Mix In, Zone Out

Written by Finn Schram

Photographed by Emma Fisher

My parents’ faces twisted when I told them what I wanted for my 18th birthday. It wasn’t the typical shrug and mutter- ing of money or books, but a firm plea for a DJ board. It came to me out of sheer boredom, the ever-looming idea that I should pick up a real hobby like an instrument—something tactile. I landed on this mostly because I liked music and I didn’t have to know theoretical concepts to succeed. After spending 10 minutes promising my parents I would still pursue an education, not become a wedding DJ, or move to Europe and get hooked on ketamine, they conceded.

When my birthday finally came, I couldn’t wait to open the board. I rushed my family through “Happy Birthday,” blew out the candles, and sprinted upstairs. Refusing to watch a tutorial, I spent hours twisting every knob and pushing every but- ton—this was mine. The whole spring of my senior year was spent learning how to beatmatch. It was a good diversion, a way to avoid the terrifying feeling that Emerson would not be the school for me.

I found that illegally downloading songs from a playlist titled “FRAT DJ ESSENTIALS” distracted me well enough. Even though it felt antithetical to why I wanted to begin DJing in the first place, I had fun. In April, I bought my first song—a techno remix of SOPHIE’s “HARD.” I found it in Rebecca Black’s (yes, Rebecca Black of “Friday” fame) Boiler Room set. It was not a beat drop or bassline that initially caught my attention in the broadcast, but the cheers and screams of the crowd picked up by the livestream. I wanted to experience the sheer energy generated from a crowd like that; I wanted to generate it.

My first “set” followed a friend-of-a-friend’s graduation party. Shoulder to shoulder, I feel out of place in a stuffy base- ment surrounded by 40 people and a lot of cheap beer. I had been in this predicament countless times throughout my high school career; it consistently offered three hours of mediocrity. Maybe this time it would be different. For the first 30 minutes, my friends crowded around in support, slowly disbanding as I and the music faded into the background. Sipping warm beer, I swayed until my headphones were suddenly pulled from my head. “Play SOPHIE!” a friend burped into my ear, her breath tinged with beer and desperation. My friends clustered around the “setup” more excitedly than before, once I stopped trying to please the masses. When the host kicked everyone out, we were sweaty and embarrassed, but giggly. We cemented a new memory, piling into our Uber. For the first time in a very long time, I was not staring at my feet, making rounds asking when everyone was thinking of going. I was not making myself small as I counted the minutes until it would be just our friend group again. For the first time in a very long time, I wanted to go to high school house parties forever. We hushed ourselves in the Uber, and by the time we were all home and I had crept into my room, I realized that this was probably one of the last high school parties that I will have gone to. In a few weeks, I would finally be at Emerson after dreading it for months.

It is now my third weekend at Emerson, and despite still having made no substantial friendships, I get invited to DJ in the room of three girls down the hall. I show up at 9:00 and set up quietly with the same stiffness I have felt since I got to Emerson, the same stiffness that convinces me I don’t belong here. By the time I am set up, I don’t know if anyone else will be coming, and I’m not sure if I prefer it that way. I face away from them and put my headphones on for the first few songs to avoid socialization. I exist in my world of sounds and buttons until one of the girls grabs my shoulder as she screamed the lyrics of “Immaterial” by SOPHIE. I sing back, pulling my headphones off. I see a familiar sight: a small, crammed room filled with my friends, dancing and jumping to techno. Finally, I feel as though I can make this place my home. Finally, I learn that home isn’t the place, but a feeling–the feeling I get from DJing.