Bass Wars

The electro-bass underground scene continues to tease with periodic parties that blow up like waifers. You know, first you're peaking balls, then the feeling dies down only to hurl another wave through your insides. Not that many people are rolling at these parties anymore, though; in fact it's cool to see so many characters from the old rave scene hanging out drunk instead of lit to the gills. A lot of those characters were out last Friday for Bass Wars at I/O, which was organized by the electro-dziska filmmaker herself, Iris B. Some of the cats tearing up the b-boy circles were Dorian, Javi Regueira, Danny G., and the world-famous Chocolate.

Humberto Guida

Otto von Schirach (left), Rom del Castillo, and Salim Rafiq express themselves differently

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More About

• Salim Rafiq
• Otto Von Schirach

A few electro elite DJs were there too. Ash and Merlyn have been hanging like blood brothers lately, so it's no surprise that they've decided to mix business with friendship and start a new label, Kuad Recordings. Otto von Schirach was being his intellectual gangsta self by spitting out polysyllabic jive that only artists signed to Schematic can understand. Speaking of Schematic, one-half of Phoenecia (which I still belovedly call Soul Oddity), Romulo del Castillo, was looking so dapperly Abercrombie-ish, sporting what had to be avant-garde salon grooming, that I asked him to marry me. Then, before I could remember we're (supposedly) straight, he took my camera and ran. Anyway, the party was magnificently festive, not least because of the scrap I got into with some guy who's been on my dick for too long.

The place was packed (when are the electro syndicates like Mi Chika/Chiko Force and Culture going to give us a weekly?), the turntable battle between Miami bass legends Jealous J and Jock D was classic, and the 2x4 set between Exzakt and Salim Rafiq (who're pals once more) was requete-phat. But I'd like to spend this last paragraph letting whoever jacked Rafiq's laptop, the one storing much of his original music, know that they're going to pay. Watch out for a death notice from some rancid raver in a future column.