The star mechanic
He span the wheels in the Paradise Garage. The legacy of Larry Levan, by Jim Irvin.
What made Larry Levan, a guy who played records for a living nearly 40 years ago, so memorable that his name is still considered a draw? Was it a potent mix of outsiderdom, innovation and eccentricity? Or that he helped usher in an aesthetic that’s still a strong presence today? After being taught basic deck skills by Nicky Siano of the Gallery, Levan (born Lawrence Philpot – he took his mother’s maiden name) began DJ-ing in 1973, aged 18, at the notorious NYC gay haunt the Continental Baths, when the resident DJ walked out. His reputation grew until, in 1977, promoter Michael Brody created Paradise Garage at 84 King Street, Greenwich Village, around his requirements, installing a unique and notoriously loud sound system. The Garage’s opening night was a disaster and the A-list stayed away after that, but that meant Levan didn’t have to care about impressing society and could simply satisfy the serious dancers. His Saturday Mass sessions began in 1978 as disco’s commercial clout peaked, and continued until 1987 while dance music retreated underground and new, more mechanical grooves started to proliferate. Levan was obsessed with sound and took care of detail; he might be seen bringing a ladder onto the dancefloor to polish a mirrorball or refocus a light while the crowd stood around and waited. He would disorientate them in other ways, too. He might play a record 10 times a night until they couldn’t resist it. He’d purposefully crash two tracks or slam a record off midclimax. He’d mess around with EQ, perhaps removing the treble altogether, and even changed the cartridges on his decks at key points in the night to make the records sound even sharper. He got to know the regulars in the 900capacity room and so could create transcendent effects that the faithful talked about in awe. His influence spread and soon he was being asked to remix tracks in the studio for maximum impact upon his maven audience. Twenty-two of his best mixes are collected on Larry Levan – Genius Of Time (UMC) There’s his brilliant dubby mix for The Peech Boys’ Don’t Make Me Wait with its distinctive delayed handclaps and strange rocky interlude about four minutes in, the confident instrumental mix of Smokey Robinson’s And I Don’t Love You, where that amazing voice is reduced to a few wispy smears. He did great work for Syreeta, Gwen Guthrie (Padlock) and Grace Jones (Feel Up) and there’s a beautiful, dry version of Brit band Central Line’s Walking Into Sunshine which climaxes with multiple vocals interweaving to heady effect. Levan’s experiments lit the way for house and the future of dance. He died of a heart disease in 1992, just as that sound was exploding. He was 38.