Danny T

A long time ago, in a galaxy far away, a DJ is born. Nurtured from an electro egg by party-crazed, hip-hop inspired ewoks, Danny T dropped onto the circuit like a light-sabre wielding madman. He was the future, the great dope hope of his planet; none jacked the bass to higher levels, none risked more, there simply was no other. He played records not with his hands and ears, but with an innate understanding of the musical force. Where many tweaked, he blinked; where some faded, he stared.
After randomly landing in Brisbane seeking repairs to his 1985 Pac-Man Arcade deck, the new apprentice Danny T found himself earning nickels in the dirtiest sweat-soaked, bass-jacked club in all the land; The Monastery. He used his superior deck tripping and B-Boy stylings to quickly excel through the ranks until none could resist his dirty-electro breakbeat.
Soon the club invaded every pore of his musical body; Every night he tried in vain to get the smell of sex out of his clothes, regularly having to wash the dirty acid funk out of his decks. As the contemporary electro explosion began, twisting the club into a writhing frenzy of beat-lust and dance floor savagery, Danny-T was at the forefront, riding the red levels of the acid-spitting, she-bitch like a seasoned cowboy. Before long he was given his residency at Monastery and Friday nights soon became known as Jack It, after Danny Ts ability to explore the full bass spectrum of any track, acid-pimping it to levels previously unheard of on this planet. Some knew the records, but none had really felt them before, none had experienced the aural excavation of bass and neon-drenched funk that Danny T dealt.
If dropping dope beats were illegal, this man would be doing 50 to life. As word spread of his vinyl virility, he claimed more residencies, both at Uber and the GPO, spreading the electronic chaos to the masses.

You can find the master where he began; back behind the wheels of the Monastery's pulpit; feeding the salivating crowds the bodyrockin beats they hunger for. Many have tried to describe his sound, all have failed. Danny T is the sound that resonates in your head for hours after you leave the club, twitching your muscles and tonguing your raw and bleeding lips. He is the sound that tingles up your spine as the beat hardens, clawing your skin and itching under your shoulder blades. He is the sound that throbs out the doors as you wait in the mile-long que ready to kill your own mother just to hear the next beat drop. He is the sound of the new electro wave, subverting, converting and perverting the beat into an acid-based infusion of funk and house. If Monastery is your church and electro your religion, then let me introduce to you your new Messiah; Danny T, the first of the new school.