I only actually spoke to DJ Ohm aka Robert Ortega once in my life, and yet I’ll admit I knew of him for years. It’s a small city and an even smaller rave scene. Name’s get around fast especially when somebody is doing something nobody else is, and that’s the first thing that should be said about him. He was doing something only he could do.
His own sound. His own style. He was one of a kind. I suppose that’s the best thing that could be said about any of us. We are exactly us, and nothing more. But then again his reputation as probably the best scratch DJ in New Mexico is not what I will remember about him, although again his skill must be mentioned.
A 4 time DMC US Finalist and Red Bull Thre3style Regional Qualifier, he didn’t just take turntablism to new heights in New Mexico, he was and is its identity. Many of us grew up listening to the sounds of his scratches. It cannot be understated that in writing these words we didn’t just lose a person, but also something I suppose a little bit more than that. In this moment we lost a star.
What I will always remember about Robert Ortega was the one and only night we spoke, and connected in a way you usually do in this life. Just passing each other by for just a moment and yet in that moment, with what is essentially a stranger, you may find a truth you didn’t see before. That’s how I felt about that night, but I should also admit Ohm wasn’t the only reason I feel this way about that night.
I remember I had just gotten out of work, and we had decided to go to dinner with our friends, another couple we met somewhere along the way, that we found ourselves immensely connected to, and I feel that is an understatement. He’s an artist and she’s a dancer, and they seemed to be the type of people I’d meet no matter the time or place or surroundings. Our meeting was not coincidence.
But then something happens when you make these connections with people, even if you didn’t mean it, and that’s the fact that you drag each other into the pains you face without even trying. We let each other in, and in doing so our emotions become intertwined. Something I didn’t even think was possible.
On this night our friends were fighting when we got there, and I suppose most people would have left right away, but we aren’t like that. We’ve had our own passion filled fights of our own, and we have no place to judge or turn away. If you love us enough to show us that side of you I suppose we love you enough to stay. And we did.
Plus I was really fuckin hungry, and they promised us some good food so I put up with their fighting to eat, and I don’t feel ashamed admitting that. But in order to tell you the truth about this story, I’ll admit, we never actually got food. Not once all night long.
We started at some bar on Nob Hill, and I can’t remember the name but I would know how to get there if I needed to go back, and I remember how it looked inside. It’s strange how the memory works like that.
We started by taking shots, and I remember the boyfriend got mad and went outside. I guess, to throw a fit, but what was funny is that his fits would never work on us. We’d sit with our friend and we’d all kinda laugh about it, and we’d drink some more, and maybe order some nachos and we’d just ignore him. You have no idea how many times this happened, and it was always kind of fun. But tonight there were no nachos. And that’s when DJ Ohm comes into the story.
I can remember seeing his silhouette at the end of the bar. How funny to think these things now. He was hunched over, and already drunk, but trying to hold his own. The bar was nearly closing and he was at a point where you could tell even then that this wasn’t someone at the bar for joy, but rather for pain. It’s tough to admit that but I knew it was true. Those in pain often recognize others in pain first. We know our own.
“OHM!” She noticed him and called him over.
He noticed us before but did not want to approach until we were ready.
“How you doin, Ohm?”
You could tell he was upset, and yet he tried so hard to hide it. Then he told us about his trouble with his girlfriend and how they broke up again, and I didn’t know any of the details, but I suppose they never got back together, which is reason enough to be at a bar alone drinking the sorrow away. I’ve known that pain too many times before and even then I did not judge or resent him, but rather the opposite. We suddenly felt it with him.
After that he agreed to come hang with us and we went back to our friend’s house, and after that our friends just continued to fight more. It was up it was down it was all over the place, and it was never over anything, but also something I had no place to judge. Couples fight and when you’re in the middle of it you think you’re the only one going through it, but in reality everybody has fought about this stuff. We knew that. And so did Ohm.
It wasn’t all bad, though. We had moments of fun. Taking shots or just smoking weed, like I always do; or just talking. We talked a lot. Having that one moment of intimate conversation that lets you know we’re all in this, is something humans need desperately to survive. That night wasn’t as much about glamour or fun, but rather one where we were all miserable, but at least we were together. And sometimes that’s enough.
I told him I tried being a DJ when I was younger, and I was so bad that I stopped because I respected the art of DJ’ing so much that I wanted to leave it to the people who were natural to it. People like him. He smiled at that one and thanked me for saying that. Not everybody gets it, but you don’t have to be a DJ to understand.
Then he talked about his idea behind #realdjs, and how he wanted to use it as a way of getting back to the art and talent of being a real DJ. How we’ve forgotten that and we all agreed. He made a good point with that. We’ve lowered the standard a bit and we shouldn’t have. We have to be willing to ask more of a DJ and their craft and we have to see it as that. We have to see them as more. I suppose even more so now that he’s gone.
After that I remember our friend came into the room and he asked me why we were still there. Why do we care? And I remember so clearly what I said, even more so now based on who was listening.
“Most people, they only show you their fake side. The side for show. And even if you get to know them, you’re never sure if that’s them or if they’re still faking. But this, and you. I know you’re not faking. You can’t fake this. Anybody can be fake, but what you guys are doing now, is showing me the real you. And you don’t turn away from that.”
I suppose I’ve changed the words since then, but the idea is still the same, and I can remember Ohm responding the most to what I said. In these moments, of sorrow, and pain and all the struggle of live we have to get through, that’s when the real us comes out, and when that person comes out it’s as much about who’s there with you as it is about what you’re facing.
We’re all just trying to survive. I know that. Ohm knew that, and this night we spent together will always be a reminder of the messes we get ourselves into and the people we find along the way.
I never spoke to Ohm again after that night, but he gave me a fist bump after we talked, and I thanked him for the years of his talent, and we went our separate ways. One night only.
And I’d see him around, both before then and after. It’s like that here. Everybody sees everybody. We’re all just a part of it. And I know he had his demons, but so do I. So do we all. But still he carried on. Still scratching. Still representing New Mexico. Still rockin’ the rooftop, or sister bar, or maybe the El Rey if there’s a hip hop show. If we are a culture and a community he was a part of it, and now we lost one of our own.
In closing, I know this isn’t a story on DJ Ohm professionally as much as it’s a moment I shared with Robert Ortega personally, but I know that’s how I will remember him. A person I met in a bar one night in the Wild West as we both were just trying to find our way. I’m still searching for mine; I hope he finally found his.
Thanks to the friends who let me into the madness of their lives, and agreed to acknowledge the sorrow in my own. And thanks to Ohm. Thanks for the memories, for being one of a kind and for being a real DJ.
If life is a dancefloor I suppose the afterlife will be as well. And now at least we know, when it’s our time to get there, the music will be jumping, and that dancefloor will be filled with the people who went ahead to make sure it’s ready for us once it’s our time to finally get in.
I’ll see you on the dancefloor, you guys. We’ve gotta keep going, don’t we?
Here’s a cool video he made that not only showcases his talent but also his sense of humor.
Ourdancefloor.net 