“My first gig was kinda interesting. It was in Detroit of course, south-west Detroit specifically, very close to the iconic Michigan Central Station. Rave spots often have a lot of stories associated with them, 'lore' if you will.
This place had a story about some rival nitrous oxide suppliers; one was shot in the head by the other inside the place, and the resulting mess was never cleaned up. I mean, as it was explained to me as a 16 or 17-year-old: 'They just put wallpaper over his fucking brains, man'. I’m not going to say which part is true, but I learned later in my life that there was some truth to some of it.
“For obvious reasons, I don’t want to describe this place too much. I will say when we walked through the moderately tall, rusty, guarded gate there were flickering green fluorescent bulbs on the rotting ceiling of the entrance holes in the same ceiling, a pair of pretty aggressive pitbulls barking down on our heads through the holes, broken car parts everywhere, the smell of automotive fluids, quite a bit of razor wire… and a staircase to a very unlikely space which had an entrance with all that going on.
I wouldn’t change starting out there for anything in the world, I mean that. Last I knew it was still there, but don’t get any ideas about some magic Detroit rave spot still existing. This was like 15 or 16 years ago.”
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