A friend and I had become obsessed with electronic music and wanted to be professional DJs. I was “DJ X” because of the drug Ecstasy, and my friend was “DJ Jambo”—no idea why. It was the ’90s.
Jambo lived with his parents and had two Technics SL 1200 turntables in his room. We already had a solid record collection, and our dream was to play at a club or a rave. We’d even flown to London to buy records. The main thing about being a DJ is two things: first, having good taste, and second, having records other DJs don’t have. And the only way to get good records back then was getting on a plane.
In my hometown, there were these twin brothers. Everyone called them “The Twins” because why complicate things. One was a DJ and played at a club on the coast.
One day he told us we could come play at the club where he worked, we just had to make sure to come during the week when his boss wasn’t around. So one Tuesday I met up with Jambo at his house and we started figuring out which records to bring.
“Should we just bring five or six of the best ones?” I asked.
We had hundreds so bringing all of them was impossible. But what if the place suddenly fills up, turns into a massive rave, and we don’t have our records? We left with the bag packed full of records, on our way to the club. And damn, that bag was heavy. Since we walked everywhere, we had to take turns carrying it on the way there.
When we got to the coast, Jambo asked to carry it. He wanted people to see him arrive with the records—the bag was silver-gray with the “Technics” logo on the side. Made you look super pro.
We walked into the club and it was empty. Like, completely empty. I didn’t see the point in playing music there. First, because there was nobody, and second, because it was a regular club. The music we played was more underground, more rave-style, and here people expected salsa or whatever crap they’d play. But whatever, there we were.
The Twin showed us how the mixer worked. It was kind of old, honestly, but the speakers were huge. What I was most excited about was hearing our records blasting.
We started playing. Jambo and I always took turns. He’d play a record, then I’d play one. If he played something fast, I’d bring it down to something slower, and so on. We were good at it, honestly. After a while, I could see it on Jambo’s face: dude, this is cool, maybe we’ll make it and become real DJs and everything. I walked up to the mixer and cranked the volume all the way to celebrate.
The Twin came over freaking out, saying the bartenders were complaining, that his boss might stop by, and basically, we were done. He turned our music down and started playing himself. Worst part was he put on some commercial crap and started doing these super elaborate mixes to impress us. He’d turn up the volume on the next track, cut it, bring it back up twenty times, and then when it was finally time to switch, he’d take the record off and put on another one. Trying to surprise you or something. He was brutal.
Out on the street, the Twin asked us.
“So, what did you think?”
Great—I thought—now he’s going to talk about what a great DJ he is and what we need to do to get to where he is. But no. He said goodbye and took off. That guy was definitely doing coke on weeknights.
A few months later we managed to become DJs at a spot. It was cool because it was going to be the first time we were the main DJs. We’d played here and there at more important clubs like Voltaje or the Atmosphere in Torremolinos, but never as the main DJs.
The day came and we started playing to warm things up. What people don’t know is that a DJ has to have music for every moment. It’s not just about having the best tracks, the bangers everyone goes crazy for. You need filler tracks too. The ones you use to get to the good stuff. And filler tracks are hard to find because you don’t want them to be great but not total crap either.
People started arriving and by two in the morning the place was packed. We put on some of the records we’d bought in London and people started losing it. I could tell they were surprised. I could see they were thinking: This party is more underground than I expected. This isn’t what you normally hear around here.
Then DJs started stopping by. Like we used to do before, but now they were the ones who had to ask permission.
One showed up who later became kind of well-known, and man, was he terrible. He took forever to mix tracks and didn’t think about things like key. Plus he had such bad records that I went over and said in his ear:
“Hey, this isn’t Palladium”—and walked away. A few months later I saw his name on a poster for a Satisfaxion party and thought, how is that guy there when he’s so clueless.
And then the Twins showed up. I don’t know why, but whenever they arrived it was like something bad was about to happen. They had that energy. Like you had to be on alert. The Twin who wasn’t a DJ went to the bar. He wore an earring and dressed better. He was a poser. The DJ Twin came over to say hi. He was all friendly with us like we were already established DJs. And of course, he asked to play for a bit. He hadn’t brought records, so he asked for some of ours. And that was a problem. Why? Because you’re not going to give him a good track that takes away your chance to play it later, but you’re also not going to give him something terrible that ruins the party.
I washed my hands of it and told Jambo to pick a record. The bastard picked one that was impossible to mix. It had this weird rhythm and was kind of bent so the speed would shift randomly—we almost never played it. He handed it over and the Twin put on his headphones, trying to find the beat. And there was no way. He was making faces like, this is impossible! What the hell did you give me?
I felt bad so I went to our record case and gave him an easier one. It was a good track but everyone had it, so there was no risk. He played it and of course, he started doing his show. He played a section super loud and went back to the previous one. He brought down the one that was playing to make it seem like it was ending, put on the new one for two seconds, and went back to the previous one. Super brutal.
Then he asked for another record and then another. People were starting to think they were his tracks and everything. Since he wouldn’t leave, Jambo moved to the center of the booth and started pushing him with his body. He pushed him until he had him cornered against the wall. Finally the Twin got the message and left. Jambo could be savage sometimes.
Then I started DJing and honestly I was tired of techno and that crap, so I grabbed the best Jungle records we had. It was the moment of truth. Those records were kind of transcendental and I didn’t know if they’d get it here, but I didn’t care.
The Twin was watching me closely, as if to say, show me what you got. I set up the record in two seconds, started mixing it smoothly, and at the perfect moment I switched. End of transition. Next track. I kept playing in that style for a couple more tracks and when I looked over—the Twin looked sad.
When I finished playing, the Twin told me he’d learned a lot watching me play. That he had the bad habit of over-mixing and getting tangled up, and that I did super clean transitions. It gave me energy that he said that. Not because I felt better than him, but because I saw he was a good person.
Over time Jambo and I kept playing but we never made it anywhere. Well, one New Year’s Eve they hired us to play at a warehouse. The place was gigantic but nobody came. They hadn’t done any advertising or something. Later that night they started blaming us, saying our music was too weird and we’d scared people away. The guy who organized the party got drunk and ended up crying, sitting in a wooden chair with his son consoling him.
And much later, almost at the end of this whole DJ thing, we started throwing parties at Sigur’s house. His father was rich and next door was his grandmother’s house, which was always empty. Around that time, Jambo was starting to lose it. Before, he’d laugh at the world and had more of a “screw everything” attitude. But around that time he started to change.
One night around 5am, I was spinning when Jambo suddenly signaled to me. I had headphones on so I gestured as if to say: I can’t hear you.
“Should I go or not?” he said. He pointed at a dark hallway that led to the bedrooms.
And then I got it. He was asking if he should go with “Them.” And who were “Them”? The beings from another dimension. The ones who chase you, the ones who talk to you telepathically, the ones we’d already talked about a few times.
“No! No! Don’t go!” I yelled.
It was dangerous. Who knows what would happen to him. I kept playing, thinking that if I focused on the track, all of that would disappear. But I got a chill through my whole body. So strong it felt like my skin was breaking.
Jambo barely heard me and started getting closer. He walked slowly, crouched down, scared to death. And just when he was entering the hallway, Sigur came out of the darkness and Jambo screamed, jumped back, and fell to the floor terrified. Sigur had gone to the bathroom and right when Jambo was expecting a supernatural encounter, they ran into each other. The damn coincidence.
“What’s wrong with you, relax, relax”—Sigur was saying. Jambo was lying on the floor, like he’d fainted from the scare. Little by little he recovered, and you had to see the relief on his face—it was a friend and not a being from another dimension in front of him.
Jambo didn’t DJ anymore that night. He went to a couch downstairs, laid down, and covered himself with a blanket. While everyone else was dancing, he spent the rest of the time lying there, recovering from the terror he’d experienced.
And what happened with “Them”? I ended up confronting them but that’s a very long story that I’ll tell one day.
