Decompression

This Sunday was Decompression in San Francisco, a party thrown by and for Burning Man participants that acts as a reunion to the bigger, dustier party thrown in the Black Rock Desert the month before.

I wasn't sure I was going to attend the event this year. I have been to a few. It's a nice way to spend a sunny day, but I am usually all about the music, and I didn't recognize more than a couple of names slated to perform. But enough of my friends were going, that I dug out my playa costume gear and headed for the Dogpatch neighborhood where the party is thrown every year.

Just getting to the party was an exercise in radical self expression. I don't have a car, and can't afford a taxi, so I was relegated to taking the 22 Fillmore bus across town in freaky raver attire. Starting my journey, I felt a little bit ridiculous. But little by little as we got closer to the event, more and more colorful folks boarded the bus. And by the time we reached the event, we found ourselves steeped shoulder to shoulder among our freaky brethren. Suddenly I was almost not ridiculous enough. More face stickies, please!

The line to get tickets ($10 in costume, $20 without) was a good two blocks long, but the volunteer staff kept the line moving fast, and we were in within ten or fifteen minutes.

After reuniting with some playa friends, we collectively chose a direction - The Opulent Temple & Deep End stage. I went straight for the sun bathed dance stage at the front and proceeded to boogie down with the colorful crowd, faces emblazoned with industrial strength smiles. All of us knew we were in paradise. Why would any of us be anywhere else today?

The housey elektro beats Opel was playing were fun, but we were ready for something different, so at some point, our group moved on to The Space Cowboys' RIPE stage. An equally brilliant crowd was pumping next to the mobile groove center graced with a disco-ball-mirrored limousine parked right beside.

DJ Mancub started spinning some breaks and that was all I needed to camp out there as long as necessary to deplete either the music or my leg muscles, whichever came first. Every now and then I'd get lost in the crowd. At one point, my friend Heather said "Now I know how to find you whenever you're lost. Just go toward the speakers." I nodded in agreement and smiled.

Then I noticed Jim Shissler (aka Shissla) standing behind Mancub. I didn't remember seeing his name on the roster, but I was certainly encouraged by this development.

There's a back story behind Jim that I must impart here.

Jim has been my hands down favorite DJ for years. I love breaks, and Jim plays the best. His skills are masterful, and he never disappoints, not even for one track... ever. To me, Jim is a celebrity.... one of my favorite celebrities.

Last year at Burning Man, I got the opportunity to DJ on our camp's art car. I made up some CDs of the breaks I was playing. In case anyone seemed to be especially enjoying the music, I could give them as gifts. I decided to make up a CD for Jim and scribbled a thank you note on it, a humble offering for all of the great music he has graced me with over the years. While Jim was spinning on the House of Lotus art car, I caught his attention and laid the gift along with some chocolate chip cookies next to him and gave a little bow of thanks.

Weeks later, he sent me an email thanking me for the gift and attached a cute picture one of his campmates took of my CD next to his sleeping head. Cute.

After my trip this year, I got an update email from Jim listing some events he was playing, and also mentioned he had updated his website. I noticed that the photo of him sleeping next to my CD was on the site! Awesome!

So now (back to the decomp party) this was the first time I had seen him since I've been back, so I went over to say hello. He doesn't know me, so I said "Hi Jim. I'm Miles. You posted a picture of my CD on your website."

Jim went ape shit. To my delight, he was super happy to see me. He introduced me to a couple of his friends and we chatted for a bit. He truly appreciated my gift. I guess it meant a lot to both of us. He told me, also to my delight, that he was about to go on in a few minutes. Perfect. There is no place I'd rather be than a Shissla set.

There isn't much I can say about his performance, but "Holy cow." Jim was also working with the Dust City Diner earlier in the day serving grilled cheese sandwiches. Now, still wearing his apron, he served up the breakbeats like a champ. He has a way of channeling the crowd's own energy into his own performance. He clearly loves the music he is playing. Those who have been to his shows know what to expect and are never disappointed. Others who may have just wandered up only know that they've found a party they're not likely to leave until it's over.

People (including Jim) bouncing, dancing, waving their hands, wide eyed, grinning ear to ear... occasionally looking at each other in astonishment, shaking their heads in disbelief. That's a Shissla show.

Later on after the set, my legs were quivering toothpicks, my back ached, and after six hours of dancing, I was generally exhausted and ready to go home. But what a great way to get that way. I couldn't help but marvel all day long at how lucky I am to live among such fun people... people that make this happen.... people who know how to have fun and aren't afraid to get freaky.

It's truly inspiring.

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