Roger Fucking Sanchez, Or…

(Whatever fleur said to call it)

Toronto, Ontario

G’day “faithful readers” (wishful thinking, I know, but it’s practice for when there are readers for this website, and they actively follow the updates). On friday night just gone (3-31), I had the pleasure of seeing Roger Sanchez spin a set at Toronto’s This Is London Club. I’d like to tell you (and by “you” I mean probably the friend or two I tell to check out this site and the guy who I submit reviews to in return so far for the occasional email).

I’d managed to get myself and my “assistant” (girlfriend) on the guest list, which was a first for me, I told them I was reviewing for a magazine. Which in my case is true, but worth a try even if you can’t string together three words let alone a review. We’d gone shopping, I’d played Ken doll and looked, I’m told, pretty sexy. Button down white shirt, cream pants, hair in ponytail, not bad, right? The missus was all done up in a black dress, new shoes, and a sort of heirloom necklace. I even had drugs ready, purchased ages ago and waiting for the occasion. Imagine my surprise when I check my bag and the little baggie I was expecting has been replaced by… nothing at all. We turned the house upside down, to no avail. It’s no big deal really, but when one has the idea that he is going to get wasted and go dancing, one wants to get wasted and go dancing. We made due with scotch as best we could, and at around eleven thirty, headed out.

When we arrived, the line up was huge, the guest list was closed, and my girlfriend and I had had an argument in the cab. However between my memory, her persistence, and the door staff’s decency, we were allowed in. The rope was lifted, and the long line was left behind in the rain to wonder what it was that we had and they didn’t. Connections motherfucker, and moxy. All of the reviews of This is London Club that I’d read had lead me to expect an opulent space full of classy, affluent 25-35 year olds getting down as best they could. Which was half right. The club is beautiful, lots of chandeliers, a fireplace by the front door, some sort of wooden sculpture looking out over the dance floor, and six dollar mixed drinks. There was lots of glossy wood, and an impressive looking bar with impressive looking staff. And I suppose there were a fair few classy folks there, enjoying the music and having a good time. But it seemed like there were way more platinum blond, skirt showing beaver, top showing nipple, cowboy hat wearing skanks. It could be that that is a fair representation of the club scene in Toronto, I’m still doing the research. As for the dudes, well, for the most part they were friendly, though there was a round, hairy wasted guy speeding off his nut who looked like he was trying to start with me. There were a number of fellows just oogling. Without pretense, or disguise, just staring. To be fair, I was worried that the place might be a bit pretentious, but there is little to no pretense in a group of mostly Paris Hilton wannabe’s and mostly horny guys staring at them. If I had a complaint about the club it’d be that they just jam packed the fucker, so much so that when I went to the toilet, I was not allowed to get back down the the dance floor, where my girlfriend was. I’d like to use this occasion, however, to shower praise on the security staff again, one of which told me, sort of, that there was another set of stairs, though I didn’t hear it from him

Roger Sanchez was pretty fucking awesome. Off the heezy, in the parlance of our times. I was expecting him to be a douchebag based on the flier I have of him standing in front of a dramatic sunset with long hair, tatoo’s, and an “I’m the shit, bitch, you should be so lucky as to lick my asshole” look on his face. He looked like the cover of a Harlequin. Roger Sanchez in real life, however, has a shaved head, and loves music. One thing that was clear during the course of his 3+ hour STRAIGHT set was how much he loved the songs he was putting on, and how the crowd reacted. He seemed humble, even, and gracious. Watching the little grin on his face when the crown put their hands in the air like they just didn’t care, or the focus written in his eyebrows in the mix, as well as the sheer awesomeness of that mix made something clear to me. There is a big difference between the reasonably good D.J. spinning house tracks on a friday night, and Roger Sanchez. For one thing, he is just better at it. Secondly, the energy that must have built up over the weeks of waiting for Roger Sanchez to arrive exploded in the crowd, and was palpable. The mix was varied and banging. There was nothing particularly subtle about any of it, just big motherfucking track to big motherfucking track, holy shit, it doesn’t stop, FUCK YEAH! JUMP MOTHERFUCKER JUMP! And he did it in a way that didn’t feel like rough sex, or raw with pleasure feeling you get in your penis (and clitoris, as I understand) with too much stimulation. His entourage seemed like douchebags though, and I say that not having met or talked to any of them, but the look on their faces said “fuck me, I know Roger Sanchez”. I’d like to finish this paragraph on a positive note, and say that I can now see at least a little bit of truth in the superstar D.J myth, Roger Sanchez is in another league.

My girlfriend(assistant) arrived home at around four in the morning, where I with foresight had baby oil and two bite brownies waiting, and did my best to massage away the remainder of our tension. We were both worn out from arguing, dancing, and fulfilled expectations. Roger Sanchez rocked our world.

The End

One Response to “Roger Fucking Sanchez, Or…”

1. Leslie Willard says:

   April 10, 2006 at 4:41 pm

   What’s up DAN! Yes I looked at the website AGAIN!!! Lookin good man! Much better than the first peek I took-it’s coming along-didn’t have time to read much but I like the photos and the material. I better go back and find my picture…..