There’s a party somewhere on Avenue C, but you have to find it. At first glance, you wouldn’t catch the door, which is graffitied over and looks like part of a warehouse. Sight won’t help you here — you must stop and listen. Once you detect the hum of chatter and the thumping beat echoing from the DJs’ spinning music inside, there’s no turning away: The party has already welcomed you in. In a city as colossal as New York, the pockets of culture created by DJs keep the rhythm of the night flowing through an undercurrent of sound and remind us that — more than ever, we must dance.
“I feel like people think DJs don’t really do shit and that it’s easy,” Jane confesses. “Everyone can be a DJ, but not everyone can be a really good DJ — there’s a lot of dedication and time in little details, especially when you get to scratching and all that.”
Watching her later in the night, Jane has a grounded spirit behind the turntables, devoted solely to the beat instead of the crowd at her feet.
“I kind of have to zone myself out a little bit and take a deep breath,” she explains while recapping her usual ritual to me.
I can see a glint in Jane’s eyes as she remembers the feeling of being at the DJ deck.
“You’re kind of just spaced out in your old world, just you with the crowd,” she says. “It’s such a satisfying feeling when you look around the room; people are dancing, enjoying the music and you’re doing your mix, watching it from afar, but also with the crowd at the same time.”
I quickly get her go-to track to play but the place is so busy it seems every artist is flitting around, greeting friends who came to see them play, and she has disappeared back into the sea of people.
“It’s very, very scary, but very, very fun,” he tells me. “It can be rough, considering you don’t know what gear you’re using sometimes. So in that regard, it’s surprising, but it’s also very rewarding.”
As the night continues, the crowd around the set grows larger. Mosh pits ebb and flow, collecting and shedding people as songs cycle through. The last artist I meet is one of the headliners, Tyler Davis, better known as Tee Em Dee. He’s been playing for a while — a veteran DJ, if you will.
“It came out of the pandemic,” he says, regarding his start with DJing. “Before I moved to Manhattan after college, I started exploring the live music and club scene, developing a passion for it. I was like backseat DJing.”
As he grew more curious about the artistry of it, the free time over the course of the pandemic allowed Tyler to acclimate himself with the skills necessary to put on a good show. He credits his influence to his dad who introduced him to drumming and other artists.
“It took a couple months,” Tyler says. “But luckily I had a foundation in drumming … so the counting and the rhythm was really easy to pick up on.”
“DJing, I think, is the best way to share and express your taste in music.”
At first glance, DJing offers a lifestyle of partying and excitement; however, its portrayal online creates misconceptions about the craft.
“Social media paints a particular picture, where people always try to put their best foot forward and show highlight clips, bangers and what not,” Tyler says. “But there’s a lot that goes on behind the scenes.”
By the time I follow Tyler back up the stairs, the party has eclipsed its peak. The handful of stragglers cling to moments from the night — the leopard print couch, the jukebox that glows like a beacon, the bartender. Some are discussing where to head next for the afters and trying to figure out whose turn it is to pay for the Uber. My ears are still somewhat buzzing from the constant stream of music, but the energy of the past few hours carries me out back into the cold with enough spirit to get me home for the night. While the city’s power grid might keep the city going, the DJs playing the small, hole-in-the-wall venues electrify the community, bringing everyone and anyone together through sound and dance.
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