the First road to Damascus...

the First road to Damascus...

april 2009


my trip to syria....




“I'm the what...?” I say loudly, to the local promoter I've just met at the airport. I’ve just been swept quickly through customs in VIP style, and now the sentiment settles in; Yousef will be Syria’s first international DJ.

It’s quite a shock (almost to the point where I could justify referring to myself in the third person) and although I was aware of the political situation here, and Syria's traditions, I didn’t comprehend its distinct lack of international talent gracing the land. As far as I know, it’s the only Arab state to retain this policy, and in a planet that all too frequently seems to have shown a tremendous nous for throwing dance music in the most unlikely of situations, I’m surprised somewhere still exists untouched by the all enveloping reach of rave.

The news also fills me with a feeling poised midway between exhilaration and stress. Stereo typical images of a politically torn country ravaging any hopes of a rave flood my mind, whilst I ponder an image of a club based on an amalgamation of “that scene in blade” and “5am at a mosque” – fear and excitement swiftly follow.

I wake 5 hours later after a reasonable sleep and try to get on line, which I do. I make a proud announcement that tonight I'm to be the first international DJ to play in Syria. I hit facebook, AOL AIM and my own club night circus' message board. The responses come in thick and fast, “well done, nice achievement, go Yousef, wear a bullet proof vest, Marco v never came because of death threats” you know, the usual banter and well wishing that would greet the achievement.

Marco V's recent cancellation – with the same promoter, according to 365 magazine – was due to the death threats he received on his own message board. I concur that I will be making exactly the same choice too if my lines of communication receive the same treatment, but I’m yet to yield it. But there’s not enough time to check every facet of the information super highway, who knows how high the bounty maybe on my head?!?

Later I’m picked up by Muhammad and taken to the top of Qassyoon Mountain for a glimpse of the surrounding areas and bite to eat. En route the drivers all drive like their wives are about to give birth on the back seat and they’ve downed a bottle of dom in pre celebration, With tightly gripped hope I hold on to my seat and clutch my seat belt (the only person in the car wearing one). We dodge though the insane traffic at speed, yet even at this pace I find it easy to spot the countless machine gun wielding military police of every street corner. “They are the reason Syria is so safe” explains Muhammed, whilst failing to see the irony that the drivers are wilfully going against that mantra. Though it only dawns on me later on in the hotel room; I’m too busy gawping with fear at their antics as they continue to treat our lives with gleeful disdain.

At the top of the aforementioned mountain a local magazine has come to meet us, looking to grab the scoop on myself and my Syrian predicament. The interview is littered with the usual questions; my favourite place to play, do you love Syria and do I have a message for “my fan's” (of which I was building steadily from the promoter, driver, and journo outwards – not bad for 8 hours in country). I happily answered all the questions and close with one of my own - “what happened with Marco V?” At this point Mohammed steps in, suggesting the threats were from rival promoters trying to flummox the gig and that by the time they’d come in, it was too late for Marco to be persuaded otherwise. Still unable to see all the internet, I casually ponder the potential price on my head…

Later on in Lunch conversation slips to my own promoting, could I help the Syrian scene personally by fronting a festival? I politely point out that maybe with myself being the first DJ to play here, perhaps things are running a little too slowly for that just yet. But it’s a nice thought, and with Mohammed enthusing of over ten years of experience promoting, I’m hesitantly optimisitic. We drive back to the hotel, throughout more dangerous traffic, heavily armed police and even past a UN range rover searching for a parking space in this busy to bursting city. It sure contrasts with the seemingly supposed in comparison wildness’ of Ibiza.

Next is the sound check, and despite a decade of working in the business there’s no monitor in the booth, and although quickly remedied I’m fearing for the worst. The fears are dumbfounded; the sound is great considering the small size of the club and the fact that I’m in a dingy drinking hole in Damascus. Its 7.45, 15 minutes before the club opens, a further five hours before my set and a whopping 12 before we shut, yet there’s a healthy stream of people starting to come in. For some, it’s shaping up to be a long ass night…

My pick up time of 12.30 comes, and goes...I'm told that I need to wait for more people to arrive – as “the locals don't think I'm coming”. It transpires that 500 angry locals were waiting for Marco to show up and seem less than convinced I will. Eventually at 1am I'm I go downstairs to the lobby eager to keep my low profile, where I’m met by local TV, radio and press to document the arrival of something new for Syria – not what I had in mind but im happy to do a few live interviews - im then am followed (in a reality TV show style) to the club.

In the club, the music is loud and the room is half full. I start immediately by grabbing a mic and introduce myself with thanks, the crowd appear appreciative and so I crack on. I keep the music up beat and energetic, slipping between the new Prins Thomas remix of luke Soloman to my own techno fuelled “letter to no one”, and judging by the whoops, claps and cheers it seems to be going well. 90 Minutes passes by and the crowd seem a little less receptive to electronic music, I’ve had a few local girls asking me for ‘songs’, and the response to Paul Woolford’s glorious remake of “the sun in my eyes” followed by serge Santiago's equally exceptional remix of ‘Blind’ is lukewarm. The same girl returns to explain she meant Arabic vocals and Arabic music. Ahh...

After two hours it becomes clear that ‘Jet Set’ in the heart of new Damascus is not exactly ready for my sound, or it would seem, the sound of electronic music at all. A breakers troupe arrive and I’m asked for hip-hop, it’s a wish id love to comply with but sadly unable too. At this stage the proceeding DJ arrives, following directly on. I expect local music, or hip hop, yet “DJ undertaker” stops my track and drops in the hardest, most aggressive trance cut known to man. The remaining crowd parts like the red sea. I smile and split direct to my bed, my immersion in the Syrian scene is over for tonight.

A few hours later and its time to fly back to London, but not before another dice with death. For some reason haste seems to be a more attractive proposition for my driver than safety, and it’s only after I loudly badger him to slow that the speed dial swerves below 120mph. The timing couldn’t be better, we’re literally inches away from the car in front and my life seems more in the balance now than at the hands of any internet threats, idle or otherwise.

The queues for the current airport (a new one is midway through construction) are catastrophic, imagine the customers of Primark multiplied by ten and force fed amphetamines and you’ve only got half the picture. Muhammed kindly slips one of the guards a few Syrian pounds and I get ushered though in two minutes instead of 2 hours. I eventually find the BMI check in desk and am relieved to find the flight is not only direct but I’m also eligible for an upgrade. The sweat that had glistened my forehead as I clung for life pirouetting ferociously through traffic somehow disappears as a wary smile envelopes my face.

It’s at this point that I ponder on the experience I’ve just had. I’m certainly glad to be part of history, to find a corner of the earth still unexposed completely to the nuances of modern dance music and play my role in bringing it somewhere yet to experience it properly. Even the near deaths (ahem...) , musical mishaps and the feeling of not really being ‘got’ can’t dull the moment. Whilst I’d be lying if I said the gig was enjoyable, the whole trip was certainly an experience. And that surely is what DJing, and for that matter life full stop, is all about.

Hats off to muhammed.



this is the youtube advert they made