Let me start by saying this: I’ve never gone through a “spinning” phase. Don’t get me wrong – I love my vinyl collection as much as the next guy and a can respect a good sampling style. But I’ve never followed DJs, or really knew any of them by name. Recently, however, thanks to a more informed friend, my interest in the DJ process was sparked…
In early December, The Cinefamily at the Silent Movie Theatre on Fairfax (which deserves a great deal of praise on its own part) screened Secondhand Sureshots, a documentary that followed the process of four LA-based DJs. The film, which was only a little over an hour, approached the four subjects with a task: take five dollars, buy five used albums from a thrift store, and using only samples from those five albums, make a song. No further instrumentation was allowed – only samples. I was fascinated with the notion of such a puzzle and gladly accompanied the aforementioned friend to the screening, which was accompanied by live screen-printing and followed by a performance by two of the artists featured in the film.
Despite a few small issues, I found the film wholly engaging. I appreciated its brevity – the film was short not because of a lack of material, but because that’s all that really needed to be said, granted I did feel the time wasn’t always used in the best way (more to come later). Those expecting a deep exploration of the four artists’ styles will be let down. The film is pointed and focused, as it neatly follows the artists on the journey of their respective songs’ creation, from selecting the records to playing the finished product for each other. The structure was, pardon the pun, solid, as the film crafted a self-contained journey for the audience to experience. One of the most engaging sequences explored the artists’ selection process, uncovering answers to one of sampling’s biggest questions: How did you pick that? This particular sequence combined great pacing with a plethora of thorough interview footage to thoroughly introduce the audience to the artist without the use of weighty exposition. Through this sequence, I felt that I had truly connected with the artists themselves without a single moment of the standard, introductory interviews. It was this straight-forward structuring combined with a stylized execution that kept the film engaging.
Actually, what I found most admirable and intriguing in the film came out of the distribution of the final product. The artists compiled their four finished songs onto a single album, which was pressed as a 12
" record. There were only four copies made. Graphic artist Brandy Flower then created a visually astounding cover using graphic "samples" from the original 20 albums from which the artists sampled (pictured to your left). Rather than sell these four, rare albums for exorbitant prices, each artist took their respective copy, placed a one dollar price tag in the corner, and secretly deposited them into the stores from which they purchased their five-dollars worth of sampling gold. No one knows where the albums are now. That act alone solidifies everything that I love about art in today's world - the ability to share your work in the purest of ways. The act makes their work ephemeral, accessible, but all the more special. There are no ridiculous profit margins, crazy copyright control (not that they could've licensed songs made of illegal samples), or snooty executives. It is simply art for art's sake, put back into the world to be enjoyed. And who really wants to argue with that??While I adored the film's subject matter, and valued the conciscion and style of the film itself, I still wanted a bit more from the film as whole. Rather than watch nearly 20 minutes of the artists listening to their selected records, I would have preferred the time to be spent on the actual process. The film seemed to gloss over the physical creation of the songs, which was what had sparked my interest to begin with. I wanted to see the nuts and bolts of how the artists work – what beats and hooks they pick out, how they manipulate them, even what equipment they use – and yet, this whole area was barely touched. In fact, I felt a pang of dissatisfaction when the credits rolled because of this omission, as if I had been jipped out of seeing something magical take place. Granted, the film was made by DubLab, known for its work in the music industry, not necessarily in film endeavors. Taking that into consideration, I’d say the director can at least call the film a personal success.
Following the screening, the audience was encouraged to bring any media up to the stage – iPods, CDs, vinyl, etc. – and two of the artists featured in the film would create a song following the same rules as in the film. While I wasn’t too keen on the idea of waiting around for so long in silence, the free drinks added the necessary lubrication I needed to keep me hanging around. Three drinks and an hour-and-a-half later, the DJs finally had their songs ready for our aural delight. While the two songs were both remarkable considering the constraints, they were only, ultimately, two songs. In fact, I found it slightly unsettling that I had waited in the crowded courtyard of Cinefamily for so long and not be treated to a full set. Thus, despite promises of a third DJ coming in to do his own remix, my companions and I left immediately thereafter. Despite my particular dissatisfaction with both the film and the event as a whole, I still left the Silent Movie Theatre with that warm feeling of content that comes after witnessing a unique and exciting exhibition of art.
For those that were wondering, the four artists featured were Nobody, Ras G (whose dub-heavy, middle-eastern influenced style I fell in love with), Daedelus (signed to the always impressive Ninja Tunes), and J Rocc.
