Gaslamp Killer Murdered Bardot Miami, Joined On Decks by DJ Craze
Over the weekend at Bardot, the Gaslamp Killer honored America's fallen soldiers with what has to have been one of the best performances the loungey hangout has ever seen.
It was heart-pumping, body-shaking insanity from start to finish. The loud and proud no-shits-given artist wasn't holding anything back. He slapped Miami in the face with unreleased Los Angeles and Brain Feeder swag. He actually went in so hard last night, DJ Craze had to hop on the decks and give them a spin.
Yeah, it was like that. Where were you?
TicketsFri., Jan. 20, 7:00pm
Side by Side: A Steve Lawrence & Eydie Gorme Tribute
TicketsFri., Jan. 20, 8:00pm
TicketsSat., Jan. 21, 7:00pm
The Last Waltz 40 Tour: The 40th Anniversary of The Last Waltz
TicketsSat., Jan. 21, 7:30pm
TicketsSat., Jan. 21, 8:00pm
The wild-haired menace stepped up to the plate at about 1 a.m. He opened the party up with some karmic chants, which turned into some classical piano, which turned into erratic and jazzy hip-hop beats as everyone clapped their hands. Within seconds, the DJ was bobbing his whole body like a metronome to the beat, and he wouldn't stop for one minute.
The legendary performer was wilin', ready to give Miami everything he had.
"Let me get another gray goose," he said as if they were the lyrics to his jam. He dropped some new Busta Rhymes and Pharrell, some Lil Wayne, and as previously stated, more underground L.A. shit than Miami has ever heard.
Shit was heating up fast. After a few tracks, the Killer tore off his hoodie and pulled his hair back, but he didn't stop the freak out. He grabbed his wireless sampler and played it over his head or tucked into his arm like a violin.
"Miami, let me tell you something," he said. "The more cigarettes your smoke, the less I go. But the more weed you smoke, the longer I go."
Between mind-blowing mixes and apparent convulsions, he'd grab the mic and say some half-inspiring, half-insulting words of wisdom. He was dropping gems like shitting corn nuggets - they just flowed right through him.
"Stop using your iPhone and use your eyes," he demanded while droppin bits of the Game's "One Blood." "We're in 'irl' right now; in real life. Get your hands out of your asses."
He retracted about two mixes later, admitting that he doesn't really care and people could take videos if they wanted. But honestly, this guy could probably fill a book with amazing proverbs like "Can you feel your pussy and your balls shake? That's how it feels when you die." We would buy that book.
He dropped some massive beats from Texas, then moved it back to California with track after track of unreleased Hudson Mohawk and even Flying Lotus. He played an 8-bit hop-hop medley including T.I.'s "What You Know," Jay-Z's "Dirty Off Your Shoulder" and Ludacris' "Fantasy."
He played some Radiohead, he played some Zelda music, he played some Watch the Throne, he played some classic Diplo from back in the Florida days. He played the Velvelt Underground, traditional Syrian tunes, he played unreleased Thundercat. He played a bunch of Low End Theory jams and made sure to remind everyone periodically that "brain brain brain brain feeder is the champion sound." He played just about everything and anything, until he made some room.
"Dj Craze is in the building," he announced, and the crowd went wild. It was too much for the local superstar to turn down, so he took up the decks and let loose some crazy ripper shit, inspiring the Killer himself to go in even harder once he took back the reins.
The crowd was worked into a frothing frenzy. The dancefloor was a bunch of sweat limbs and camera phones and gyrating pubic parts. A few times he said he'd soon walk away, but last songs turned into a few more mixes, and you could tell he didn't especially want to stop train. But stop he must, and about an hour and a half after starting 'em up, he let the crowd pass back into the hands of the local talent.
People crowded around to shake his hand and take pics. We overheard some kids telling him how awesome he was, to which he replied something brilliant like, "Thanks. You were my inspiration for talking shit."
Basically, the Gaslamp Killer might be one of the greatest of all time, and he doesn't care about being nice about it. He can be mean to us any day, as long as he murders a few beats at the same damn time.
RIP America's heroes and dance floors across the nation.
Get the Music Newsletter
Keep your thumb on the local music scene each week with music news, trends, artist interviews and concert listings. We'll also send you special ticket offers and music deals.