’m dying to learn more about.

Then there’s this little glitch where I have very fuzzy memories of my Memorial Day weekend.

Word to the wise: if you want to have meaningful, vivid memories of a concert, then GO SOBER.   Continue reading

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First Thought on DEMF

Detroit Electronic Music Festival.  DEMF.  Movement.

Whatever you call it, the annual Memorial Day Weekend electronic music festival that is held at Hart Plaza in Downtown Detroit is bound to introduce you to underrated talent.  The festival organizers make a point to focus on local and emerging performers over mainstream household names, which I love, because the world of electronic music is so vast, and there’s always room to discover a new favorite DJ.  It’s common for me to have a conversation with a friend, where we exchange handfuls of names of artists of which each of us is a passionate fan but that the other has never heard before. Take, for instance, Maceo Plex, who closed out the riverside Beatport stage that Sunday night.  His name was completely foreign to me, but I later found out that one of my friends, a huge fan of Maceo Plex’s musical risk-taking, had been anxiously awaiting that set since it had been announced months prior.

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The Circle of (Club) Life

Those of you who have been reading this blog a while or taken your precious free time to stalk to archives will notice that The Grasshopper Underground, a techno club in the tame Detroit Metro suburb of Ferndale, has been a part of my life since I first landed in this state three years ago.

So the story goes: I had just moved to Southeast Michigan four weeks prior, having left my dear Los Angeles, and I was bored.  Lonely.  Antsy.  So, one Friday, I finally took it upon myself to go out.  Based on the suggestion of a fellow coworker I barely knew, I decided to go to this random bar, on my own, not sure if I’d see any familiar faces.  Just to get out of the house and try to make the best of my new life.  You can’t be an introvert if you want to make friends, y’know.

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Lesson Learned with DJ Pierre

I’m out bar hopping with a group of friends, stumbling through the streets of a suburb just north of Motor City called Ferndale, when we pass my favorite music club–one that I’ve mentioned here before–called The Grasshopper Underground.  We walk past the street corner, and my better half being the house music afficionado that he is, he kicks a 180 and steps away from our group to ask the bouncer at Grasshopper who is spinning tonight.  My love walks back to me with a slightly puzzled look on his face.

“DJ Pierre?  Acid house?” the he says.  He is trying to place the name with a face, but can’t quite do it.

It even takes me a second, but then everything clicks, and I start feverishly jumping up and down in my platform heels, insisting that we absolutely MUST head back to the club when the show begins.  Like, I’ll be a little devastated if I miss it, too bad the rest of the group isn’t all that into techno, we are going, case closed.

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Time for a Thaw

I have never so desperately wanted to get out of a place than two weeks ago, when I thought winter would never end and I would feel alone in my little apartment forever, so I took my baby Cruze and I drove it south.  For five hours.  To Indianapolis.

Just for the sake of getting away from the pothole-ridden streets of Southeast Michigan.

I could never have dreamed of seeing the blue, sunny skies that we were awarded today.  Thank the LORD.

But back to two weeks ago…

I’m aimlessly driving through Indianapolis–because how else is there to explore a Midwestern city?–crossing train tracks out on the West side in a dilapidated industrial neighborhood that very much reminds me of Motor City, when I stumble upon some EDM radio station.  Don’t ask me which one; I’ve been Google-ing “Indianapolis techno radio” and “EDM indianapolis radio” and such to no avail.  The closest thing I can find is this online station, IndyMojo, which is great and all, but it’s not what I was listening to.

Anywho, I was enjoying the post-apocalyptic view, getting pleasantly lost, when Doctor P’s Flying Spaghetti Monster hit the airwaves.

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