DJ's do save lives . . . Keith 2.0 . . . totalitarianism . . . and Bip Jeffington

DJ Keith 2.0 of Cinespace and Boardner’s Club Moscow is on the top of my list right now.
I’m dying to write about him.
I asked him what he was doing last night. He said “making a lot of sad people happy.”
The week before I asked jokingly, if the DJ holds an important role in music or society. He answered, what rock band do I know personally that’s played to a crowd of 6,000?
About technology, he says that changes in the industry mean that the people that make art right now are more likely doing it for the right reasons. As in, passion, conviction.
So art for art’s sake, rules again. How long’s it been?
Which brings me to other fun issues like the notion of authorship. So blahblahblah Shepard Fairey’s in trouble for not giving the photographer photo credit for the Hope poster instrumental in the recent election outcome.
Authorship?
Property versus collaboration?
Are people becoming more or less creative?
Do we really want to go back to phonograph records?
Should we say, no stop, don’t load your song up to your myspace, let’s pitch it to the last man standing at Capitol or whatever, sit on it for a few years.
This is such old news.
Unbelievably, I once spoke to a fellow who worked for the LA Opera whose interpretation of copyright protection included a prohibition on even loading Pimsleur Learn French Compact Disc series on to my laptop. That would be theft, fraud, I mean a total outcome of crime, guilt, and shame, as well as the possibility of broadening my horizons with some linguistic flexibility.
It would be better to stick to English, and keep talking to stupid people. Ahhhh.
Yes.
Furthermore, by way of example, he affirmed that photocopying a Robert Frost poem from a book would also violate his ethical code. Not that I’d get near Frost, without convent sisters forcing me at it anyway, but heavens, what is facsimile, if not the chance for the light of a divine spirit to shine on?
Gillian Welch’s song “Everything is Free Now” came out in the heyday of Napster. My brother, a musician, was appalled at the freeculture’s dawning. He loved the song which describes mournfully the life of a talented artist scraping by on tips.
But if everything were free, everyone would have a full belly, somewhere to sleep, and hopefully download this song one way or the other, and know the profound genius that is Gillian.
James Oliver is to my mind the most interesting intellect of Hollywood—which---sorry guys---does not say much, except that he is so off the charts in every way.
We discussed the entire subject rapidly.
He apologized, I know you like Justice, but don’t you sense the iconography of totalitarianism at play.
And I’m like yes of course, that’s why it’s so brilliant. It is the music of a new era, and what topples one totalitarianism better than another?
Anyway, Keith has his hand in the game with the music he plays.
That Hollywood in anyway might be a trendsetting place would be a notion of our vanity.
But I feel like DJs shape minds, save lives, get out the vote, and fix broken hearts.
I feel like Justice and the whole Simian Uffie Ed Banger shabam, Ratatat, and new Portishead really have helped push things over the edge sonically in terms of ideology. Whether or not the youngsters of the day are going to put up with fifty thousand levels of BS in every facet of their lives.
Whether or not property is an illusion, whether or not we are ok with war, or might politely say as Shepard Fairey would suggest, “NO THANK YOU.”
I mean no thank you to the whole economy.
Let your coins be found on sunken vessels, or under the ashes.
Thank god it’s over. Now that the affluence mythology has crashed we might start thinking globally in terms of humanity, the earth, our connection to it, and pain, war, suffering, hunger, genocide, rape, violence, racism, repression, thought control.
And what will any of it matter should we continue to destroy the earth?
Who wants to obey any more?
No more follow, no more obeisance pay.
Hail to the thief.
A sliding scale.
The end to commodified compassion.
The end of everything.

Bip Jeffington, another LA DJ prodigy, saved my life summer 2007. He really made me pay attention to a lot of good music, and made me happy enough to deal with my unfulfilling job. I’m not supposed to admit the intensity with which I became enamoured of the Faint, the Klaxons, Mystery Jets, Le Castle Vania, Does it Offend You, Yeah?, The Fratellis. Peaches really dawned on me, Yelle, Ladytron, Dirty Sanchez . . .
Bip’s gorgeous friend Andi rocks the human relations aspect of their club presence at the Ruby and Arena. They are gorgeous, and kind, and give away free tickets, and made me feel again, young, and in love with sound and motion.

Bip Jeff held the Portishead release party for the Third album last spring. “Machine Gun” was the only extant track on the myspace, with machine gun fire industrial drum beat, and the plaintive wailing celtic mourning song of guilt, of poison in the heart.
I felt her walking through the carnage of yet another war. In an era when the apolitical, is the safe road, I felt her to be singing her repressed outrage, when no one else has the guts or voice to cut the callouses off the hardened hearts of us.
And the terrifying electronic rhapsody plays like a requiem for techbots, who let the poor starve in the streets and walk by, and let another war slip past, another genocide, another heartless century.
Could we listen to her? And if Justice by appropriating the iconography of the holy roman empire has captured our passion, inspired our need for ironic animal oblivion, will they also not too, help us live another day, that we might not fix something about this broken sphere?
At least someone showed up to vote. But a hope poster is a lot different than actual . . .
But Keith 2.0 gives me hope, sustains my hope, when there is so little left. I talk to homeless people on the way down to hear him play.
A few months back, I fell mad for the Crookers “Lonely Stoner/Day and Night.”
I don’t know the names of his co-conspirators, but I know I like them, and each and every one has a unique DJ style.
Keith 2.0 has a priestly air about him, as he ringleads the Camerata Cinespace DJ booth. The spiritual cleansing that occurs with his rigorous lineup of good music, good DJ’s and the adherence that his fans have is captivating.
I just don’t know where and if there is better music being played in a cooler atmosphere.
What struck me first was the speed of transitions. Our Ipod-wired minds tune out after 30 seconds, in which time, Keith’s got a new a new layer, a new song, a new twisted beat, or mash.
It’s not just that he and his coterie are impeccably attractive.
I joked that I’d just write something without an interview because I’m so anxious to have a word out about how cool his scene is.
It all points to a larger issue for me which is whether or not music can transform us into compassionate, more intelligent beings, which is my hope. And the happiness I feel dancing, and the spiritual regeneration is enough to make me homesick for DJ Keith 2.0 unless I get to hear some tunes on a regular basis.