Dj Mixing Quotes

Think of a story as a stream of information. At best it’s an ever-changing series of rhythms. Now think of yourself, the writer, as a DJ mixing tracks.

Because it’s Glasgow, where the weather offers you a creative combination of hypothermia and sunburn simultaneously: and right now it’s playing a DJ mix with six El Nino events, a monsoon, and a drought on the turntables.

Think of a story as a stream of information. At best it’s an ever-changing series of rhythms. Now think of yourself, the writer, as a DJ mixing tracks. The more music you have to sample from—the more records you have to spin—the more likely you’ll keep your audience dancing.

One element you need for a great mix or mastering as producer. Is confidence in what you do.

the Euro-pop DJ took a break and someone started playing what I can only describe as turbo-folk – an energetic mix of hi-NRG, violins and Middle Eastern-type vocals.

Look, dude, you've sampled your life, mixed those sounds with a funk precedent, and established a sixteen-bar system of government for the entire rhythm nation. Set the Dj up as the executive, the legislative, and judicial branches. I mean, after listening to your beat, anything I've heard on the pop radio in the last five years feels like a violation of my civil rights.

At the center of all that gear was the opening DJ, R2-D2, hard at work, using his various robotic arms to work the turntables. I recognized the tune he was playing: the ’88 remix of New Order’s “Blue Monday,” with a lot of Star Wars droid sound samples mixed in.

This was combat. You created the chaos, but at the same time, tried not to be a part of it, tried not to be affected by it. It was a strange mix of hot-blooded instinct, and cold-blooded logic. It was fighting with emotion, but thinking with your head, almost as though your mind was the handler and your body the beast, the two of them at odds, and yet oddly the same. And when the two forces fell into step with each other, it was sickening and exhilarating all at once.

inbox. It was from Ogden Morrow. The subject line read “We Can Dance If We Want To.” There was no text in the body of the e-mail. Just a file attachment—an invitation to one of the most exclusive gatherings in the OASIS: Ogden Morrow’s birthday party. In the real world, Morrow almost never made public appearances, and in the OASIS, he came out of hiding only once a year, to host this event. The invitation featured a photo of Morrow’s world-famous avatar, the Great and Powerful Og. The gray-bearded wizard was hunched over an elaborate DJ mixing board, one headphone pressed to his ear, biting his lower lip in auditory ecstasy as his fingers scratched ancient vinyl on a set of silver turntables. His record crate bore a DON’T PANIC sticker and an anti-Sixer logo—a yellow number six with a red circle-and-slash over it. The text at the bottom read Ogden Morrow’s ’80s Dance Party in celebration of his 73rd birthday! Tonight—10pm OST at the Distracted Globe ADMIT ONE I was flabbergasted. Ogden Morrow had actually taken the time to invite me to his birthday party. It felt like the greatest honor I’d ever received. I called Art3mis, and she confirmed that she’d received the same e-mail. She said she couldn’t pass up an invitation from Og himself

Don't live in fear. If you are scared of a bad mix you will be a bad selector. the 1% of the crowd who are taking notes will find fault with you regardless. Understand there will always be hate. In fact hate is far more of a driver in this business than love. If you engage with the haters it won't be long before they contaminate you with their negativity. Be a zen thing. Ignore them. they really, really, hate being ignored. If you do actually train wreck a mix, there's no reason why the rest of the set can't be awesome. A DJ performing live has more in common with radio than a recording. It's a stream that only moves forward, and mistakes and blips are lost in time. Leave it, move on. No one will remember but the haters. Leave it to them like a gift.

Radically new spiritual movements are cropping up, notably the “atheist” practice of Syntheism. And musicians are creating stranger and stranger electrical sounds and rhythms, mixing them with strained voices, as if to underscore just how mysterious, yet peculiarly familiar, it all seems. And fashionable, tattooed young female DJ s play that music on the dance floor, and we dance under flashing lights into the darkness and get high and drunk and make out, as the reality we thought we knew is being torn down and we plunge into the sublime and the unknown. And far out into the desert, under the clear skies of that luminous, open blackness lit by perfect stars, we find each other in an intimate, loving embrace. Without the slightest effort we converse for hours and all of reality melts away as we let go of our inner shields and. become one. In that timeless moment of forgiving embrace we lose ourselves and find ourselves, both at once.

against the velvet rope force fields that kept everyone without an invitation at bay. As I walked toward the entrance, the crowd bombarded me with a mix of insults, autograph requests, death threats, and tearful declarations of undying love. I had my body shield activated, but surprisingly, no one took a shot at me. I flashed the cyborg doorman my invitation, then mounted the long crystal staircase leading up into the club. Entering the Distracted Globe was more than a little disorienting. The inside of the giant sphere was completely hollow, and its curved interior surface served as the club’s bar and lounge area. The moment you passed through the entrance, the laws of gravity changed. No matter where you walked, your avatar’s feet always adhered to the interior of the sphere, so you could walk in a straight line, up to the “top” of the club, then back down the other side, ending up right back where you started. The huge open space in the center of the sphere served as the club’s zero-gravity “dance floor.” You reached it simply by jumping off the ground, like Superman taking flight, and then swimming through the air, into the spherical zero-g “groove zone.” As I stepped through the entrance, I glanced up—or in the direction that was currently “up” to me at the moment—and took a long look around. The place was packed. Hundreds of avatars milled around like ants crawling around the inside of a giant balloon. Others were already out on the dance floor—spinning, flying, twisting, and tumbling in time with the music, which thumped out of floating spherical speakers that drifted throughout the club. In the middle of all the dancers, a large clear bubble was suspended in space, at the absolute center of the club. This was the “booth” where the DJ stood, surrounded by turntables, mixers, decks, and dials. At the center of all that gear was the opening DJ, R2-D2, hard at work, using his various robotic arms to work the turntables. I recognized the tune he was playing: the ’88 remix of New Order’s “Blue Monday,” with a lot of Star Wars droid sound samples mixed in. As I made my way to the nearest bar, the avatars I passed all stopped to stare and point in

These are good." Rico popped an extra piece in his mouth. "As good as the ones they sold at your fiera livre?" As soon as she said it, they both froze. This was all on camera. At least she wasn't holding a knife. "No." Rico smiled at the camera. "Better." The skip of joy in her heart brought with it a shadow of fear, but she ignored it and grabbed square black platters and started to plate the bright white pancakes in delicate quarter folds to form a clover. She handed spoons to Rico and he poured doce de leite into them and placed them next to the pancakes. They were done a good two minutes before the rest of contestants, but they would still have to act like they were rushing at the end because it made for better television. "It looks a little plain," Rico said, taking in everyone else's workstations, where everything from empanadas to elephant ears and patajones (Danny, naturally) were being tossed up. "Should I cut up some strawberries? It could use some fruit, and maybe whipped cream?" He was right. It needed something. Plain would definitely get them hammered by the judges. But not strawberries and whipped cream. Not anything so predictable. Ashna raced to the pantry, picked up a mango, and tossed it at Rico. Then without waiting to see if he would catch it, she turned to grab some saffron and ran back to their station. "Can you dice the mango?" Before the question was even out of her mouth, he was slicing. DJ called out the one-minute warning. Ashna pinched out a fat clump of saffron into a metal spoon, mixed in a few drops of milk, and held it over the fire. The saffron dissolved into the milk, turning it orange, and despite the smells from all the workstations, the aroma of saffron permeated the air. DJ started to count down the last ten seconds. Ashna drizzled the saffron milk onto the four spoons of doce de leite just as Rico arranged the mango at the center of each plate.

DJ Kyos 3M Theory says : A song or an album becomes a flop because of MMM that is Mixing, Mastering and Marketing.

It is either you spend more time recording and less time mixing, or your spend less recording and more time mixing.

1973 was the year when the United Kingdom entered the European Economic Union, the year when Watergate helped us with a name for all future scandals, Carly Simon began the year at number one with ‘You’re So Vain’, John Tavener premiered his Variations on ‘Three Blind Mice’ for orchestra, the year when The Godfather won Best Picture Oscar, when the Bond film was Live and Let Die, when Perry Henzell’s film The Harder They Come, starring Jimmy Cliff, opened, when Sofia Gubaidulina’s Roses for piano and soprano premiered in Moscow, when David Bowie was Aladdin Sane, Lou Reed walked on the wild side and made up a ‘Berlin’, Slade were feeling the noize, Dobie Gray was drifting away, Bruce Springsteen was ‘Blinded by the Light’, Tom Waits was calling ‘Closing Time’, Bob Dylan was ‘Knocking on Heaven’s Door’, Sly and the Family Stone were ‘Fresh’, Queen recorded their first radio session for John Peel, when Marvin Gaye sang ‘What’s Going On’ and Ann Peebles’s ‘I Can’t Stand the Rain’, when Morton Feldman’s Voices and Instruments II for three female voices, flute, two cellos and bass, Alfred Schnittke’s Suite in the Old Style for violin and piano and Iannis Xenakis’s Eridanos for brass and strings premiered, when Ian Carr’s Nucleus released two albums refining their tangy English survey of the current jazz-rock mind of Miles Davis, when Ornette Coleman started recording again after a five-year pause, making a field recording in Morocco with the Master Musicians of Joujouka, when Stevie Wonder reached No. 1 with ‘Superstition’ and ‘You Are the Sunshine of My Life’, when Free, Family and the Byrds played their last show, 10cc played their first, the Everly Brothers split up, Gram Parsons died, and DJ Kool Herc DJed his first block party for his sister’s birthday in the Bronx, New York, where he mixed instrumental sections of two copies of the same record using two turntables.

Cooking is not different than mixing a track. You should not rely on spices for your food to taste good and you should not rely on fx/ effects for your mix to sound good.

Other skaters came to our dorm room to suck balloons inflated from his nitrous tank or sit on the floor clipping their toenails while a skate VHS with a Dinosaur Jr. soundtrack juddered away. Tim was kind to everyone and unimpressed by the university. He never washed his bedsheets. I took to Scotch-taping a sheet of Bounce to an electric fan to deodorize the room. We listened to the Pharcyde and mix tapes from Beat Non Stop, the DJ shop on Melrose Avenue. When Tim went home for the weekend or stayed out late with a girl, I lay in the dark and played Barbra Streisand’s cover of ‘Somewhere,’ in which astral synthesizers evoke outer space. Alone in the dark, I felt comforted, embarrassed and duplicitous.

Back when people listened to the radio, you kept a tape handy in your boombox at all times so you could capture the hot new hits of the week. The intro would always get cut off, and the DJ would chatter over the end. You also ended up with static, commercials, and jingles, but all that noise just added to the field-recording verisimilitude.

Even when a song is perfect someone will find mistakes in it. What sounds perfect in my ears might not sound perfect in yours. Sound engineering is not about making perfect songs, but it is about making the song, sounds the way you want.

DJ Screw (as told to Bilal Allah) “In the crib mixing, you know, getting high. When you smoke weed, you don’t really be doing a whole lot of ripping and running. I started messing with the pitch adjusters on the turntables and slowed it all the way down. I thought the music sounded better like that. It stuck with me, because you smoking weed listening to music, you can’t bob your head to nothing fast.

God is a fascinating Artist. He is the DJ who scratches and mixes our “breaks” to match the rhythm of his love. He is the Master of montage and collage, creating fantastic patchwork out of every moment we experience.

also ask DJ AM to bump the song at Las Palmas. He did throw it into the mix days after I recorded it, mostly because it was the first time anyone had ever said his name on a rap song, something he reminded me of just days before he passed away.

Creativity happens when you mix reality with a world of possibilities.

If you are a music producer is very important that you clean your ears, before you consider buying monitors or headset for mixing and mastering.

sessions of pre-techno soul music that lasted from the late afternoon until the break of dawn. “You have to understand, in the Black community, you had to mix disco and funk,” Howard states. “You couldn't just put on Gloria Gaynor's ‘I Will Survive’ and not do ‘Brick House’ by Commodores.” 34 Delano Smith, a DJ who turned to producing in the mid-’90s, was at the heart of Detroit's progressive scene as part of the Soundwave crew, with Carl Martin and Avon McDaniel of the social club Next Phase. “I think we were all inspired by disco music. A lot of the radio stations completely changed their format and played disco music day and night,” Smith said, observing the music industry's transition from professional

bands to amateur selectors. “Not many of us [teenagers] knew how to beat match very well back then; some caught on and some didn't. I think I was one of the fortunate ones that caught on early.” 35 Smith points to a young DJ named Ken Collier as one of the more prominent figures of the progressive music scene; Collier's DJ group with Renaldo White and Morris Mitchell, True Disco, favored disco over funk, creating an aesthetic and conceptual split in focus in Detroit's musical development at the beginning of the MTV era.36 “There was no mixing

Through a confluence of radio shows programmed by Detroit DJs The Electrifying Mojo, Ken Collier, Duane “In the Mix” Bradley, Jeff Mills as The Wizard, and Farley “Jackmaster” Funk, the art of mixing with turntables and vinyl records, as well as the electronic sound of Detroit, quickly spread across the Midwest. In New York, Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five were leading a new wave of electronic funk, followed a few years later in the decade by Newcleus, Mantronix, and The Soulsonic Force with Afrika Bambaataa. Having relocated from New York City to Chicago in the late 1970s, Franklie Knuckles was already rerecording and modifying tracks in music studios to fit his DJ sets,

after going the first time, I couldn't wait to go back the second and third times, pretty much any time I had the opportunity. It was an enlightening experience. I mean, the place was all gay, or 90 percent gay, and before then, I didn't know anything about that kind of sexuality. But seeing the way that people danced at the Garage, and experiencing that love of the music they had… that was something. Me and my cousin, we'd just be in our own worlds, in our own little areas, dancing away.’ That world was created by Levan, and Saunderson sees his nights at the Garage as early lessons in the control a DJ can have over a crowd. ‘At that point, just hearing mixing was something new to me,’ he admits, ‘but even then I could tell that Larry was very good at those transitions. He might play one record for 30 minutes, 40 minutes, maybe an hour, and he would make it exciting. Like

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Before long, I was spending hours at his apartment—a lesson in organized confusion. A queen-size mattress was jammed into one corner, crates of records spilled over the floor, and a banquet table buckled under the weight of turntables, a mixer, an Akai MPC, and a sixteen-channel Mackie mixing desk. A studio apartment in every sense of the word.

like Tunnel, Club USA, Webster Hall, and Limelight were still the beating heart of the city’s nightlife, and you saw all of New York. Their huge dance floors mixed rappers, plumbers, pop stars, suits, designers, artists, and registered nurses. It was a continuation of the downtown energy of the eighties—punk meeting rap, fashion colliding with breakdancing, everyone genuinely curious about each other’s worlds. By the late nineties, when the exclusivity of Moomba, Lot 61, and Life’s VIP room reigned supreme, this spirit was disappearing. Different scenes still mingled, but instead of wanting to understand each other’s art and fashion, people were more interested in figuring out how the other was getting money—and how to tap in. The SKE crew were good kids, true downtowners, obsessed with hip-hop and trying to get paid. They were building on Bill Spector’s blueprint: skaters, hustlers, designers, models, rappers mingling in the club. But in this money-

You're my best friend, and it breaks my heart to see you like this. I know you're hurting, but you can't let that bastard win. You're too talented to waste away in a coffee shop. I want to help you rediscover the badass DJ Luna Sparks that I know and love.

You need this, you thrive up there," she says pointing to the empty DJ booth on stage. The booth sits elevated above the crowd, bathed in a soft blue light. It looks both inviting and terrifying.

In the early 1970s in New York, a new sound percolated at dances in discotheques, parties in parks, and “jams” in underground spots only findable through word of mouth. The common catalyst was the DJ, who spun continuous musical collages with two turntables, a mixer, and a microphone. One particularly innovative DJ, a Jamaican immigrant born Clive Campbell but known as Kool Herc, took small, potent bites of rhythm from records and repeated them by cutting back and forth between two turntables playing the same LP. His “breakbeat” style caught on, and soon more DJs adapted it to their own methods of mixing and matching records on the fly. The resulting sound was called hip-hop, and it spread quickly.