by Jer
The last thing I expected to learn at a rave was a lesson in gratitude.
And then I watched Fred Again transform the Cow Palace into a 10,000 person house party.
Over the course of his three hour set filled with hit after hit, intense, hard driving bass followed by slow melodic reveries, Fred only got on the mic a handful of times. But when he did, it was almost exclusively to talk about anything but himself.
He thanked his aunt and his cousin for being there. He thanked the staff at Cow Palace. He thanked his team. At one point he even brought up some random guy from the audience and just said, “Thank you for being here.” And of course, he thanked the whole audience.
Fred's humility, despite being a DJ so hot he was able to sell out Cow Palace in minutes, was central to the vibe he created that evening. By some stroke of magic, he was able to transform this cement livestock pavilion into feeling like you were dancing in your friend's living room.
When I first walked in through security, everything was lit brightly. But as I got closer to the theater, those lights gradually shifted to a softer red. I could still see perfectly fine, but the red light let my eyes relax. Without realizing it, my body started to calm down a little. Then I took the next step inside the cavernous hall.
The crowd rose up around me into the bleachers like waves ready to crash. Undulating above me was this beautiful, minimalist fabric flying art piece. And at the end of the hall was a set of CDJs for the man of the hour.
Completely absent were the laser beams, massive LED screens and AI-generated visuals that have come to define the visual pomp and circumstance that seems to accompany other major acts. All that was left was the music and the crowd.
It reminded me of the renegades my friends would throw in basements, shipping containers and former WWII batteries. We’d jokingly refer to these dark, music-filled spaces as the “rave cave”. Just someone on the decks and friends packed in, dancing until the sun came up. Something I came to believe is a time-honored San Francisco tradition.
It was in San Francisco that I learned to love electronic music. Those same friends taught me what flow means in a set, the importance of build and release, how to mix tracks together and of course the infamous “synch” button. I’ve been to countless parties with a set of CDJs sitting out, just waiting for someone to hop on and play.
Sometimes it can feel like we have too many DJs in San Francisco, especially when there’s drama about the lineup and who gets to play the best timeslots. But it’s important to remind ourselves that there is no such thing as too many DJs. There is no such thing as too much love for music. Parties are better when someone is up there playing music they love and responding to the crowd. It keeps people moving and brings us together.
That was the energy last Friday at the Cow Palace. Except this time, it wasn’t your friend’s ex boyfriend on the decks beatmatching his little heart out. It was Fred Again. A man who has completely mastered the craft.
“Imagine being able to sell out a venue the size of Cow Palace on three days' notice” Stuart texted me when I pinged him about this show.
That is how good Fred Again is. He did not need to advertise this show. In fact, he seemed to deliberately choose not to. He could have played in a larger venue. He chose not to. There was a feeling of intention, that this was the show he wanted to give for the audience he wanted to give it to. And down on the dance floor we all felt this sort of camaraderie, strangers just dancing the night away together, for a moment feeling a little less far apart.
After the show I was sitting in the sauna at my gym, trying to recover from a night of dancing, when I overheard a couple of guys talking about it. One of them was bummed he missed it. He told me he could only find tickets on the secondary market at a crazy inflated price and asked if I thought it would have been worth it.
I told him what I would tell anyone. Only you can define that. It depends on how badly you need it at the time. How flush you’re feeling, or how skint. But later I kept thinking about his question. Money comes and goes, often feeling like it goes much more easily than it comes, but it does come and go. It is replaceable.
But what is not replaceable is time, community, relationships and memories. What is life, really, if not a series of moments stacked on top of each other, like bricks in a monument?
I kept thinking about Fred on stage, thanking everyone but himself. The crowd. The staff. His family. I felt gratitude toward him for creating that environment, for choosing reflection over ego. In a moment where the spotlight was shining squarely on him, he instead became a mirror and reflected that energy right back on us.
And for that, I'm thankful.
