Complex was kind enough to sit down with the 25 year old Chinese, French-Canadian, and ask her a questions about her lifestyle, her fitness ethic, and whether or not running constitutes a date. In tern, Adrianne was kind enough to grant them both a photo shoot and a video where she flexes her skills.

Check out the interview on Complex, and then peep the vid.

A spokesman for the artist stated that, “Chemical X is not trying to challenge authority with his art, he challenges the perception that people have of social drug taking through the press propaganda that shapes the public’s attitude. These need to be viewed as works of art as they stop being drugs from the point at which that are permanently sealed into the pieces.”

How will this go over? Only time will tell. But there is one curious question: with price tags of £100,000 and £75,000 are these going for more or less than the street market value of their parts?

We’re on our way out of the city; Ozker, my roommate and creative blood brother, is DJing a friend’s wedding. We’ve crammed turntables, speakers, backpacks and assorted audio equipment throughout the car in a delicate, rattling game of gear Jenga; as DC skyline fades into Maryland field, we find ourselves discussing the previous night’s DMC competition at U St. Music Hall. I’m looking for a good cap to close out my article. He’s looking for an Avett Brothers song on his laptop.

As we round Rt. 50, Ozker scrolls through his music collection, his fingers betraying a hint of frustration. He’s more familiar with the pulsing grooves of a deep house and nu-disco playlist; the sentimental slow dance repertoire – standard fair to a traditional wedding DJ – is unexplored turf and, quite frankly, off putting. To add to the stress, he has to batten down the hatches against the expected slew of requests bound to flood his table throughout the night. We’re prepared for the worst.

“If we have to, we’ll just Youtube that shit.” It’s not quite alchemy, but it’s a quick and dirty solution to an inevitable problem. We can’t deny the magic effect modern technology has on the music industry’s most populous profession – ten years ago, we’d be traveling to this gig with tenfold crates of spine-wrenching vinyl and still not have that Ronettes song your drunk bridesmaid had to hear at that moment or everything would be ruined. Ah, internet, you beautiful tangle of shortcuts.

“It’s like any competitive sport,” Ozker muses. “[The DMC will] always have relevance to a DJ of a certain caliber.” While I’m not much of a sports fan, I can see the analogy. Memories of last night’s battle, still fresh in my head, take on the filtered tinge of an NBA All Star game. There were friendly rivalries, fought with machine gun scratches and shit-talking samples. There were looks of mutual appreciation shared between rivals whenever solid skills were on display. There was a fervent dedication and hospitality shown by the fans, regardless of who it was they were cheering.

No, nix that. Last night’s competition felt less like a bloated showcase of overpaid, celebrity athletes and more like that friendly tournament at the family reunion – everyone’s just happy to be there, excited to let folks know what they’ve been up to all year, maybe show off a little bit. There just so happen to be rules, judges, prestige and prizes involved.

True, families have crumbled over less, but after yesterday’s display of talent and love, I find no reason to worry for the structural integrity of the DMV’s turntable community. If anything, we respect the nature of this so-called “gentleman’s game” unlike anywhere else.
Let’s reverse the track a bit, shall we? I’ve cued up the point where I sneak in before doors to get the full scope of what goes into keeping the DMC – or Disco Mix Club – Battle competition going strong, thirty years running.

The short answer? Christie Z-Pabon.

Who, in this case, might be half an LED screen away from turning U St. Music Hall‘s stage into the Times Square of gearhead advertising. When I descend the stairs into U Hall’s cavernous space, it’s the first thing I notice; a bold display of logos and URLs hanging in stark contrast to the venue’s signature brand of minimalistic, geometric artwork. Off the bat, one thing is clear: the competition has no shortage of sponsors wanting to get their brand on camera. I wonder, do these companies consider ad space at DMC the DJing equivalent of the Super Bowl? I shelve that thought before it consumes the article I’m supposed to write.

While I scan the various – somewhat obnoxious – banners, Christie scurries back and forth, handling half a million tasks with the fluidity of one acquainted all too well with the chaos preceding a DJ battle. In 2008, she took the reins as DMC USA branch manager and, according to some, single- handedly revitalized the competition’s momentum in the United States. Online, she’s a strong promoter and a passionate social media presence. In person, she’s a whirlwind of activity, a one woman production committee charged with managing the highest tier of turntable battling in the country. I watch her juggle a multitude of pre-show bumps and glitches and I can see how her energy is contagious – it’s stern but lovingly so, almost nurturing. She is as an omnipotent matriarch, a glue that keeps these threads from fraying and tangling, dissolving into a cable mess of wobbly tables, screeching microphones and slanted banners. I’d like to know more.

“It’s like being a DJ battle addict and trying to chase that first and best high,” she suggests, as a wry impetus for her passion. She looks back on her first experience organizing battles fondly – and with good reason. The 1998 US Finals are considered a watershed moment in DMC history, with a roster of participants (Craze, Dummy, Shortkut) that went on to become turntable royalty, and a Hall of Fame induction that included legends like Grandmaster Flash and Afrika Bambaataa.

I’m getting to the point where doors open, but first, a quick primer on the competition’s preferred method of battling, courtesy of Z-Pabon:

“In the USA, we have a two minute elimination round in which all the DJs showcase. The judges select six competitors from the many and those DJs showcase for six minutes each. The judges then select their top three and titles are bestowed and prizes given.”

These showcases incorporate two turntables and a mixer. In recent years, despite some protest, the DMC has also allowed laptops/software to be incorporated into the showcase. More on that later. If you’d like further details on the technical nitty gritty of the rules and logistics, check out the DMC’s website!

A quick sidebar, though, if I may. Although everything about this event gives off the polished, professional sheen of a well-oiled machine, there’s a wonderfully comforting reminder of the art form’s humble origins in the fact that concrete blocks are being discreetly used to raise the DJ tables. Whoever comes up with the patent for a slick, new alternative to this’ll probably make a killing through DMC banner ads.

Doors open, predictably late. People begin to trickle in, and when they do, the master of ceremony is there to greet them: he of the youthful smile and – more often than not – the gangly- limbed bear hug. This is Isaac DeLima, a charismatic presence with whom everyone’s eager to swap words. It might be because this is his hometown. It might be because he also goes by DJ i-Dee and, at 26 years old, has more titles under his belt than most will acquire through a lifetime of grinding. Under normal circumstances, one might be intimidated meeting someone of his caliber.

“I’m just a funny dude,” i-Dee jokes, ruining any preconceived notion I may have had about the lofty attitudes of the upper echelon of turntable hierarchy. The last two years that he participated in the DC regional battle, for example, he did so under goofball aliases to throw off the competition. “When I showed up to the battle, they were like…’hey, are you in this?’ I’m, ‘yeah, I’m [DJ] Charlie Sheen.’ And they’re like, ‘Oh, I didn’t know that was you…’ and they kinda had this look of distress.” The distress was not without merit, though, as he ended up with the regional title both times.

This year, he’s the host as well as a judge, passing on the torch to the next wave of aspiring champions. He’ll have an exhibition showcase later in the night, which I’m eagerly anticipating. i-Dee has toured the world, produced records for a recognizable stable of artists, and gained a reputation for being both technical and creative with his sets; it would be a shame not to let the reigning DC champion touch decks on his home turf. Plus, his mom is here. He introduces me to her. I’m honored.

Everyone is tight knit tonight, here in the belly of the District’s premier dance club. Your impromptu co-host for the evening – in case i-Dee gets too drunk, apparently – is DJ Geometrix, who, with i-Dee and DJ Oz (another judge), proudly represent the world-renown DC crew, the Turntable Trooperz. Your house DJ for the evening is former DMC world champion DJ Cheese (also judging), who revolutionized the competition in 1986 by introducing scratching to what had been purely a beat mixing battle in years prior. Many of the contenders are old friends and comrades; if not close, they’ve at least heard the names, watched the videos, or crossed paths briefly at one of the many bars crammed into the fishbowl that is DC. The remainder stay to themselves, at least initially; they’ve come from as far away as Alabama, Cleveland and Detroit for one last chance at throwing down the gauntlet this year. You see, in addition to it being the 30th anniversary of the DMC, the 2013 DC battle is the last regional qualifier of the tour. Whoever wins moves on to the US finals in New York City. Everyone else goes home and prepares to try again next year. Despite the friendly atmosphere, everything is on the line tonight.

As Cheese cuts between old school beats and remixes, the rapidly growing crowd of fans, relatives, friends, hip hop nerds, gear junkies, and future DMC contestants watch from a horseshoe safe distance. This is clearly not a dance party; the primary modus operandi for enjoying the night is casual b-boy – arms crossed, heads bobbing to the beat. If you assume that this implies boredom, fear not. I find that technical turntablism is a specifically honed style that demands more from its audience than casual listening or bump ‘n grind mentality. You can’t watch those fingers if you’re too busy dancing to the beat, and watching the hands at work is half the battle! Pun intended. Trigger that G.I. Joe sample in your head for added effect.

As I walk through the crowd, I can’t help but notice the demographic skew: most of the fans are male, teenaged to middle aged. In the older generation of hip hop enthusiasts, I can see the gray streaks of wrinkle and weariness that eventually overtake even the staunchest of youth subcultures, but these folks wear their age with pride. Some have even brought their kids, keeping the tradition alive and strong. There’s a notable lack of women, both in the crowd (a scattering) and in the competition (none). Is it safe to assume that the competitive aspect of the art form is slightly more appealing to the whims of the Y chromosome? Possibly, but I bet someone could prove me wrong in the heartbeat of a mouse click. In fact, you’re more than welcome to.

By the bar, I finally see someone I recognize; I beeline past the blue-faced phonegazers skirting the fringe of the crowd, and lean in to greet Ross “Throdown” Volpe. He’s one of the many competitors tonight. He’s also a member of the One Love Massive collective (full disclosure: as am I). Furthermore, I had the pleasure of sharing a stage with him at a Forward festival party a few years ago, and I’ve always remember him as the DJ who effortlessly incorporated a horn player into his improvised live set. “As long as I’m up here doing my thing,” he claims proudly, “I’m going to keep the torch burning…I throw down.” He continues: “People are expecting to be constantly stimulated. It helps to [be able to] drop some of your own production, drop some remixes, do the hits, do some flashy shit, do some live musician-type shit…”

He has every right not to be humble. In addition to an experienced grasp of turntables, Throdown is familiar with a variety of musical instruments; he also holds a BFA in sculpture. He’s the type of artistically well-rounded individual that thrives in the sandbox of modern DJing. The “skinny suburban white boy from Catholic school” sees the DMC battle as the pinnacle of achievement in the craft. He’s been doing this for twelve years and to him, it’s the “one arena where [turntablism] is still golden.” I ask him how he feels. “Last year, I didn’t sleep for days,” The ’12 DC regional was Throdown’s first attempt at taking his turntable skills to the competitive stage and, in his own words: “I put so much heart and soul into my routines…but I totally sabotaged myself. I kind of fell apart. I was mortified.”

This year, he seems to be quite calm, all things considered. I do sense the anxiety in his voice, but it helps that his fan base is here in full effect to support. Plus, he’s scheduled to be one of the last participants in the preliminary rounds, giving him a chance to analyze his opponents from the crowd throughout the evening and – hopefully – build up confidence.

Around the corner, I bump into another old friend, Artit “Art” Sriboonruang, aka DJ As One. As One is a former DC DMC champion (2009) back to compete in ’13 in the District after back to back unsuccessful attempts at this year’s Nashville and New York City regionals. He is, by far, one of the most talented individuals I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing – with an ear for music that rivals many seasoned producers and a quick fingered jaunt to his style. “Music was never in my trajectory when I was a kid,” he tells me, thinking back on his introduction to the art form. “I was always around music, but it was never one of those things that I thought I was going to…do as an adult.” His track record would say otherwise. Since 2002, he’s won or placed in almost forty competitions, including the USA DMC finals, and the Roc Raider DJ Gong Battle.

“I have respect for anybody that would hit the stage,” he half-whispers under the thump of DJ Cheese’s playlist. “But I still get nervous…every time.” I can’t blame him. Even after all these years of competing, no amount of experience can lessen the pressure and anticipation of pre-show jitters, and although there’s a friendly atmosphere of camaraderie to this event, As One is a battle-hardened pragmatist.“It’s a really small community. If you’re into what I’m into, we’re cool. At the same time, this is hip hop. We’ve got to put on a show.” And then? “It’s a game, man. Nothing’s guaranteed.”

But enough foreplay. The preliminary rounds just got underway.

Each DJ is welcomed on by a chant of “Can he kick it?/Yes, he can!”; after two minutes, their set ends to rousing applause. For many of the participants, this is the highlight of the year; they’ll return home to the daily gruel of bills and twelve hour work days, resume practicing their skills with the morsels of time they have to spare. The crowd’s unwavering appreciation is as powerful a stamp on the experience as any trophy. When certain DJs resort to the classic ‘vinyl only’ approach, they’re met with roaring approval – despite the fact that, when sandwiched between two Serato-based showcases, it becomes quite clear the old way of doing things is unlikely to outshine the shiny, new approach, this year or the next. The age of the e-battle is upon us.

“More and more cats are abandoning turntables or platter based mediums altogether,” worries Throdown. “Why would you want to go with this…heavy, clunky-ass, antiquated, high maintenance piece of gear…when you could just buy some cheap-o, lightweight controller and some software that does everything for you?” According to him, modern DJing has gotten cold and rigid due to the technology, so much so that turntablism’s raw aspects are seen as outdated and unnecessary. “A lot of young kids have never seen anyone beat juggle before…kids’ll be like ‘Why’s he trainwrecking? It sounds like shit.’ They literally don’t understand what’s happening anymore.”

Back at U Hall, DJ Wonder is halfway through his two minute routine, and off stage, As One watches and waits his turn. As DJ Wonder puts the finishing touches on his set, As One nods his head approvingly. It was a good set. “[I] pay attention…I’ve kept my eyes and my ears open, always tried to learn from everyone else, even though I’m competing against them.”

DJ Wonder cleared from the stage, As One gets into his zone. He systematically sets up his laptop, moving with the assured speed that one gains from years of being in front of a crowd anticipating nothing less than magic and watching every motion of his set up. After some technical difficulties, he’s plugged in and situated; he puts his earbuds in, making the last preparations, testing the play of the platters. i-Dee announces “DJ As One!” and the crowd goes wild – they’ve seen him in action in the previous years and they know, regardless of him winning or losing, he’ll bring something extraordinary to the table. This is the last chance for As One to get to the USA finals this year. The countdown begins, the timer starts, and he cues up the first routine of his mix. It’s showtime.

Two minutes later, he packs up his laptop and exits the stage to a hyperactive roar. His set: the perfect combination of technicality and braggadocio – sections of harrowing cuts and juggles, inspired bursts of machismo and pantomime. Whereas most of the DJs tonight choose to stare down their turntables in deep thought, As One has mastered the art of interacting with and hyping up the crowd, “putting on the show.” As he grabs his backpack and disappears backstage, he’s all smiles, there’s a weight lifted from his shoulders. He knows how well he did back there. Now it’s up to everyone else to match him.

A quick anthropological note on the common Battle Disc Jockey. They are, despite their often extroverted personas, solitary, isolationist creatures. “A lot of times when it comes down to us…we’re practicing in our bedrooms,” As One tells me. Throdown agrees. “There’s not many events that call us out of our caves.” Here at U Hall – a larger, but still intimate, cave – everyone seems to be finally warming into good spirits. Even the security staff has gotten into the mood of the night, sneaking excited peeks at the stage in between stoic “Don’t Fuck With Me” glares. The allure of nimble turntablism is irresistible, even to those unfamiliar with the art form.

Let’s skip ahead to later in the night. When I return back downstairs from my union-approved smoke break, Christie – or someone from the DMC camp – has placed an enormous standing scrim advertisement upstage of the DJ tables, effectively blocking an incoming contestant’s view of the action taking place on stage. Behind this banner, I see Throdown, arms folded, watching as Baltimore’s DJ Remedy finishes his set. As Throdown moves into position and spins his needles into place, he’s cool, comfortable. His highlighter yellow One Love Massive t-shirt glows under the stage’s LED lights. Any sense of anxiety is masterfully hidden from the naked eye. He rubs his hands together in anticipation as the crowd counts him in. Three. Two. One.

And then he’s done. A dizzying display of platter pyrotechnics, punctuated by choreographed spins and tongue-in-cheek sampling. I notice that both As One and Throdown rely on a shrewd blend of creativity, charisma and technical prowess. They’re the boundary pushers, taking the abilities of Serato to the limit, building custom crates of samples and sounds that give them complete control of their style. Their sets are years of experience and style, compressed into two minute chunks of superfood. It’s almost breath-taking to watch.

As Throdown breaks down his his gear, the girl behind me comments, “He was really good. I like his computer stand.” Funny how that works out, I guess.

Throdown and As One understand the shift away from the classic turntable rig to the more versatile and user friendly software based platforms. “This is the modern day. Computers do shit. They’re fucking smart,” says As One. “It’s healthy for the scene to grow with the technology.” Regardless, their knowledge of the roots add that much extra to their routines, moreso than say, someone who’s just beginning to cut their chops as a house party laptop DJ. While the original hardware may seem “clunky and high maintenance” it plays an integral part in the foundation of turntablism.

“Above all else,” warns i-Dee, “[we need to] preserve the turntable. That’s extremely crucial for the next twenty to thirty years, as far as really solidifying the art of the DJ.”

DJ i-Dee, As One and Geometrix, along with several other “hometown heroes”, teach at the Beat Refinery, a DJ school based out of Bethesda, Maryland. Over the past three years, they’ve taught students everything from the basics of turntablism (understanding the gear, beat mixing, scratching) to complicated techniques that, in some cases, they created themselves. As As One puts it, “we’re old school guys working with new school technology…to teach the students the fundamentals.”

In addition to educating the ever growing local community of young DJs, seasoned pros like As One and i-Dee see a growth in their own styles and skills as a result of assuming this mentor/teacher role. “What’s been most beneficial to me is a new way of thinking,” says i-Dee. “I never really had a full grasp on it until I started teaching. For all of us…we’re kind of learning together.” As One agrees. “Teaching has really helped keep me comfortable in the art form.”

Lets look at the broader picture for a minute. In comparison to more seasoned instruments like violins, guitars and percussion – which have hundreds of years of education and skills passed down through the generations – turntablism is still in the fledgling stages of its development. A school like the Beat Refinery is a necessary step forward in legitimizing turntablism as a musical craft. Frankly, it’s up to this generation of DJs to nurture and provide the template and tools for the next generation to take their creativity and their craft even further than previously imagined.

“Ultimately, it would be a dream to see this accredited on a college level,” says i-Dee. A far cry from the art form’s origins in urban rec rooms and dark, sweaty clubs, but a dream that would go far towards solidifying the DJ’s place in the pantheon of established Music. But back to the show, which Christie Z-Pabon is currently claiming is wilder than the New York City regional. Good. As the judges tally up the results of the preliminary round, i-Dee takes the stage. It’s time for his showcase. There’s no pressure, no sense of urgency, not an ounce of aggressive posturing. He works his way into the mix and there’s a zen-like confidence to his routine – beat juggling and squealing fingerwork are second nature, a transition between Chumbawumba and Wale makes complete sense, no one flourish is too little, or too over the top. There’s raucous applause at every drop, every scratch, every finesse. This is master craft turntablism, comfortably on display for public consumption.

i-Dee takes the microphone and scans the crowd in playful anticipation. I’m excited to find that some of the aforementioned children are now break dancing towards the back of the room. People are moving, grinding up on each other, jumping up and down, grooving as a single unit of energy in this chaotic and disjointed world. You see, everyone is tight knit tonight.

“This is my favorite shit!” He exclaims, inciting a burst of cheering. He cues up one of the most recognizable songs of the last thirty years, Smells Like Teen Spirit. As the familiar opening guitar riff pounds through the speakers, there’s that aura again, permeating the atmosphere – sure, everyone wants to know the results, but suddenly, this has taken precedence. Participants, fans, friends – everyone is on edge, biting fingernails to predict what i-Dee will do with this monument of contemporary pop culture.

Right before the song transitions into its unmistakable verse riff, there’s this four count fill of driving snare hits and fuzzy, sliding guitars. Rather than let this pass by, i-Dee loops it and, at an urgent yet cozy pace, begins to fashion something else out of it, mutate it. Cut and juggled, bent and twisted, in his hands this brief phrase of music becomes an entirely new entity, a pounding scrimmage of drums and distortion, raw, nearly unrecognizable from its root. Everyone is in a frenzy.

To me, this scene IS the essence of the District’s turntable community – the ideal recipe, if you will. Take creative individuals inclined towards a unique ear; equip then with the tools (and the balls) necessary to take conventional ideas and flip them on their axis in front of an audience; nurture them with venues, schools, and events that promote their talents and skills; then, get the whole family together to support and encourage them (and anyone else who’s performing). It’s the perfect storm of ass-kicking, turntable-d goodness. And then, like that, it’s over. Fade out into the night.

DJ As One takes first place. After failing to win in New York and Tennessee, he returns home to claim the title amongst his friends and family. He’ll be competing at the USA finals in August. Not one to be undermined, Throdown takes a respectable and well deserved second place. Despite not winning this year, he remains optimistic about his future with the competition. “I will keep doing this shit every year, just because.”

Amen. Break.

Written by Navid Azeez

May 4th’s show consisted of Thriftworks and Michal Menert, who was the first artist to sign under the Pretty Lights Label.

May 5th’s show consisted of Thriftworks again. Also contributing to the insane show was Griz. Who, to celebrate the festivities of cinco de mayo, remixed his own version of “Tequila”.

Lasers, giant Corgi’s with lasers shooting from their eyes and Lorin with his overly large sombrero destroyed The Fillmore.