First Bi-Annual Midwest Turntablist Competition
A DJ mounts the stage, in front of the storefront window, and drops his cumbersome bag of tricks to the floor. While another guy is finishing his two-minute routine on one of two sets of Technics SL-1200s, he attaches his own needle cartridges to the sleek tonearms of the other set and lays his own felt slip mats on the platters. He then produces two records and cues them up according to colored tape that marks selected grooves. The other guy has finished. The new contestant whips his hands around, sending blood to his fingers; he runs a few test scratches, getting a feel for the rig and showing off a little, like a rock guitarist riffing between songs. Then he smiles sheepishly. The three judges–DJs Skooly and Spryte 1 of the local Platter Pirates crew and Presyce, who spins behind the rap group Rubberoom and has won several regional contests over the past couple years–stand looking over his shoulders, and a video camera is pointed directly at his hands. Someone counts down from five to one, and he comes in somewhere around three with a crescendoing intro.
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Over the course of the evening, this opening ritual is repeated almost 40 times in nearly identical fashion. But the actual routines vary wildly. There’s a lot of scratching in the first round, some DJs creating almost beboppish lines with their frenetic gestures, volume modulations, and dramatic pauses. Others try to pack as many different moves and styles into their allotted time as possible, and some of these get flustered while switching records, their fingers shaking too much to properly place the needle. They lose time while some monotonous beat chugs along, a sound track to their imminent elimination. Sometimes audiences at battles are harsh and will boo a fumbler, but tonight they show sympathy with applause.
“That was an orbit with chirps and tears. This is a one-click flurry,” he says, cranking a record with his left hand and jerking it back and forth while fluttering a fader with his right. It goes chikachikachikachika, like a steam train on speed.
“Chicago gets overlooked. People think we’re only about Michael Jordan or Al Capone,” adds Intel. “Not many guys [from here] make it to the DMC.” DMC stands for Disco Mix Club, an international DJ organization that, along with Technics, puts on the U.S. national championships, held annually since 1986. No Chicago turntablist has ever won.
“He wasn’t perfect up there, but I know he’s got better shit.”
Someone shouts out “Rupert Murdoch,” whose son James owns Rawkus. The shirt flies into the crowd.
