Session Transcript:
Derrick May
Red Bull Music Academy, Melbourne 2006

The video stream for this lecture can be watched here.

Words of wisdom from one of the most important musicians and DJs ever coming out of Detroit: Mr. Derrick May - one of the godfathers of techno. Listen to him philosophising about how you pull the strings of life in the right way and right direction. Never dance to your own music. Don't you ever dare to offer someone fruit with the promise how great the taste will be. Beware! There are a lots of shades of shit in an orange…

RBMA: »We have been trying for a very long time. Almost every year, I guess, with this whole Academy thing, but now finally to my left hand, please make him feel welcome, Mr. Derrick May.«

(applause)

Derrick May: »Thank you. How is everybody? Lunch was pretty good from what I could see. There is something called 'idus'. You know what idus is?«

Participant: »Yeah.«

Derrick May: »Oh, OK. Here we go. You're feeling idus right now? Idus is when you eat too much and you want to go to sleep. So don't go to sleep on me, alright?«

RBMA: »You were actually born not right within Detroit either, right?«

Derrick May: »No, I was born in Detroit proper.«

RBMA: »So what's this whole thing with Belleville and all that?«

Derrick May: »Who?«

RBMA: »Belleville and all these parts. Can you explain us a little bit?«

Derrick May: »Belleville?«

RBMA: »Yeah, like different parts of Detroit.«

Derrick May: »What's Belleville? Anybody here from Detroit? In the middle of this? Belleville. Belleville, man!«

RBMA: »Sorry, I have to work on my Detroit accent.«

Derrick May: »He said Bell Hill.«

RBMA: »No, Ville. But you know, we Germans have a problem with the V (speaks with strong German accent).«

Derrick May: »BMV. BMW. BMV.«

RBMA: »BMW.«

Derrick May: »BMW.«

RBMA: »There you go.«

Derrick May: »Belleville was a little suburban town that I moved to when my mother attempted to save my life. I was at the age of 13, was a young kid, fatherless, and I was just about to get into a lot of trouble. And she did what most mothers would do, she moved me out of my neighbourhood to save me from fucking up. That's it. That's the story. I ended up in Belleville where there was two other kids where their mothers did the same exact thing. From Detroit, and we became friends because of this particular school in Bellevile. It was really white, I can't even call it suburban, it was a farm town. It was like 5.000 people. It was horrible. So this is where we lived. I mean, you could count how many people of color, be it Asian, Indian, black or whatever where in the school on one fingernail. It was like eight of us. So we kind of became friends. And that was how I met Juan and Kevin.«

RBMA: »Who later became on to know surgeons and pharmacists.«

Derrick May: »Yes, and all that other shit. Yeah, that's right. He's being funny again. Come on you guys, wake up.«

RBMA: »We just try to get you over the food and all that.«

Derrick May: »I see. You’re on TV, did you know that (looks at the screen behind them)?«

RBMA: » I mean, who isn't on TV these days?«

Derrick May: »But, you know, they say you're ten pounds heavier when you're on. It would be two kilos, ten pounds, something like that. So you and I are looking pretty chunky right there. Yeah, we look pretty chunky, but we're OK.«

RBMA: »Saves us the workout, doesn't it?«

Derrick May: »We are a couple of Chubb Rock's, but we are alright. We're doing OK.«

RBMA: »Nothing wrong with Chubb Rock, though.«

Derrick May: »Nothing wrong with Chubb Rock. I don't mind being Chubb Rock. I could be a Chubb Rock today.«

RBMA: »So how do you go like from these people like Juan, Kevin and yourself there on some highschool?«

Derrick May: »…in the middle of nowhere.«

RBMA: »I mean, everyone who has ever been close to the Midwest knows that the middle of nowhere is literally the middle of nowhere.«

Derrick May: »Queensland minus people that's it, yeah. You know, it probably wasn't supposed to happen by anybody's standards. I think that's another reason why it caught everybody off guard. It first of all came from Detroit. We moved back to the city. It seemed ironic, we disconnected for a few years and Juan and myself became very good friends. I moved back to the city at that time and Juan did too. Kevin stayed in the suburbs and went to university. Kevin had a football scholarship, an American football scholarship so he played football. I was an athlete, I ran track. I went to school to run track and do all that, and Juan basically went to school and learned music. That was his thing. We basically all went our separate ways. I kept contact with Juan because I ended up getting put out of school for various reasons, whatever. So I had nowhere to go. I wouldn't tell my mother I was out of school. I just wouldn't tell her.«

RBMA: »So you were like one of these Japanese man leaving every morning with his schoolbag.«

Derrick May: »Fake. I was a fake motherfucker. Yes, I was scared to tell my mother. I was 18-years old and I was frightened, petrified to tell her that I've been put out of school. So there was no caller ID, there was no internet in those days. There was no way she could tell I was in school or not. So I could just call from any payphone and say: "Hey, I’m in school, blablablablabla." She had to believe me, right? What else could she do? She wasn’t going to drive five hours to see if I was there. On holidays, of course, but otherwise no. So I ended up moving in with Juan and his grandmother at that time. That's really when the connection about the music started. Because what we used to do, and it might seem like some sort of romantic fairy tale, it's not. And I wouldn't even begin to tell you one because you're not here for that. What we used to do - this is serious, I don't know if any of you guys can relate to this - we used to sit up almost every single night and we would discuss other people's music. This is before we even were making records. I'm talking, man, 1983. Who in here was born in 1983? (some participants raise hands.) Yeah, I figured that. OK, OK. So we’re sitting up in 1983 listening to, I don't know, be it David Bowie - Fashion, Kraftwerk – Trans Europe Express, Sly & The Family Stone and Funkadelic and whatever else was on the radio that was played by a guy named [Electric] Mojo. And this is at a time when radio was more like you would consider pirate radio to be, which almost doesn't exist anymore. It was free in a sense. You could listen to, you could hear whatever that particular personality was wanting to play. That was the identity of their show. That's what made their show. And this one guy, really, we latched onto him because he came on at midnight to five in the morning. And we'd lie in the bed, man. Juan would face East and I would face to West. My feet would be in his face and his feet would be in my face and we'd lie in the bed and we're like these two kids and we're thinking about how these guys made their records and what they must have been thinking about when they made it, which I'm sure they had no idea what they thought when they were making the music. We just assumed that they were so deep, so intellectual and we really build up this sort of impression what we thought represented or what it took to qualify or to make music. We kind of went way over the limit, we had no other impressions coming from Detroit. There was nothing happening so we build up this fantasy impression what we thought it took to qualify yourself to become this kind of person, this kind of musician, this kind of expert.«

RBMA: »How far did Mojo's way of presenting the show contribute to that?«

Derrick May: »He used to land a mothership. At twelve o'clock he would land a mothership. Or at ten o'clock, actually. He'd land a mothership. And it was a full-blown landing. Sound effects, close encounters, the soundtrack from the Close Encounters. He'd land a mothership. The first record would be maybe, he had a relationship with Prince and he had a relationship with George Clinton from Funkadelic. So they would give him their tracks before they got released. So he would play them but he didn't say who it was. He would say in his voice (imitates Mojo's voice): "Call in, see if you know who this is." You know who it was immediately, but that's what locked us in to him. When Juan made his first record, when he finally made his first record, which was I think, yeah, actually 1983, Alleys Of Your Mind, we took it down there. It was just a little 45 and we took it down to the station, and we knocked on the door, and they let us in, and we waited hours to meet this guy. Couldn't meet him, didn't meet him. So finally, I decided I'm going to meet this man. So I found out where he went after he finished his show at five o'clock in the morning. My mother went to work at 7.30 every morning and I didn't have the right to drive her car, she just wouldn't let me. But he used to go to breakfast at this place at 5.30 in the morning and it was just a few miles away from the house, but I couldn't get there quick enough. So what I would do is I would steal my mother's car. I actually stole my mother's car every morning and waited one hour and then I hustled back to the house and drop her car so she wouldn't notice that it was moved. Waiting for Mojo to show up to give him this record. One morning he finally did show up, and I got my mother's car back on time. He did show up and I gave him a copy of the record, it was 6.30 in the morning, the people that owned the restaurant said: "This kid has been coming here for months looking for you." I gave him the record, man and he said (imitates Mojo’s): "Thanks." That's the way he talked. Didn't hear from the guy for like about three, four days. Then we get a call to go down to the station. We meet him at the radio station, we actually had a chance to meet him, I brought Juan with me. He made us sit in the lobby of the radio station and he played the record and that changed our lives. I mean, really. That one moment changed our lives. And I don't think that exists anymore. Those kind of opportunities for an artist, it's not there, they can't do that anymore. Radio 1, Clear Channel, corporate has made it so difficult to do anything now, to be creative. So difficult to walk into a radio station or somewhere and make it happen. (sound coming from audience) That sounded like a fart. Somebody farted in here? Somebody snuck one in on top of the construction work, didn't you? OK, go ahead.«

RBMA: »Maybe in a way that was probably one of the first times that you met a musical hero of yours. How far did the personal encounter meet your expectations?«

Derrick May: »I think without that encounter we would not have done what we did. I'm sure of it, man. I'm sure of it. That's why I always greet kids when they come up to me. And I tell people: "Look, I don’t remember you." I don't remember everybody, it's impossible. I play every weekend of the year in a different country, two different countries every weekend. I can't remember everybody. But I certainly try to meet people and give them the courtesy and give them encouragement if I can. And I think that it's really a shame if somebody in this position can't do that.«

RBMA: »How do you keep that courtesy and the confidence and all that when you, let's say, you just got back from Japan and you're playing in Australia tonight and there is this kid who has been waiting for months, paid gazillions of dollars to go and see you, and you’re just tired, knackered as fuck, get off your decks and he’s like: "Yo, Derrick listen to this."?«

Derrick May: »You know, I tell you. Once again, I'm not perfect, I've made some mistakes and I'm sure I pissed some people off along the way (another sound followed by laughter coming from audience). Was that construction? Never mind, OK. I'm sure I've made some mistakes along the way, but I always fight hard for that. It's important, man, just to stop for two minutes. I've been with some guys and I won't say their names and I've seen them being rude. I've seen agents being rude to people, I've seen promoters being rude. I just don't get it. I don't get it. I really don't understand it. If you ever get the chance to really do something in this business, depending if you want to go professional as an executive or some sort of administrative position, or if you want to be an artist, don't forget people. Because there is some kid in line just like you waiting for the chance. You've got to remember that because that's the only reason I think that certain art forms perpetuate to continue. Unlike the massive commercial art forms. The underground, the artistic, alternative forms they exist because we encourage each other. We kind of lean on each other a little bit. Don't think I don't need you because I need you and I always try to say thank you. Even on my MySpace account I answer every single one of my own messages. I don't have anybody, I don't pay anybody to answer them, you know? I do my own.«

RBMA: » I mean, you're clocking the way to the top for what now? 30 years almost?«

Derrick May: »20-something, damn near.«

RBMA: »You're always there on the top headline and there are all these DJs who are like every day in their bedroom training to get that mix perfect and...«

Derrick May: »When I no longer deserve it, I don't want it. I used to hate guys that were just like pigeonholing a position and they were bullshit. They were wack, they lost it. They were dragging their balls on the ground. These kind of guys. When I become like that, if I can't look myself in the mirror and realise I'm still on top, I can't do it, I would be ashamed of myself.«

RBMA: »How would you recognise because you've been looking into that mirror for some 40 odd years now and you maybe don't...?«

Derrick May: »Because you have to able to be honest with yourself. I always tell this to every artist that has been on Transmat, every artist I come in contact with, I always tell them: "Look in the mirror and if you don't like what you see, look beyond yourself, look in the mirror." I saw some guys upstairs listening to their own music, producing music. I've never ever been able to dance to my music as I make it. I cannot understand that concept whatsoever. To me dancing to my own music as I produce it is like blowing my own horn. You know what I mean? It's a loaded question, it's almost like I give you this orange and say: "It tastes great!" Now you taste the orange and you say to me: "Damn, this is the nastiest orange." How do I tell him it tastes nasty? Because he just told me it tastes great. And I like Derrick, he's cool people. And you turn around and say: "Yeah, thanks bro." You'll never get an honest answer, you never get an honest opinion, you never really truly develop anything if you can't, if you're so involved in your own thing, you'll never move forward. And you'll never be able to help people to move forward. And in return they won't be able to help you if you don't open up and really give people all you got. And this business is all about you must be prepared to take a ton of criticism. The moment you go public you are public. I am yours, you’re not mine. I am subject of what you think of me, regardless of how I feel about you. It is the business. And once you step out there, once you give your music out, once you attempt to become a DJ, or a producer, your shit is out there and you have to accept whatever comes.«

RBMA: »You must have heard about every shade of shit that there is in an orange.«

Derrick May: »I got some shades now, you want some?«

RBMA: »Mhm.«

Derrick May: »Later, brother.«

RBMA: »No, no. How do you deal with it and how do you take that lesson to working with other people? Obviously, I mean you said it earlier, when you and Juan were there in your room it was a pretty easy way to communicate because that was your world, and you probably developed some kind of language that worked for you.«

Derrick May: »Yeah.«

RBMA: »As soon as, let's say Juan got his record ready, were you jealous?«

Derrick May: »No, not at all. I was actually, that's a very good question. I couldn't make music at the time. I wanted to make music, Juan wouldn't even let me watch him at all. He would close the door for two or three days, I wouldn't see him you would just hear it. You would hear it, you honestly would hear it but you would never see him. He wouldn't even come out of the damn room. He would just produce this stuff and then he would come out and he would let you hear the finished product. I learned from him in the very beginning never, never ever blow your own horn. Don't do it. Don't ask somebody hear your music, don't let anybody hear your product, or your film production, or your writings, or whatever it is, your paintings. Never say to anybody: "I just did this work, it’s great. Check it out." That's bullshit. You'll never move forward if you think like that.«

RBMA: »How do you phrase it when you are looking for someone else's opinion?«

Derrick May: »”I just finished this. I'll be back.”«

RBMA: »OK.«

Derrick May: »That's it. “I just finished this, that's for you.” Boom. I don't have to ask you what you think because you'll tell me what you think if you decide you like it. If you don't tell me shit, then I know what you thought. Can anybody understand what I'm saying? Yeah? How many people have given up their music here or their production, whatever they do, and asked a friend or somebody that they thought would admire or respect it. "Check this out, it’s great!" Has anybody ever done that by mistake? Because, you know, it happens, right? Has anybody ever done that? Nobody wants to put their hand up? OK. Don't do it again (laughter). Save yourself a waste of time because they will never be honest with you. People will always bullshit you. They'll never tell you the truth. They are afraid that they will hurt your feelings, they like you too much.«

RBMA: »What do you do with friends when you know that they could do better and they just didn't fulfill their potential.«

Derrick May: »I dog them. I burn them. I destroy them. Because I have no time for losers. I really don't. I'm a very competetive person, I don't live on the outside, I live in the middle and I fight hard. I don't take prisoners. So in my camp, you can't do it? Get out! And that's just the way I take it. I am too busy trying to do something and it's been a very, very difficult process the last 20-something years to be dealing with people that are afraid. Don't be afraid! If you are afraid to make a mistake, you can't work with me. If you want to take a chance and you fuck up, I can live with that and I'll help you. But if you're afraid, just simply afraid, no time. You have to get over that now.«

RBMA: »Do you separate work and friendship there?«

Derrick May: »No, not with me. No, I can’t. I'm unfortunately, I am completely engulfed in this. This is who I am. I live this shit every day.«

RBMA: »Do you get feelings of loneliness?«

Derrick May: »No, no time for that.«

(laughter)

RBMA: »That's a tough one then.«

Derrick May: »I don't have time for that.«

RBMA: »So what do you have time for?«

Derrick May: »I have time for my two year old daughter. I love her, she's amazing, she steals my heart. I have time to be constructive to all those who want to learn or understand, but I am not your friend, and I will not be your friend. I'll tell you the truth and you'll hate me for it, but you'll go far, and you'll do well, and you'll remember that somebody was honest and told you the truth and saved you a waste of time. You know, but you will not like me. You will not like me, but you will truly, at the end of it, you will be a better person for having somebody told you the truth.«

(...)

»If you say: “Derrick, I want to come to Detroit and I want to work with you,” I say to you: “Well, that’s a hell of a thing to do.” I say: “I’m not going to pamper you, I’m not even going to buy you food. I’m not going to do shit.” And I’m going to put you through hell. I’m going to make you hurt, I’m going to make you understand what it is to be from my city, what it is to understand what these guys that have made this music have suffered and done. How they had to work hard for their credibility and to build a standard for what little bit of a standard they have. Let’s not fool ourselves. Techno music is by all means, by most people’s standards, a piece of shit. You know, I mean, really! I’m talking about the general impression of electronic music is just 'That’s some bullshit!'. That’s that ‘eheheh’ stuff. If I went to some people outside of this room and just said: “I’m playing techno music,” they would just say: “Oh, great, OK. We’ll be there. Sure we’ll come tonight.“ Right? That’s pretty much what would happen. But if I was to explain: “It’s not that kind of techno thing and it’s this not and I come from and…” By the time I do all that I’m selling, I’m begging, I’m pushing too hard. So if you want to come to my city and learn something, if you truly want to become a cadet in a sense, because that’s what it’s going to be like for you, and there are some people in this room that have actually been to Detroit and had to suffer the slings and arrows of the outrageous world of Detroit techno, and they have come back better people. But it is not the kind of environment where you go and you feel all fuzzy and warm.«

RBMA: »What’s the reason for all the military language in Detroit techno?«

Derrick May: »I think because… (to techs) My mic just got louder, did you put an effect on it or something? What just happened there? Oh, that’s better. I think it has got a lot to do with the fact that the guys in Detroit have kind of latched onto this military support thing. It’s just a thing, something they feel comfortable with. They feel as if they are battling the world. I do too sometimes. I can’t say outside of that. I think all musicians, except maybe for Eminem, that come from Detroit now feel that way.«

RBMA: »But he has still got enough anger in him to feel that Neumann mic there.«

Derrick May: »I don’t think it’s anger, I think it’s a focused sort of determination. I think it’s more like being angry, I wouldn’t say he’s angry. I’d say he’s more like: "I want to prove that this is what it’s all about. I’m determined to prove this."«

RBMA: »But isn’t a clever way of fighting a war a lot more about determination than about anger?«

Derrick May: »Mhm, yeah. You answered that question. This thing is running? It’s the subwoofer that is making us sound really good. We got good voices.«

(tuning down their voices)

RBMA: »Bababa, yes, aha.«

Derrick May: »Yeah, I like that. Sounds sexy like Barry White.«

(laughter)

RBMA: »”Welcome to the underground lair.”«

Derrick May: »Welcome, uhh.«

RBMA: »So they are back. I’m still totally in love with that image of you and Juan and your naked toes in that bedroom listening to music.«

Derrick May: »I said naked toes with… Stop! Let me clear that shit up!«

(laughter)

RBMA: »Pyjamas?«

(laughter)

Derrick May: »Let me clear the whole goddamn thing up. Let me clear this up. Big bed!«

(laughter)

RBMA: »Mhm.«

Derrick May: »Two young guys. Brothers.«

RBMA: »Mhm.«

Derrick May: »Best friends, laying in the bed with clothes. Listening to music, you understand? Four o’clock in the morning kind of shit, the radio is playing. He’s laying that way, his head is down there, his feet down here and I’m this way. This stuff there is not happening.«

RBMA: »Yeah, it’s like way back in ‘69.«

Derrick May: »Stop all that.«

(laughter)

RBMA: »How did you guys find out about the technology to achieve those alien sounds?«

Derrick May: »I think because Juan had a good friend named Rick Davis who was really like, he was a Vietnam veteran. The dude was way into Jimi Hendrix and all this space style stuff at the time. He believed in the Book of Revelations from the bible. Seriously, like he really believed in it to the point where he…«

RBMA: »So he was the Detroit techno Hunter S. Thomson?«

Derrick May: »Rick Davis is that guy, 100%. So he was the guy who took Juan and basically created him. He made Juan. He gave Juan all the knowledge and the opportunity. But he didn’t really believe we deserved it. Like I said, Juan did not show us how to make music, I say myself and Kevin. He didn’t show us anything, as a matter of fact, for several years. It was very difficult to get him to tell us anything. It was a real secret, it was really sacred. It wasn’t something you shared back then. You didn’t share this. This was very special. A synthesist at the time, a real synthesist, was not a person that shared this music. He didn’t do it. They took this work very serious. Now, with the age of technology you don’t even have to be a synthesist, you don’t even have to know what a synthesizer is to make music. I’m all for technology, I’m all for the future, 100%, but I just don’t find the future not a 100% into being creative. The future is not necessarily a creative sort of, it doesn’t have a creative agenda. We’ll becoming less creative, not just in making music but in everything. So I think that was a very special time, to actually be able to play a keyboard and make a song.«

RBMA: »Why is this Rick Davis guy so uncredited?«

Derrick May: »Because he never wanted any credit. He really went left of all of that. He’s still around, he’s about 60-years old. I think that Juan has been talking about working with him again on the Cybotron album, but overall that he’s been very happy with the fact that he doesn’t go around getting all that credit. He’s got his name on a lot of songs that have been sampled. All the Cybotron material, I don’t know if you’re familiar with Cybotron or not, but Cybotron is Juan Atkins, that’s his ultimate project that he did. Almost every single song on the album has been sampled by every major artist in the industry. So I think he lives quite well from that. They do quite well from Missy Elliott and all these artists sampling their music over and over again.«

RBMA: »Did you feel that was some kind of a late justice thing of them being properly paid with that sample being cleared on the Ford commercial and all of that?«

Derrick May: »Yeah, I think that’s cool. It’s a roundabout way to give credibility. The same to be said for Strings Of Life. I made Strings Of Life with another guy named Michael James and you asked me a question earlier roughly about the way it was made, I’ll answer that in a second. But here’s a song that I made almost 20 years ago, it did very well at the time, it was considered a classic the week after it was made. But it really only became a real a true hit last summer as far as the remake is concerned, which I can’t stand. But if I didn’t sign off on it they would’ve released it anyway.«

RBMA: »There must’ve been some parallel universe, because I think that most of us didn’t even register.«

Derrick May: »You know, I can’t stand it. I was in Hong Kong last week and had people coming up to me asking me to play Strings Of Life, so I played it, my version.«

RBMA: »Which of the 800 versions?«

Derrick May: »No, the only version, the Transmat version. I played it and the girl came back and she said: “That’s not Strings Of Life, that’s something else that’s been copied.” I just said: “What?” The way she said that to me, "What?" I went… (he pretends to hit that girl / laughter)«

RBMA: »I hope you didn’t have the same thing about your daughter then.«

Derrick May: »No, no, no, it’s all good. Honestly, though, I ended up giving her my only copy of Strings Of Life which I had. I have more in Detroit but I don’t have anymore with me. I said: “You take this, and you listen to it, and you compare it to this version that you think is Strings Of Life, which is unfortunately called Strings Of Life, which I signed off on, which has my name on it.«

RBMA: »But there’s a rent to pay.«

Derrick May: »No, no, I’m not having problems with rent.«

RBMA: »But they would’ve done it anyway.«

Derrick May: »That’s the issue.«

RBMA: »I mean, do you still own the publishing rights and everything to it?«

Derrick May: »Yes, all that.«

RBMA: »OK, so otherwise what would’ve they done?«

Derrick May: »They would’ve illegally put it out and my name wouldn’t have been on it and I wouldn’t have made any money and I wouldn’t have been able to do things that help young kids do a record label and continue to do other things with that extra money. So I did the right thing.«

RBMA: »Wasn’t one of the great things of the liberation that came within electronic music and the post-techno kind of ethos that you didn’t necessarily have to have like 1500 years of jazz training to put out a really good record?«

Derrick May: »Yeah, and that’s one thing why we were very, very selective in Detroit of what we did. Because we always wanted to make sure that people knew we were playing the music. We weren’t using the synthesizers or the sequencers or the programs just like a sort of crutch, it was an asset but it wasn’t a crutch. In other words, Strings Of Life, the piano was real, it’s performed. The orchestra bits that you hear, what I did was I went down to the local orchestra hall in my city and I had access to recording various progressions from the orchestra, because my mother has friends within the local music community. I was able to go down there when I was a kid, to get all these sounds. I recorded them to cassette and I had them for years. I put them into the old Mirage Ensoniq sequencer and I still perform them. I actually played progressions on the keyboard to produce the notes that you hear on the song. So it’s actually performed complete. That’s all I’m saying. I just would really hope that you guys are able to encourage people, be it through MySpace or yousendit or whatever it is, to continue to collaborate and play music. Not just lean on technology for the worst parts. It’s cool to use it in an advantage like that to team up on a creative level with people. But do not just turn around and become this sort of acidic musician that doesn’t have any sort of musical history or quality and you’re not really attempting to develop or to make anything that’s going to change or make a difference. You’re just sort of riding the coat tails of technology.«

RBMA: »If we dissect Strings Of Life as an example, a lot of the feeling, a lot of the energy certainly derives from the DJ aesthetics in there and draws from you hearing DJs like Ron Hardy and stuff in Chicago, the whole punch in/punch out kind of thing. Could you enlighten us a little bit about how the actual mixing process in the writing of the track contributes in comparison to setting blocks on a screen?«

Derrick May: »Any of you ever sat down to an analogue mixing console? OK, there is quite a big difference between an analogue console and a digital console. Digital consoles, as you do know, it’s pretty much an all in one package. You do have certain outboard gear, which will be considered effects units, various different units. But mostly, with a digital unit you’ve got your software package along with your board and that’s basically how you operate and create. You’re looking on a screen, you see different diagrams, different whatever. With an analogue board you’re actually working with your ears and you’re working with instincts. There is a tremendous amount of instinct involved with making music through an analogue process. It’s very different. I would like to encourage all of you if you ever get the chance to work on an analogue board. Actually, get an analogue board and hook it up to a digital source. That’ll be very, very cool. Get the best of both worlds. Stacey Pullen, I don’t know if any of you ever heard of him, he’s a good friend and a very good recording artist, he just recently purchased himself a SSL board. And he got it for, I don’t know, 7000$. This is a million dollar recording console ten years ago. You get it for 7000$, that’s unbelievable, US Dollars. Try to get your hands on as much analogue stuff as you can and implement it into your technology. You’ll find that there are advantages in doing that. Don’t just turn your back on that stuff because it has a sort of hiss or a certain amount of resonance or whatever. It’s called ambience in our world where I come from. Character, that’s a good thing. That’s not a bad thing. It’s not a bad thing to hear a little bit of history from that machine. But as I was saying, punching in and out, the difference between that and mixing with a mouse is a very big difference. You have to experience it hands-on. It’s the difference between driving an automatic car and a manual. There’s a very big difference.«

RBMA: »You’re from a country where people don’t like to drive stick. I mean, is it probably just us who are trying to be old, retro, romantic kind of people who say we want that human kind of element and probably it’s just a way of: "Hey, let’s wake up, it’s the 21st century. We’re all half cyborgs now anyway.” When you look at the amount of breast surgery going on and god knows what.«

Derrick May: »Like I said, that’s the both worlds. I have no problem with technology. I just recommend it to lean on and depend on it a 100%, I think it’s too easy. I think it’s really to easy that way. I don’t know. It’s just too easy. It’s just too easy to roll over and give it all up like that and not to really use your imagination and find out. I don’t want a computer to tell me what I can and can’t do. I don’t want to have to fight a machine that tells me that I can’t do something. And that’s the way I fell with a bit of technology. I feel, in the mixing process, for instance, when you’re going to do a final mix you find yourself limited with the mastering process compared to mixing down the tape. Let’s say a two track recording machine, which is very rare and hard to find these days. The machine is easy to find, what’s hard to find is the tape for the machine. The difference between recording on a tape in a mastering or finishing process compared to recording to a digital process is a difference between us sitting here and being real people and these being holograms. It is completely different. It’s like the difference between CDs and vinyl. There is a tremendous difference in depth of quality, db, various things. There is a difference.«

RBMA: »Obviously, there has always been a strong affirmation and fascination with European electronics in Detroit, but the Transmat sound and Trevor Horn, that’s like totally opposite polars.«

Derrick May: »Not really. Because he felt, Trevor Horn, anybody here is familiar with Art Of Noise or Frankie Goes To Hollywood or Propaganda, all that stuff? That was nice stuff, man. It’s still today. When I listen to that I just have to sit back and just turn on the surround. Just check it out, man. That’s beautiful. The way they layered it, the technical sort of EQing and just the amount of time they put into that sound.«

RBMA: »Technology-wise, I mean, that’s obviously…«

Derrick May: »It was on point at that time.«

RBMA: »Without a doubt. But then on the other hand what many people were so relieved about with Detroit techno was that it somehow incorporated some sort of post-soul …«

Derrick May: »Minimalism to it at the time, yeah. Well, we didn’t want that sound. But we felt like he was one of the few people that understood electronic music. That’s why we gravitated to the man. We went to him because we felt like this dude understands electronic music. And that will make sense. There were no other record labels at that time that had that kind of juice, that will give you the kind of freedom to make the music you wanted to make.«

RBMA: »When was the first time you ever went to Europe?«

Derrick May: »Oh, man. That would be 1989. And I played a party, actually no, I didn’t play a party. I went, I met, what’s Roland’s last name from Fine Young Cannibals? I can’t remember. I think you know what I’m talking about. Met him and did a mix for one of their songs. And it was the first time I ever was in a gigantic big studio. I didn’t know what the hell I was doing. I had no idea. I’ve never seen a SSL board, I never in my life seen all these EQs and all these outboard pieces of equipment. I didn’t know what the hell was going on. I had to actually fake it, I winged it.«

RBMA: »What did you work on before?«

Derrick May: »Oh, man. We had a Tascam, little 16-track Tascam, little 8-track Fostex. That’s all we worked on.«

RBMA: »What were the pieces of gear you actually…?«

Derrick May: »Yamaha, Roland and Korg keyboards. Korg sequencers, Roland sequencers, Roland drummachines, Roland drummachines and Roland drummachines. That’s right.«

RBMA: »Did Roland ever pay you ever any sort of respect of rejuvenating them?«

Derrick May: »Met the guys in Japan, nice guys, cheap motherfuckers (laughter). Didn’t give me squad. Nothing. “Hey, you know, we revolutionised your shit. We took the shit to the next level, dog!” (laughter) “It’s because of us that people are down with your shit today.” “Arigato.” (laughter) “Give me some shit.” Nothing. Not a goddamn thing. Motherfuckers. But that did me not like them machines anymore. It’s like when you meet your favourite actor or whatever and he’s an asshole, he’s no longer your favourite actor. That wasn’t the case with Roland. Still love them today. You know, it just is what it is sometimes in certain situations. I think they were truly appreciative of the fact that we were able to sort of giving their instruments that kind of…«

RBMA: »Second, third and eighth wind.«

Derrick May: »Yeah! You know, qualified with every single musician that makes electronic music to a degree, but I don’t think they understood exactly what we did. And once again, that goes back to coming from Detroit. And not having the kind of well-oiled sort of machine that you need to make it work. You don’t have to be super-corporate, but you do need to have your business sense together in this industry a little bit. You do need to have some idea of what you’re going to do if you are going to make a record on your own, if you’re going to become an independent artist. How you are going to promote yourself, how you are going to make it work? So that when you get the opportunity to meet some of these people out here you actually have a product, and you have a way to make them believe you also know how you can intertwine or relate their product with your product. That’s part of making this thing work. It’s not just about making great music. It’s very simple to make a great record, it’s very difficult to make a great situation so that it turns into other things, and you’re not under control. Which all of you obviously don’t want to be. That’s why you’re here, right?«

RBMA: »Can you give us any sort of sense how your sense of business changed between or before and after the infamous techno compilation?«

Derrick May: »Well, we used to sell about maybe like between 3000 and 5000 records a week when we first started out. We used to put them in the trunk of the car, two trunks, Kevin’s car and a friend’s car, I didn’t have a car back then. You know, I was stealing my mother’s car, of course. And we used to drive, I think it was James Pennington’s car, we used to drive from Detroit to Chicago every single week with 3000 to 4000 records in the trunk of the car, and we would sell them to the record stores. 'Imports etc. ', there were so many record stores in Chicago at that time. Chicago would buy up, and in Detroit we could sell, there was a record store called Buy Rite Records, still there, as a matter of fact. They would even sell at least 700, 800 a week. We were able to move all these records, coming back with money. It was C.O.D., there was no 30 days, there was no 60 or 90 days on the return of the money. Because the music was so hot, because of what the Hot Mix 5 and the Chicago house scene was doing, Farley, Steve Hurley, Chip E., all these guys, Fast Eddie, what have you.«

RBMA: »To most of us these names are dinosaurs. Can you probably open the encyclopedia, what we would find there?«

Derrick May: »You would find Marshall Jefferson, you’d find Joe Smooth and all these guys. They’ll be right there. These are the guys that invented house music. (yells) House music does not come from London! It comes from Chicago. Some brothers made it, they didn’t know what they were doing, they had no sense of business or how to build a relationship in business. They went to London so excited and happy and they just gave it up. Sort of like blues. You ever heard of Chuck Berry? B.B. King? Muddy Waters? Well, on the parallel of that you got Farley 'Jackmaster' Funk, Steve Hurley, Chip E., you know, Joe Smooth, Marshall Jefferson. Same thing. Anyway, we went there, we sold these records, and we would pick up the money instantaneously, come back with ten grand, turn it over, we recorded more records, in the process making more records. That’s how we made a lot of money. We actually stopped making money once we started dealing with Europe. That’s when it all kind of went pear-shaped.«

RBMA: »So what happened then? They sent over this guy, he wrote a story, did a compilation, and then what?«

Derrick May: »What happened was that I went over to Europe on that trip to do that remix for Fine Young Cannibals and I met a gentleman named Neil Rushton who would be my agent. We actually had some meetings and then he took me to some record companies, so that they could hear my music, these great demos: Nude Photo, It Is What It Is, Feel Surreal, Strings Of Life, I don’t know, Beyond The Dance. Maybe four or five other songs that were on this particular little cassette or whatever I had packaged. And the execs were on the telephone while my demo was playing, we never got a proper amount of respect out of anybody. So we just kind of left, and that was pretty much the extent of my first meeting with record companies. And shortly after that, I think something happened. One of the records exploded and then Neil called us from London and said: “They want to do a compilation.” And we put together the compilation, the very last song on the compilation, which no one even thought about putting on the compilation, was Big Fun, a record from Kevin Saunderson. It was the last song. It was like: “What are we going to put in here now? We have everything. What goes on here?” And Kevin pulls this song out of his bag, “Oh, I got this piece of shit.” So we said: “It’s pretty bad.” “Yeah, it’s pretty bad.” “What can you do to it?” “Take it back to the studio and have Juan mix it.” So Juan doesn’t mix, so they just boost up the vocals and put it on there. And nobody expected for that song to do anything. And here we are five million albums later. And I think that song probably was as important to the Detroit electronic movement as it was to the electronic music movement.«

(...)

»I have a couple of records with me. I brought some things that I’m playing now, things that I like. I didn’t bring a lot of music. I also have a CD of a DJ set that I did a few years ago, which is more or less a mix of current club music and Chicago music and disco music and Detroit techno. I could sort of put that on and let that roll in the background.«

RBMA: »As a little wake up kind of thing.«

Derrick May: »Wake up, motherfuckers. Goddamn.«

RBMA: »When you talk about he was this ball of fire and that glow and stuff, and obviously he paid like the ultimate price for being on fire so much.«

Derrick May: »I have vinyl by the way, folks, but I’m going to put the CD in, because it’s a live mix from Japan. About two years ago, and I’m just going to let it play and we can continue to talk or you can listen to it and make a comment as we go. And it is recorded with actual microphones within the audience, so you’re hearing the party itself.«

(music: Derrick May - DJ set from Japan)

»How loud do you want that?«

RBMA: »Mhm? A little earlier we talked about Ron Hardy being this blaze of energy, the ball of fire, and ultimately he paid the ultimate price for being so energetic. You being in this trade for so long now, how do you keep that fire burning without imploding like a supernova?«

Derrick May: »You know, I told Carl Craig all the time, I said: “Carl, learn from my mistakes. Learn from my mistakes.” He has learned. His record label is phenomenal, Planet E Records. It is a wonderful label, he is a wonderful artist, he works for various projects. I didn’t set myself up to be so dynamic, but I make sure those around me are. Such as, I told you before, I’m hard, embrace it, I’m a bracer. I push these guys, Kenny Larkin, Stacey Pullen, Carl Craig, I push them hard, so that they can do many, many things. They can look way outside the box, and I think that one reason why I’m driven is because I’m so locked into this. And the difference is with them that they’re locked into many things. I have a very sort of, you can almost say, I walk a very tight rope. While they walk on a big net. They could spring off and do many, many things. What drives me is that this rope is so tight, so narrow, that if I make one move left or right I slip and fall, and I’m off. So I have to stay on my shit.«

(music continues)

»What I try to do is mix Detroit, New York, worldwide music, I don’t care where it comes from. But I do try to always show an emphasis of where I come from when I play. That’s what you hear. You keep a look on that watch, do you?«

RBMA: »We’re doing good.«

Participant: »I was just reminded of something. Your DJ style is very dynamic, you’re just mashing shit up all the time. It made me think of David Mancuso’s ideology, yours and his are kind of antithetical. He seems to be coming from a position where he states that like it’s a heavily egotistical thing to interfere with records and things like that. He leaves spaces between his tracks.«

Derrick May: »I know he does.«

RBMA: »I’m just curious to know what your opinion about that is.«

Derrick May: »I think that’s cool. I think he is a purist by definition. He loves the music first and foremost. Different. I mean, he’ll come to my parties and be dancing. I appreciate and love what he does and it’s nice to get that back from somebody who you respect, who is not judging you, but would judge others who do it not right. So, yeah, I see your point there. I got no problem with that whatsoever. If you do it correct, or if you do it as it feels right, this moves people. That is really what it’s all about. I’ll be told without being told if it’s right, believe me. See, the audience doesn’t have to, they don’t have to say anything. If they don’t dance, they don’t move, that’s everything. That says it all. That’s why you never have to ask people what they think. The truth will be told. The truth is in the pudding, brother. It’s there.«

(points towards a participant)

»Young lady, to answer your question. The music that you’re hearing now is, some of it is 20 years old, some of it is four years old, when I did this. I try to intertwine all forms of music together, old and new. Now the song that’s coming in right now is a song that is considered a classic by most people’s standards, Lil’ Louis - French Kiss. Can anybody hear that? It’s considered a classic by most people’s standards, and I try to show the sort of innovation of the early shit compared to what’s going on today. To show people that it’s not all that different when it’s done right. When it’s done right, it’s right, right? Listen to old hip hop records compared to some new stuff today, it’s popping, it’s popping. That’s it. It doesn’t make a difference. So that’s what I try to do when I play. That’s my whole point. So call me what you want, old school, this school or whatever. I like to show all the connections.«

(music: inaudible first part of question from participant)

Participant: »Hello? Test, yes? To me, the essence of techno, is something futuristic and looking to the future. It’s kind of interesting that some music might be 20 years old but it still sounds like it represents the future in some way or shape or form. I’m wondering, do you still look for music that is sort of pushing forward or is trying to break some kind of mould?«

Derrick May: »Yeah, I do, and I find it more and more difficult every day. That’s a very good question. The fact that vinyl is, which is amazing, in less than two years become almost extinct. People have just rolled over and fell for the okey-doke, and everyone just stopped making vinyl. I knew it was coming, we all knew it was going to happen, but it’s just been really sudden. It’s not like I wasn’t prepared for it or anybody wasn’t prepared for it. But god, it happened quick. So it’s become very interesting times for music. I think that you might imagine that it’s a really free and open time to make records, but I think it actually it’s a dangerous time, because the more people make downloads, and the more CDs there are available, the less people seem to be listening. The less people seem to be concentrating on searching out and seeking good music. They’re just searching out quantity not quality. That’s what makes it dangerous. It’s the quantity aspect of it. The quality should always be number one, but you’re not getting quality because you’re not able to find it. There is nobody out there sitting back telling you this is the hot record of the moment, this group is the new group of the moment. You’re being told now by Viacom, Radio 1 and Clear Channel. MTV is telling you who your hot groups are again, they’re now controlling it. It’s really interesting. We’ve kind of given up that little aspect of our control on a creative level by sort of falling in line indirectly.«

RBMA: »But then again, I mean, if you…«

Derrick May: »That’s why MySpace is important, even though it is corporate. It’s still very much at the moment, still locked in to youth culture, which is very important.«

RBMA: »The Murdoch/MySpace discussion.«

Derrick May: »I didn’t say Murdoch!«

RBMA: »If you think back of how much time you invested in doing a radio mix, with all the edits and all that kind of stuff, and, you know, that culture. You’ve mentioned people in Chicago, you mentioned people like the Mojo, the Wizard you didn’t mention, but all these people that invested so much time in just getting like half an hour or one hour of radio to be something incredibly unique.«

Derrick May: »I don’t think anybody did it to be sitting here today. You know what I mean? Did you do what you did to be sitting here today?«

RBMA: »I can’t think that much forward, you know? But then again, isn’t it probably a good thing? I mean, if Wajeed over there was going to do the same kind of thing this afternoon, he’d be able to have the chance to distribute that to all these kids wherever around the world.«

Derrick May: »Doesn’t want to, it’s so weird. It’s a good question. He doesn’t want to, for instance. I saw Mojo recently and I said: “Man, you should get back on the radio, you got satellite radio and all those things.” (changes his voice) “Erm, I don’t want to do that anymore. I’ve done it, man.” And I understand that.«

RBMA: »Are people afraid of the pressure again?«

Derrick May: »I think it’s kind of you get magic in the bottle once. You don’t go back and try to capture it again. You don’t even know you captured it. When you get magic you don’t know you got it. Just got it. You don’t try to grab something that you don’t know how you got it in the first place. You just run with it. You run with it until it runs out. That´s why you say about me doing this, and when do I realise, when do I know my time is over? My time will be over when I’ll look in the mirror and I’ll know. I’ll know. Because I won’t wake up hungry anymore. But right now, I’m severely hungry, full of desire, you know?«

RBMA: »Desire for what?«

Derrick May: »I’m full of desire. I’m still full of desire to play and to be around young people. I’m 43-years old and I’m still very much into this. I love it. I love it completely. I couldn’t imagine doing anything else right now. I mean, I do a lot of things. I work with a lot of different projects, but I really love what I do. And if you don’t love it, if you become jaded, if you become some sort of, you know, just thing, then get out! Move on. You’re wasting space. Like you said, am I holding up space or do I ever think of myself as holding up space for some young kid who is hungry climbing the ladder? I try to help a lot of those guys so that I am not holding them up. And I love the challenge. Bring it on. «

RBMA: »So it’s a similar thing as, let’s say, in hip hop if Dr. Dre is too busy doing things, he would let Scott Storch do a beat and…«

Derrick May: »He should.«

RBMA: »Well, he did.«

Derrick May: »That’s good.«

RBMA: »But I mean, this whole system there that you have to work for someone in the studio first, and you don’t get any credit, and then later on you will eventually get the credit and you can always say: “Look, I worked on this and that.” Is there a similar system in techno?«

(music starts again)

Derrick May: »Well, yeah. Mike Banks went always out of his way. He’s got a gigantic building and he’s open to everybody. He’s always trying to help people. He wants to make sure that people get the opportunity to make music and do things. «

RBMA: »The bootcamp.«

Derrick May: »The bootcamp, that’s where it comes from. That’s why I say you can come to Detroit and you could hang out with us, but it doesn’t just happen because you’re there. I remember Melbourne always being a really interesting place for electronic music, it was always to me. I felt there was a real sort of passion here where it was about to explode. I think promoter politics kind of got in the way a little bit of what has happened here, but I think that the fact that we’re sitting here now says it still can happen. It’s still trying to happen. You can’t really squash creativity. You can sort of push it back for a minute, but it’s coming anyway. A revolution is a revolution. Small or big. Any questions? About anything?«

[Crew member] Nick Dwyer] »Obviously, what you guys did at some point was exported to Europe and took on a life of its own. I want to know what’s your whole opinion on what happened in Germany over the years, and in recent time the whole minimal thing, which, if you listen to music from Ricardo Villalobos and Richie Hawtin, it’s such a far far cry from what this pulse coming out of Motor City?«

Derrick May: »Not necessarily. That’s a good point, though. But first I’ll answer your first part of the question. Germany, I’d say back in ‘89, because Germany was a place that I was visiting with Jeff Mills quite a lot, and we were in Berlin all the time. This is in Berlin before the wall was down, of course. We were playing E-Werk and all these clubs there.«

RBMA: »The wall was still up? Down?«

Derrick May: »The wall was still up.«

RBMA: »No, but, erm.«

Derrick May: »No, the wall was down then.«

RBMA: »The Final Cut time was when it was still up.«

Derrick May: »Yeah. You know, we played all these different clubs over there. And then, we eventually when the wall came down, played E-Werk, and E-Werk is a very cool place to play. But the sound, I think what has happened in Germany is very much tied to Detroit. For instance, the Basic Channel guys, they call Detroit a home away from home. And they’re basically responsible for the complete minimal sound. Moritz and Mark, nice people. They bought a building right next door to my building, as to be close to the sound. Not, once again, to imitate or copy it. Just to be close to the energy, they created this thing to know what it is. You understand? If you go deep sea diving, you don’t want to be a fish, you may want to be a fish, but you know you can’t be a fish. But you certainly want to see how they live, you certainly want to experience and appreciate it, and be able to take those experiences back to wherever you come from. And that is exactly what they did. And it took them years to be able to really establish that sound. And most people don’t even realise that Basic Channel is responsible for the complete minimal sound in Germany. Richie Hawtin…«

RBMA: »They didn’t have the happiest times in the beginning in Detroit either, right?«

Derrick May: »No! Not at all. No, Mark had some pretty rough times.«

RBMA: »I mean, and Richie too. With being a white kid from the other side of the river and all.«

Derrick May: »Richie had some very difficult times. Richie was not welcomed in Detroit in the beginning. He was really hated. Completely. Mike Banks threatened him, he’s going to break his neck. They don’t want him around. The only one who liked Richie at the time was Kenny Larkin. And that was it. Richie fought, though. Got to give him a lot of respect. He fought, he made people respect him. And that’s a very difficult thing to do. But the minimal sound, to answer your question, it was a sound that did get his roots in Detroit, very much so. Very much so. What’s happening in Berlin now, is a definite connection to what happened in Detroit. And that’s why Richie, Magda and all these other artists from Detroit have moved to Berlin.«

Nick Dwyer: »What’s happening with Rob Hood?«

Derrick May: »What’s happening with Rob Hood? Go on google, I don’t know. I imagine he’s OK. He moved to Texas, didn’t he?«

RBMA: »The last thing I heard he was in Vienna.«

Derrick May: »He bought a big ass farm in Texas, or Alabama, actually, I’m sorry. He bought a farm in Alabama.«

RBMA: »Probably been listening to Martin Luther King for a while.«

Derrick May: »I think so. He bought a farm in Alabama. I can’t tell you what he’s doing on that farm. He could be raising techno crop or something, I don’t know (laughs), I don’t know what he’s doing. But Rob is good people, though. I don’t know what he’s up to. Come on guys, let’s have something to talk about here.«

Participant: »I was wondering if you could kind of help paint the picture of Detroit for those who have never been there. I mean, when I hear Strings Of Life it’s almost a theme song for the city. If you ride through the city you can kind of feel like… I just want, if you can, put it to words what Detroit is for you and what it means to you. And most of all, why you are still there?«

Derrick May: »You know, it’s interesting. I rarely ever meet any people from Detroit that know anything about the music that we do. I mean, all the music. Mike Banks is this, as we call, he’s this high yellow brother. I mean, he’s banana yellow. But he’s as black as this damn machine inside (points towards mixer). I mean, he’s like this militant black dude. You have to know him to know him. But I think the music is so much pain, is so much anguish. When you ride through the city it’s like ‘uuuhh’. You know, I’m going to try to explain that, because that’s a good one. That’s really heavy. When I made that song I was actually almost in tears because I made it out of pity for my city. I felt so sorry for my city and the people. I felt this sort of dream that might never come true. I think that was really almost like the finish line that you can’t cross. And that was really why I made it. When I did it I realised why I did it. I used to look out the window of my little apartment in this area called Wayne State, this little university. I lived there and around me was really desolate. Behind me was Cass Corridor, a scenario called Cass Corridor at the time. It still is a bit beat up, but at the time it was very run down. No outlook whatsoever. And I tell you the people of Detroit are great people. There are just like people in any other city. They want good things. They want their children have good schools, they want decent supermarkets, they want life. They want a good life. These are some dedicated people, and why I stay there is because I think I’m stuck. I think I can’t get out of the mud. I don’t want to be there, I hate it. But I’m locked into this place, I cannot leave. I don’t know what it is. It will not let me leave. I tried to leave every time, and it just pulled me back. Just like the movie. It’s true. I cannot get out of there. And it’s very difficult to understand that. It was very difficult for me to express that or explain that to you. It’s very difficult for me to express what I’ve felt when Strings Of Life was made. That’s very difficult. But it’s a soundtrack to sadness. It’s like, if you saw Eminem’s movie Eight Mile, you probably saw some scenes in the film that you probably thought were props or maybe just over exaggerated. I think they were actually quite nice about the film. I think they held back quite a lot. You know, I think they really could’ve went much further to showing you a core, a complete city that damn near had a holocaust. There was a war in Detroit in '67 and '68. It was a two-day war. It was the only time in America other than in Ohio that the US military has fired upon its own citizens with weapons. And they actually had tanks in the city. They shot off tank rounds, you know, killing locals. And the city has not been properly repaired since those days. And then people burned down different parts of the city from time to time. But like I said, the people of Detroit are good people overall, but they’re stuck. I’m not stuck because I want to be. I’m not stuck because I can’t leave. I’m stuck because I’m compelled to make a difference. I can always leave, I just feel like I need to be there for a reason. I just hope I don’t get trapped there.«