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Roger Sanchez : Boston Avaland

The S-Man gets behind the decks and blows shit up...

Roger Sanchez : Boston Avaland

Roger Sanchez plans to blow shit up. At least that's what his t-shirt says. Yes, the newest poster boy for dance culture is here, there and everywhere these days. He's just back from Ibiza, sporting a knitted skully, sunglasses and some finely-formed facial hair from the finishing school that brought us Craig David & Ali G. He's lugging ten years of his own tracks, a new album and an arsenal of crates behind him. Don't be mistaken, when the S-Man drops 'em, they don't go "boing" or "boyakasha." They go off... big.



Sanchez makes the room his own, lighting incense in the booth as he brings a spanglish funk carnival to the floor, tickling the deep-house throb with some horny disco. He keeps it sexy. Sultry soul singers coo over a sax solo and out comes 'Finally' by Kings Of Tomorrow and Julie McKnight. For the breakers he's got breaks. For the nostalgic, he's got Technotronic riffs. For the way too young and way too drunk, he's got 'Superfreakin', the Missy Elliott white-label and everyone is getting their freak on in the corners.



So, everyone is having a good time. Especially Sanchez, who's boogie-ing around the booth now, confident he's got the sound, the look and the crowd. Just check the superstar DJ's technique: taking time out to shake hands, kiss cheeks, swing his hips with the house dancers and spotlight the crowd with his torch, all while in the mix.



Better check those Technics too though. There are slip mats on the decks... and they aren't spinning. Ten minutes and a couple segues later, still no records. It seems the CD not the DJ is taking care of things here. Whether business or pleasure, there should always be mixing. Even if your heads not in it, your hands should be. Hey DJ! You are the bomb! Now, back to work!



And work he does, dropping the a crowd-rousing version of the Eurythmics' 'Sweet Dreams', tweaked to epic affect and then rolling into the instant anthem 'Another Chance'. Arms are outstretched, the sing-along begins and the house lights turn everyone on the floor into a shining shimmying star. Alright, the poster boy deserves it. Occasional autopilot or not, it's still a victory. As promised, he blew shit up.



Ben Wolford

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