- The afterhour can be a special place. Intimate daytime sessions can have a profound affect on clubbers in a certain state of mind. House DJs used to these situations usually take one of two approaches: they can drop a set stacked with fun, bouncing tracks, or they can attempt a more restrained and hypnotic approach. Both have their merits, and often leave a lasting impression on those in attendance. But there's something especially powerful about sets of more delicate, loopy sounds. They're difficult to get right, as they require an extremely considered, thoughtful approach from the selector in control. Get it wrong and you'll put people to sleep.
A handful of veteran DJs have mastered this immersive style, but they rarely get the chance to exercise this skill. Several things need to be in place for them to pull it off: an intimate venue with an extended run-time, clear soundsystem and, perhaps most importantly, a patient and open-minded crowd. Berlin's Hoppetosse is one such place. As the winter spot for the nearby Club Der Visionaere, it regularly hosts long sets from minimal-minded DJs, with nighttime parties often stretching well into the following afternoon and evening. Hoppetosse recently put on one of the its biggest lineups in recent memory: a 24-hour Easter Sunday special featuring, among others, Barac and Rhadoo. The two Romanians soundtracked the party's final hours, delivering loopy sounds from around 3 AM to its 1:30 PM close. Barac played first, taking over from an Ion Ludwig live set with a streamlined selection of swung, percussive house. At times jacking and generally sunny, he offered up a more pumping sound than his productions might suggest, leading into a six-hour master class in afterhours DJing from Rhadoo.
As it happened, the energy took a dip once Rhadoo took over from the more upbeat Barac. The sounds became stranger and more low-slung, which was a sign of things to come. Despite the tracks being warped and trippy, the mood for much of Rhadoo's set was positive and uplifting, helped by bright synths entwined with pumping percussion and basslines that seemed to morph as each track went on. Much of it was utterly unrecognisable (and potentially unreleased), a characteristic only accentuated by Rhadoo's nonstop cutting between different elements of tracks and occasional three-channel mixing. Built like a rugby fullback, he strikes an interesting figure behind the decks, always shuffling from side-to-side with small steps while almost never looking at the crowd. Constantly moving his hands from the CDJ to turntable to mixer, you get the impression he's in a trance while playing. On first glance this introversion might be mistaken for arrogance (any attempts to engage him in conversation are quickly shut down, as are photo requests, as one enthusiastic French girl found out). But I believe this is simply the sight of someone doing the thing he loves most. On Monday, it resulted in an air of reverence among the crowd. Rather than clapping and cheering, people were lost in their own heads.
Rhadoo's deep concentration had clear results. Transitions were fluid and perfectly timed, making it impossible to tell which track was which. Some tracks seemed to play for two minutes, others for ten. Most were delicate and uplifting, but never harsh on the ears or remotely cheesy. None were particularly banging either, making the attention he was able to get from the crowd all the more impressive. From the outside, Rhadoo still seems like a captivated teenager experimenting with different transitions in his bedroom, constantly trying to make the next one better than the last. Barac recently spoke to us about electronic music's ability to heal—parts of Rhadoo's set did just that.