Dusted Fader Mixtape, Side B, 1997Back in the day (how about that for a nice, overused aphorism), many a burgeoning raver’s first time wandering into a jungle room at a party proved to be exceptionally transformative; not only were the beats different from the standard 4/4 pulse of house and techno, the whole atmosphere was distinctive: murky, ghetto, tough…in general, a lot less hugging going on than in the main room---but not in a bad way. In fact, sometimes, that vibe gelled perfectly with the large clothes you were wearing and that large blunt you were sharing. The first time I consciously remember smelling Nag Champa incense (I’m sure I’d smelled it before, but it never stuck with me like it did this time) was at a rave in Atlanta, summer of 1994; I just remember rolling-strolling into the jungle area, then still in its nascent beginnings as a genre, smelling that incredible smell, hearing these hard beats…all I could do was smirk so hard my face hurt the next day and nod along. Phantom 45 hails from Chi-town and is part of the windy city’s second generation of DJ heroes; spinning records since the late ‘80s, things really started picking up for Phantom around 1991, getting in on the ground floor of a rave scene that would, later in the decade, blossom into a behemoth. Along with being a veteran, Phantom built up one of the bigger (and, in my opinion, better) collections of self-made mixtapes over the years, and his skills deafeningly graced the insides of many a car jam packed with ravers, driving ridiculous amounts of miles to get to that next party. Brian knew his audience well and walked something of a populist line, deftly straddling the jungle subgenres of darkstep and jump-up with seeming ease; he was one of the hardest working DJ’s out there, often spinning at 2 or 3 parties a week, so his popularity was earned with both skills and exertion. I fondly recall riding the bus to work in Cleveland, jamming this tape loud on my walkman, gazing at the approaching skyline with heavy eyelids, strangers bobbing to and fro as the bus did its shuck & jive, the city smells, the density, the concrete, the drunk at the back of the bus who just pissed himself… like a soundtrack to some lost epic about life in the post-apocalyptic metropolis.
