philip sherburne

Dear reader, I hope you haven't forgotten about me. I certainly haven't forgotten about you. The past few days I've been sending mental "wish you were here" postcards from all kinds of unlikely places without postboxes or wi-fi, but perhaps you received them nonetheless. From the Wighnomy Brothers party on Saturday night, where they guzzled vodka straight from the bottle and twisted the pitch-shift knobs on their digital mixer as though they hoped to leave the planet's orbit one shrieking halftone at a time; from the private loft on Sunday where Zip, Luciano, and Ricardo Villalobos rocked the Beat Street party from 10 a.m. until 10 p.m., and very likely for many hours later (I had to take my leave when my head transubstantiated into a second subwoofer, whoomp-whoomp-whoomping all the way down five flights of stairs and out into the freezing night to wait for a taxi); from Luciano's studio the week before, where he played selections from an upcoming mix/compilation CD and previewed a remix for N.E.R.D. which, sadly, will never see the light of day -- all of these moments and more were trickling towards cyberspace in a quiet mental upload.

In case you don't believe me, photos -- and something approximating a written account -- are coming soon.