I've got my eye on 2011.

Though I don't exactly typically have much to complain about -- I have a great job, an apartment I love in a great location, a family to be thankful for, and music that elevates me -- I'm particularly positive about the upcoming year. I'm also painfully aware of how much my outlook on life is largely tied into the rewards (emotional, not fiscal) that music provides me.

Many of you know that as well as the periodic club appearances, I also have been involved in at least two weekly nights here in Portland, OR. It seems that the competition for downtempo music is much less than the club scene, so I've found myself playing this particular genre of music more consistently. Not long ago, shortly after returning from Europe, I lost my longest-standing residency, a weekly Monday night at Vault Martini in downtown.

To be perfectly honest, this was neither a surprise nor much of a disappointment. Though I greatly respect the employees and owner of the venue, I had been there every Monday night for about three-and-a-half years. And, though they haven't replaced me with another DJ on that night (they quoted financial reasons as why they'd be letting me go), I'm willing to hazard a guess that they had become just a little sick of my music. I certainly did my best to keep things as fresh as I could each week, but when you're filling five hours with music, it's hard to consistently have enough new tunes to keep changing it up. And, I have to admit, I may have been a little tired of the same old scenery. And the problem begins with the fact that I am being paid to play music that I love, so even though playing the same location year after year may have become hugely monotonous, how could I leave that?

I missed the paycheck more than I'd like to admit. DJing is a definite part of my income, and what I make doing it can quickly add up (especially with those weekly gigs). I had no hurt feelings about no longer being a part of Vault, but I did in fact have a hurt wallet. I felt that pain.

But I had faith that something would come along. Something always seems to, and I largely credit a positive attitude, dedication to professionalism, and, if you'll permit me to humbly suggest it, my capabilities in what I do. My name was recently suggested by word-of-mouth to a venue that was looking for a DJ who does exactly what I do, and was offered a new weekly, beginning in January. Voila! I'm back on track.

This isn't the only reason that I'm feeling good about the next year, however. I have recently become a part of the family of Portland's premier production group, Red Cube Productions. I've been involved in some of their shows in the past (both bookings with Paul Van Dyk and shows with MSTRKRFT and Christopher Lawrence), so we're well acquainted with each other and how we work. But having officially becoming a part of the team has brought other rewards, and not just further bookings.

I love being involved in various aspects of the music, from putting together guest radio spots on local stations, to writing music reviews for 365mag.com, or even just simply writing this blog. I've started working with Red Cube in making them more visible on the virtual stage (not to suggest that they haven't already achieved great notoriety), and am happily penning away all of their blog posts, to help in making their voice better heard. They're things that I enjoy doing, am arguably decent at, and am thankful for a chance to get more experience in. So it seemed a natural pairing.

I'm looking forward to the next year and what it may bring. And to give you an idea of what's ahead, I'm looking at gigs with Mark Knight in January, Morgan Page in February, Mark Farina in Seattle, and an as-yet un-announced gig at the Roseland Theater in March (I'll update this page with that info when I can).

Maybe I'll see you around in '11.

It's All Gone Paul Van Dyk

"Whatever you do, don't play too hard!"

The problem was, I wasn't exactly sure what "too hard" meant.

This was back in 2007, when I first had the opportunity of opening for Paul Van Dyk at the Crystal Ballroom. Paul and his management made it exceptionally clear, via the promoters, that the opening DJ should not be playing music that was too high energy. As one of the world's top DJs, this isn't terribly surprising. I can't begin to imagine the slew of all-too eager DJs that opened up for the man and wanted to possibly impress him or just enjoy their moment in the spot-light. The problem is, "too hard" and "high energy" mean different things to different people. And I had no means of knowing what these ideas meant to either Paul or his management. I knew what I thought these concepts meant, and what music I thought might be fit to play. But still, when this point is being so clearly stressed, you can't help but second-guess yourself. I mean, you want to do a good job, right?

The result? A nerve-wracked DJ, paranoid about pissing off one of the biggest names in the industry, and terrified of putting over 1,000 people to sleep.

That night back in 2007 I went to dinner with some friends before the show. One of them pointed out how nervous I clearly was by how quiet I was being. It seems that my incessant chatter is directly proportionate to how relaxed I am.

The end result was that I went with my gut and played what I felt was right, considering the context. The promoter popped up on stage towards the end of my set to let me know that the current track was a bit more energy than they liked, and then again during my next track to let me know that it was now perfect. The show went great, I had an amazing time, and then promptly flew off to San Francisco the very next morning to play my second year of LoveFest. It was probably one of those weekends that I'll be regaling my grandchildren about (with a few omissions) in years to come.

This past weekend, I again had the honor of setting the stage for Paul with the very same cautions from the promoter. We discussed the energy level of the music on and off before the show, and then again the night of. He told me that not only Paul, but both of his managers had inquired about the opening DJ, what I'd be playing, and stressed the importance of the lower energy level. I think that the promoter was more stressed out about it than I was at this point. When I jokingly offered to play some downtempo in the last thirty minutes of my set, he almost looked relieved.

But this time around, I was prepared. I knew what I wanted, what Paul wanted, and what the crowd wanted. I played marginally harder the first forty-five minutes or so, and then kept it bouncy and light the latter half of my set -- the half that Paul would be in the building for. The result of this show? I had an amazing time with an incredible crowd, a ton of hugely flattering feedback, and nobody asking me to bring it down a notch. I'm calling this one a success.

Next time, though, I just might give the old geezer a run for his money.

I've made a download-able and stream-able representation of the latest set, for an idea of where I went with the music:
Opening Set for Paul Van Dyk 7/2/2010 by evanalexander

Portland Fashion Week

I stumbled into Portland Fashion Week about three years ago. A friend of mine, a talented DJ and a hell of a guy, was DJing the runway shows for the event's third year. He brought me on board to DJ after the runway shows, while people were still loitering about having drinks. I was a bit apprehensive, mainly because I can barely dress myself in the morning, but agreed to it nonetheless. In the least, there were free drinks and people prettier than myself (not much of a stretch, eh?) to look at. So I signed up, saw some free runway shows from a great vantage point, drooled a bit at the models, had a beer or three, and played some tunes for some fashionistas. Not a bad day's work.

One of the executive producers (does one add a caps to such titles? Editors, please weigh in) took a liking to my ragtag collection of tunes and took my card. I saw him around town a number of times after, usually at random places crazy enough to book me, did my normal shmoozing and ass kissing, and eventually formed a friendship. To be honest, I didn't even have any scheme in mind at the time. He just seemed like a cool, down to earth cat (especially for the work that he was involved with) and certainly not a bad person to know.

One year later I was DJing my first runway shows.

I have to be honest here. Even after over a decade behind the tables, this was still a daunting undertaking. Typically, if I screw up a set in one way or another, it's usually in a manner that nobody notices and, if they do, I make some smart-ass, self-deprecating remark that excuses it, or at least pokes fun at me, and then continue about my business without a care in the world. This, however, was a whole other creature.

The runway show is not about the music -- though it is an important ingredient. The runway show is the chance for the designer to preview their collection for the upcoming season or year to magazines, buyers, and other fashion-minded individuals. The runway show is their moment, not mine. So I knew that if I screwed it up, it wasn't just a "ha ha, oops!" moment, but something bigger than myself. This time I was being depended upon to be professional, talented, quick-thinking, fast moving, confident, and capable. Normally, this would be no issue. But being out of my comfort zone, in a world entirely out of my experience, I was thrown off my game just a bit.

Tack on to this the fact that I was playing music entirely different than that in my more-than-a-decade of experience and you've got yourself a recipe for an ulcer. In fact, the day of the first show, I woke up with a crick in my neck entirely due to stress. I called into work that day and spent the afternoon on my couch relaxing and massaging myself (as well as praying for mercy) and was miraculously fine by show time that evening.

Each designer is different. Each clothing line is different. The music for each show is different. Basically, the designers either request specific songs (fine by me) or give me general descriptions of how they see their clothing, hoping that I'll be able to match music to that. This isn't the easiest thing to accomplish, largely because of the dynamic nature of communication. Words carry different meanings for different people. Music is much the same. People interpret the meaning of music differently. Every experience is unique. So finding music that fits in these scenarios leads to long chains of emails that later become hard to follow, leading to more miscommunication and possibly the wrong songs being played.

Last year things went well, for the most part. The only hitch in the road occurred on the very first night, with two designers that had very, very specific music requests. One designer's line can only be described as vaudevillian. Her music that accompanied it was exceptionally fitting and sounded like Tom Waits had taken a bad hit of acid and joined the circus. Not something I normally would have a) owned, or b) known how to even find. Fortunately, she was able to send me the tracks that she wanted.

The other designer was a little older, in her mid-fifties I'd guess. Her line was sophisticated and chic. She described it as being "50's era London." And, understandably, she felt that the Beatles and some older Rolling Stones would be a great fit. After seeing her line, I was forced to agree.

The error came when the schedule of designers that I had before me was incorrect. One designer got another's music, and vice versa. Certainly, given the contrast of these two images, you can imagine exactly how big of an issue this might have been. And if you take a moment to consider the personality of these designers, based upon these designs and music choices, you might get an idea of the reaction that each designer gave. The more whimsical, theatrical designer had a good laugh at my expense after I bought her a drink, and that was the end of it. The other, I spent the rest of the evening, as well as the after party, liquoring up before she'd forgive me.

Regardless, this occurrence on my very first night of DJing a scenario entirely foreign to me made me more than a little insecure about my performance. But, I rose to the challenge and made certain not to make the same mistake twice. This year I took those lessons and made good use of them, even making spread sheets for each night with a list of designers, their music preferences, and their line-up. This certainly lubricated the process and helped me to feel more prepared (especially with one year under my belt) and confident. The largest lessons I've learned from DJing these shows is that you can never be too prepared and that you really have to move quickly. And the best preparation you can have is to make certain, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that you have plenty of music. It's hard to judge how long a runway show for a particular designer will last. And if they've made very specific song selections, you can't just choose anything from your music library if you realize that you don't have enough to fill their show. You need to have at least two back ups. It's either that, or the vibe of the show changes entirely if you don't already have something lined up. Or (and I hope this never happens to me or anyone else out there) white noise on the runway. Talk about awkward silences...

I've made it through another year unscathed. I've had another year to confirm my own lack of style and awkward bearing, while watching those who've always glided through life, glide before my DJ booth and at the after parties. I'm given flashbacks to every middle-through-high school dance I've ever attended. As I once stood uncomfortably in the corner, I at least now stand awkwardly in the midst of things, finally comfortable with the fact I'll never fit in. You'd think the "master of ceremonies," the runway DJ, the music director for this world-renowned fashion event would be more in the thick of things. In reality, I find myself more of a contrast to that world -- charismatic and outgoing, it's true, but not exactly a part of this glitzy, glamorous lifestyle.

I am, and will continue to be honored to be a part of such an event. I will continue to give it my utmost attention and focus, while bringing all of my considerable talent in this field to my responsibilities of this show. But I imagine that I will continue to find humor and irony in the image of a Target-clad DJ of Portland Fashion Week.

For more info on the show, go here: www.PortlandFashionWeek.net

Dude. Just Relax.

It happened about 10 and a half years ago. Months of preparation, lurking in dark clubs, stalking a few key people, shoving tapes into hands, and keeping my parents up at all hours of the night with a repetitive "thumpa thumpa" had finally paid off. All the money that I had spent on 12 inches of black vinyl that housed the scratchings that, with the right needle and equipment, translated into soundwaves would finally see its validation in those sound-waves emanating from mediocre speakers in a room larger than the "room-above-the-garage." All of my daydreams and possible nightmares were about to come true.

I was 18 or 19 years old and worked the second shift in radiology at a local hospital. In retrospect, the fact that I wasn't getting off of work until 11:30 at night can only mean that I could only get to where I needed to be no earlier than midnight. In retrospect, this should have meant a hell of a lot more to me at the time. Then again, if I knew what this meant at the time, I might have been a hell of a lot more worse off than I was. You see, midnight is considered prime time for a DJ. And for your first gig, this means pressure.

Now before we go getting all impressed about the fact that I had been given the prime slot for my first time ever playing for anyone other than my mom, I should probably qualify this. For one, this was Columbia, South Carolina. And though there's nothing entirely inherently wrong with Columbia, South Carolina, it's not exactly the heart of the dance music community. Secondly, the venue was a battered old reggae club on the outskirts of town. And keep in mind that the outskirts of Columbia, South Carolina more or less equate to the tattered string hanging from the cut-off jean shorts gracing the ever-so-lovely -- but undeniably redneck -- form of Daisy Duke. Finally, I must submit that even though the electronic music community in Columbia, South Carolina is a dedicated one, at the time they numbered in the tens. However, none of this deterred me from having to deal with the persistent nausea and ever-present feeling that I was about to soil myself with the prospect of actually having to DJ in front of other people.

I had spent weeks in that room-above-the-garage with the volume full-blast, pre-planning my set, my cue points, what mixed with what, what speed to play each track at, and which breakdown I could cut in a sample. I think I may have even gone so far as to program my set, from beginning to end, with the pitch levels written down -- "Bad DJing 101"

I spent the entire day wiping away the sweat from my palms, taking deep breaths to calm my stomach, and running patients into walls as I took them down for their CT scans. What if I forgot which track was supposed to come next?? Wait! I've got the records in order in my egg crate! What if the DJ before me played one -- or more -- of the tracks that I planned on playing?? Shit! I've got nothing! Breathe... breathe, Evan. Breathe...

The entire eight-and-a-half hours was a feverish nightmare. All I had ever wanted, all I had ever envisioned, was the pride I would feel walking into a club, records in hand, imagining all the whispers: "There's the DJ! That's him!" NEVER had I imagined the nerves I'd be feeling instead. Pride? Certainly. If you can call countless trips to the bathroom something to be proud about, then yes, I was proud.

Finally the time had come. At 11:23 I clocked the hell out of there, changed out of my scrubs into an outfit that I had thought was befitting a DJ, and spaghetti-legged, walked to my car. The drive over to the venue was a blur. All I remember is mentally rehearsing my set, drilling myself as to what I was going to play, and the pre-programmed speeds at which I was going to play it; never considering the fact that I would be mixing my first track into the DJ's before me, thereby having to match the speed of my first track to his and screwing my whole system to hell. Never did I consider that, even though I was playing at a reggae club on the "tattered string of Daisy Duke's shorts," that they would have Technic turntables that head a different pitch control than my Gemini's at home. Nope. None of this crossed my mind. And it's probably best that it didn't. Because that would have been the last straw, the one that broke the DJ's back and sent him scurrying on home, records between his legs.

I entered the club, record/egg crate in-hand, and a small sense of pride as I passed the 15 or so people in the joint. I ascended the DJ booth like a Roman emperor, ascending the steps of Apollo's temple -- apprehensive, yet assured in my "status." I patted my friend, the DJ before me, on the back and set down my records. I grabbed the first, plucked my headphones from the crate, and stepped up to the tables. The record was placed, the needle was at the genesis of the grooves on the vinyl, my headphones were in place, and I was ready to take control.

But, wait! I couldn't hear a thing from my headphones! I looked, I double-checked, I checked again, and everything was as it should be. My record was reading in the mixer, the headphones were set to the channel that my record would be playing from, and the headphone volume was up! By why wasn't I hearing anything?? All my fears were coming true, the sweat was returning to my hands, my stomach was beginning to churn, and I was beginning to panic. Frantically, I turned to the DJ before me and begged him to help. Surely I must be missing something!

He looked at all of the settings on the mixer, he quickly scanned the levels, and confidently peered at my record. A moment later, he calmly looked down, picked the headphone jack up off of the ground, and plugged it into the mixer.

He turned to me and said, quite simply, "Dude. Just relax. You'll be fine."