Veteran NYC spinner David Mancuso brings his song-centric style to SoCal
DJs' choices of mixing consoles are windows to their souls. It's sort of like talking Fender versus Gibson with guitar folks, or digital versus analog with keyboardists. The mixer is the heart of the DJ system - the Penn Station that helps the musical trains groove in time as a new song greets the one playing. So, whether you like rotary knobs (old school, smooth and easy), cross-faders (hip-hop cut-and-paste), or digitally enhanced controllers (new school, forever in-the-mix), your preferred mixer says a lot about your spinning style. The godfather of modern club culture, 61-year-old New York legend David Mancuso, recently discussed his preference.
"I don't use a mixer at all," he says. "I switch between phono 1 and phono 2 on a preamp. I try to make it as smooth as possible. The experience is so good on its own, what does it matter if there's a space of a second or two and you're adding this electricity? I don't mix - I leave that to the musicians."
The revelation says as much about how DJing has evolved as it does about how things have come full circle. Mancuso is credited with creating the concept of the modern trance-dance party more than 35 years ago, and today he's revered as a shaman of '70s up-tempo soul. He prefers the term "musical host" to DJ.
"An hour of the same beat? I've had it," says Mancuso, who will spin Sunday on the Queen Mary. "I'm just like, why? It doesn't work for me. If you're really committed, you try to understand where the artist comes from. I'm not trying to be a DJ by today's standards."
When Mancuso officially kicked off his legendary downtown loft parties in 1970, the idea was to cover his rent, show off his audiophile-approved Klipschorn speakers, and play some of his favorite tunes for friends. The invitations stated "Love Saves the Day," and, decades later, the phrase served as the title of Tim Lawrence's loving book about the origins of New York's underground dance scene. The book's '70s subject matter, Mancuso, and "The Loft" have all had major post-millennial comebacks as a new generation of clubbers raised on jackrabbit beats searched for deeper climes. The lucky ones have found Mancuso's revived East Village events, still invitation-only and still rooted in come-as-you-are '60s idealism.
"The more you have an environment that is socially progressive, the better things are going to be," Mancuso says. "I'm trying to stay out of the whole club scene. I'm rebelling against it."
While the postmodern club culture emphasizes the DJ as a performer, and often views dance tracks as primary colors to be mixed, "The Loft" aesthetic is about the beauty of song, unmolested. A podcast of a Mancuso set recorded last year in Japan showcases his conductor-like orchestration as he spins Stevie Wonder's "As," allows a few seconds for applause, then moves on to a conga-fueled, violin-garnished disco floor-burner. The return of this kind of musical reverence in clubland coincides with the rise of single-song-leaning iTunes, "indie DJs" who play pop tunes un-mixed, and dance-rock outfits (LCD Soundsystem) that emphasize song structure over rhythm.
"There was a period of time in the late '90s dance scene when the message in the music was getting lost," Mancuso says. "If I'm putting on an Aretha Franklin record, to take the DJ above that recording is crazy. The DJ didn't write the music, he didn't produce it, so why is he the star? Music is bigger than all of us."
Nevertheless, the shadow Mancuso cast in the '70s still looms today. He's credited with helping to break 1972's "Soul Makossa," by Manu Dibango, believed the first chart hit to have come directly from the DJ-driven club scene. Mancuso and his generation of New York spinners - he estimates there were about 30 in the early '70s - also showcased orchestral Philadelphia International soul that laid the ground for disco. Ironically, it was the backlash against subsequent, cookie-cutter disco that helped give birth to the loop-crazed underground dance music of today, its head rebelliously buried in the speakers.
Nowadays, the song is back.
"I think the DJ has the responsibility and the duty to respect the music that is given to him as a gift, and I'm not just talking about promo copies," Mancuso says. "When you hear a song that you truly love, it's unconditional."
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