I Am Not A Performer

I’ve seen many DJs talk about their desire to not be looked at, to only be judged by the music they play, to not be seen as performers whose physical appearance or presence might be evaluated as part of their art. It seems like this comes out of the emergence in the past decade or so of the DJ booth as a stage and a visual center point, in effect the place for dancers to focus their visual attention, and some might argue, their entire attention. I am skeptical of this as much as anyone else, and I think there are worthwhile conversations to be had about environmental interventions for the dance floor to alter what seems to be a major effect of this: less dancing.

But I also believe DJs are misguided when they insist they are not “performers”, and that their physical presence is irrelevant to what they do. The role of the DJ is often confusing; the history of this medium began as a commercial function, a hired entertainer who was as responsible for bar sales as the bartender was - someone who had to use their collection of music to manipulate dancers into alternating periods of activity and rest. The first DJs in New York were paid through bar sales (a vastly less common practice but still existent one) and would regularly “force” dancers to leave the floor and buy a drink by playing slow songs. Interventions and rebellions against commerce would follow in New Yorks underground, and as the medium stepped out of infancy, DJing took on the affects of an artistic medium, with jocks now concerned with creating emotional experiences with dancers through music.1

This tension, which seems present in most mediums and crafts that emerge or rebel from commerce2, is what I believe has created a rift in association from DJs and the broader category of making that their craft inhabits. DJs are performance artists. We do not seems happy to accept this fact, perhaps because of the tension between artist/craftsperson that exists in our medium, and perhaps for other reasons. Artmaking is perceived as more feminine in nature than craftsmanship. Going to art school is for girls and sissies and going to trade school is for real men and butch lesbians. It’s not always clear how much gendered expectations play in the formal evaluation of this medium, but it’s obviously something, as I’m sure is clear to many of us, regardless of gender.3

Performance art has five basic qualities: time (the work occurs over time and alters itself, over time); space (the work is experienced in a place, with the place being vital to the work itself); the presence of the artists body (the physical presence of the artist being a focal point of the work); and the interaction between artist and audience (that the audience’s reaction towards the art is a part of the work, and can/should be pushed through various formal means).

DJing:

• Occurs over time. Pretty simple one. The presentation of sound occurs over time.

• Has setting as a necessary part of the product; you go to dance at a bar, or a club, or someone’s apartment, and the setting affects your experience and the nature of the art. Environmental considerations occur, whether through lighting, room orientation, sound system placement, etc.

• Utilizes reaction, to generate excitement, movement, connection. DJs are able to make choices knowing that each choice will affect their audience; these choices are not always musical; provocation can occur through aforementioned environmental considerations or through the physical presence and movement of the artist.

• Features the DJ’s body is an essential part of the work; no matter the venue or booth setup. You are there, and the fact of music being blended together, in conjunction and reaction to the movements of an audience, means that the presence of the DJ is an essential part of the medium. Even if we were to be tucked away, our presence would be a formal consideration; if the audience knows we are there but cannot see us, how would that change their impression of our work?

The mere nature of our work dictates that every action we take behind the booth (I would argue our performance extends beyond it as well) is an active part of our performance, whether intentional or not, whether scripted or spontaneous. What I think DJs are trying to say, when they say “I’m not a performer”, is that they are not a “hack”. They are observing other performers, making note of the formal qualities and content of their performance, and deciding that they are not good performers, that they are making uninspired and uninteresting art and somehow still profiting from it. That’s totally fine. It is good and necessary to not like things as an artist. But I think DJs are only hurting themselves and their continued future as artists by denying that what they do is performance, and that they can and should evaluate their and their peers’ work through the lens of performance.

Take for example, Theo Parrish. He is a prime example of a DJ for whom physical presence and movement seems a central part of their artistic product, so much so that his physical movement has become a larger part of the heritage and canon of DJing, and is iterated and referenced upon by others endlessly. In this iconic video, we can see hallmarks of Theo’s physical performance quite clearly:

Throughout, we can see Theo work the crossover/kill switches/isolators; particular to Theo seems to be the use of a straightened arm, with hands bent at a 90 degree angle. His arms move up and down, alternating, evoking images of machinery, pistons firing in succession; or even that of the undead, of a possessed being in service of a force they have no control over. Impressions of possession seem an integral part of Parrish’s physical performance. From 1:00 onward, sound seems to provoke Parrish into an uncontrollable state, culminating in diving his face in his hands, disappearing under the turntables and exclaiming. This possession recalls less a scene from a ghost story as it does the possession of a Holy Spirit; Parrish’s movements, filled with awe and reverence towards the power of sound, recall images of religious fervor, particularly that of Pentecostal and Charismatic traditions. Parrish’s arms extending upwards feel like a symbol of praise and adoration. Parrish’s physical movements, whether to consciously performed or purely improvisational gestures, become as important to understanding his work as the music is. They communicate to the audience intent, purpose, identity: who Parrish is, what he strives for, and what he would like us to take away from the experience.

In recent months, I’ve begun to consider my physicality as a performer much more. Watching Darryn, Sadar, and Mark, I was often struck by the subtlety of their movement on stage. They seemed far different in physicality than Theo. Slower, stiller, more gradual. There was an element in their movement of being firmly planted, of many things rushing and moving and shouting all around them, but of them calmly standing with the music. I felt a nervousness while playing. I felt often unsure of my selections, incredibly sensitive to perceived reactions to what I played. I moved fast and big and when things went wrong I became visibly upset. So I began to practice stillness. I began to slow my movement, my breathing, my expressions. I found that through slowness and stillness, my ability to listen and my focus on the music increased. If my body is still, it begins to accumulate potential energy. If I restrict my physical movement, then the potential energy must rush out into the metaphysical space; suddenly time moves slower, my decisions in selection become clearer and more timely. I am able to create a small bubble of time where I can freely stroll, picking records like flowers. By opting for stillness in my physicality, I communicate to the audience something Mark Grusane once said to me: “This is my peace”. I close my eyes, entering a world both private and shared. There is a great deal of intimacy in stillness. It is a part of us often witnessed by those closest to us: companions, lovers, family members, those who might see our face rest or hear a particularly deep breath. In practicing stillness, I emphasize for myself and others the importance of my private and personal relationship to music, and in utilizing it in public performance, express my desire to be known by others.