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Rockstar Approved

Jason Tyler is the flyest DJ in South Florida.
lam vuong

About two years ago, Jason Tyler lost everything in a Chicago house fire that was started accidentally by a superstar DJ and good friend. Then he spent a couple of semihomeless weeks in New York writing and recording an entire album with nothing more than a laptop that he carried in a backpack. Finally, he landed in a swanky South Beach pad, where he's managed to write yet another album's worth of material.

On a recent sunny afternoon, sitting in a swivel chair next to the home studio he keeps in his immaculate, Spartan bedroom, the DJ/producer seems pretty chilled out while contemplating it all. In fact Tyler's affable, low-key vibe seems to rub off — hanging with him is a little like being in the presence of some electro Buddha. Well, a Buddha that's actually trim and a snappy dresser, rocking a fierce pair of thick-framed white D&G glasses.

"Man, when you have a house fire, you see what's important and who's really down for you," he says after a sip of canned Heineken. "Like now, I don't try to fill my life with a lot of clutter. I think a lot better when things are more minimal."

Besides "simplify," Tyler's other main mantra has been: "Follow your dreams, no matter what." It's the theme of his debut studio CD, Model Tested, Rockstar Approved, a 14-track loose concept album of scorching, bugged-out electro-house bangers with nary a sample among them. It's driven by the steady work ethic that's carried him since the fateful day he returned to his Chicago apartment from a weekend of gigging in Detroit to find it practically nonexistent.

"[DJ] Keoki was leaving New York and wanted to stay with me," Tyler recalls. "So I let him... for three or four months. We were doing a ten- or 15-city tour, and we went to Detroit for the weekend. And when we came back, the house was being boarded up and there were firemen everywhere... You know how we have these cinder blocks here?" He motions to a stack of them neatly propping up his computer desk. "Well, he had even higher ones for turntables. You know how Mac laptops have those little tiny thin cords? He accidentally had one under one of the cinder blocks, and that actually sparked the fire."

Tyler had no renter's insurance, so he took Keoki's accidentally burning down his house as an opportunity for a tabula rasa. "I was like, 'Skip it; I'll just move to New York.' "

It was a major move. Tyler had been born outside of Fort Wayne, Indiana, to an American mother and a Honduran father. (Tyler is his middle name; Torres is actually his last.) It was following the rural raves of the '90s, in the triangle of Fort Wayne, Detroit, and Chicago, that he had found himself sucked into the search for the perfect beat.

"The first time I ever heard [house], I loved it," Tyler says. "It was just so opposite from, like, the classical or jazz worlds I was studying, 100 percent. And I actually met [Chicago house legend] Paul Johnson at a party in Ohio, maybe Cleveland, and he was like, 'Oh, you play trumpet! You should come to Chicago and work on some music.' At the time, I was trying to do some little parties in Indiana. So if I was going to Chicago, I thought, well, I could throw parties there too."

His first warehouse party promotion, after he split from the university, was attended by more than 3,000 people, and his new musical career was off and running. "Everything kind of happened simultaneously," he says. "I did the parties, and then I'd also play; I'd close all my own events." He started teaching himself production on drum machines, an MPC-2000 sampler, and keyboards. He released singles on France's G-Swing Records and, domestically, on Dust Tracks, the onetime home of electro-rock pioneer Tommie Sunshine.

And always, there was the trumpet. Tyler played it live over his sets, improvising as the mood struck him. Soon, other DJs were asking him to do the same at their gigs — Mark Farina, Timo Maas, Cajmere/Green Velvet, Fast Eddie, Miguel Migs. He recorded for not only Paul Johnson but also Derrick Carter, Gene Farris, and Glenn Underground, among others.

By the time of the fire, Tyler was a deeply established artist in the Chicago house scene. But he was never totally down with its insularity — the way it's fiercely protective of its storied traditions and averse to deviations.

"Even when I was making house, it was unconventional house back then," he explains. "I think it didn't really fit into the deep house category [or] disco house... [but] you know, when I'm working on stuff, I don't like to label it."

So with the escape to New York came an opportunity for something of a musical 180. This is when Tyler decided to start working on what would become Model Tested, Rockstar Approved.

"It was definitely not easy when I was making that album," he says. "But it put things in perspective for me."

There were times when he had to record each track with minimal portable equipment directly into a Mac laptop, and then carry that laptop with him. For such a minimalist method of music-making, the final product is a highly textured thing, exploding with drilling bass lines and the kind of aggressive enthusiasm of someone pushing for change. Tracks like "Movie­star" and "Jack the Rocker" are swirling, distorted dance-floor skull-crushers. Others, like "Cause and Effect" and "I'm in Love," almost reach dance-rock, driven by funky licks and new-wavey vocals. There's definitely a cinematic feel, as though the whole thing were the soundtrack to some narrative.

It was in New York that he met DJ Patrick Kelly; together, they started Snapshot Recordings, scoring a major distribution deal, and they're putting out Model Tested as the label's first release. Kelly also wanted to invest in Miami Beach real estate. So in March, they came down for the Winter Music Conference and never went back north.

"I love Miami, I love the beach, I love the people," Tyler says. "Once you get to the real scene, the real people who are here are very warm, friendly, and real tight people." He also views it as a sort of spiritual homecoming, a chance to connect with some of his inherited Latin American culture, which was scarce in Indiana. "I just feel really, really at home here."

When not working on his album, which was finally released September 25, Tyler graces the decks for Spiderpussy, Revolver, and other area club nights in which an indie ethos fuels a mixed-genre, electro-doused soundtrack.

Now that the album is out, it marks the beginning of a serious five-month touring schedule for Tyler and Kelly. They'll land back here locally just before next year's Winter Music Conference, for which Tyler, of course, already has plans — he hopes to unveil another official album, composed of material he's already written.

"After the whole not-having-a-home thing and the house fire," Tyler says, "it's really all come together."


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