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We played LIV in Miami, right on the beach.  When we got there, we were determined to go swimming.  I didn't have anything to wear, so I decided to go in my undertrousers.  I forgot that I wasn't wearing boxers, I was wearing a pair of purple American Apparel Y fronts.  I guess I had been on tour for a long time, maybe lost touch with reality a bit, but somehow I reasoned that a lot of Europeans must frequent South Beach, and they wear swimsuits that do not look dissimilar to what I was wearing.

I made it to the water ok, not many people were around.  It was fantastic!  There were at least three sets of implants in my area, and even a dude with calf implants!  His calves were amazing, he must get lots of bitches.  The only trouble I ran into was when I was coming out of the water.  This little kid was nearby, he must have been around five years old.  He pointed to my crotch and yelled out "look mommy, you can see his WEINER!!"  I laughed a little, the mother looked either perplexed or horrified.  "It's OK ma'am, I love kids, no problem at all....I'm from New York, didn't have a bathing suit with me, no problem, hey there kid, do you like music?"  I was going to offer an autographed copy of my new album, but the mother just whipped the kid away and I didn't see them again.  Oh well, as the french say, 'C'est la joie de vivre.'

At any rate, the scene inside the club that night was amazing, truly a spectacle.  LIV is like being inside a Las Vegas show (though I've never actually been to Vegas).  It has this incredibly high domed ceiling, and the most intenst light show I have ever scene.  It looked like lightening was striking a few times, and I found myself hitting the deck (the stage really) a few times, but I just made it seem like that was part of the show.

What really kept me occupied during our set, however, was this couple who were just off to stage right.  The dude was probably in his 50's.  He was a bit hefty, not quite fat, but definately out of shape, and he was wearing sunglasses the entire time, some type of douche bag glasses with someone else's name embroidered in gold on the sides.  He was sitting on the stage the entire time while his, ah, 'girlfriend' danced around him seductively, feeding him drinks, rubbing his head, gazing into his eyes, given him lap dances.  This chick was probably in her early twenties, looked like she hit the gym every day, breast implants, tan, etc.  She was wearing a really skimply dresss.  When we played Give Me Every Little Thing, she would mouth the chorus while hugging his head to her bosom, and mouth the words to me, winking at me in the process.  I was quite confused.  How could such a rich, ugly, out of shape jackass like this guy get with this young girl?  How could she be that into him?  Big questions, I really don't have any answers, but such is life.

The only downside to the night was discovered the next morning when we were loading out our gear.  Jerry discovered that someone had stolen, or we had misplaced, his little microphone bag that he uses to carry spare drum hardware pieces, little unreplaceable pieces of hardware.  DJ asked him, "Jerry, where did you lose it?"  Jerry's reply to this, maybe unwarrented, was to punch DJ in the face.  We all stood around and looked at them.  DJ responded, "I'm not letting you borrow my toothpaste anymore," which seemed to end it for now.

My girlfriend and I arrived at the Miami International Airport a little late on Sunday, the day of our departure from 2009's Winter Music Conference.  We had opted for a last minute swim before heading out, not too eager to return to the dreariness of the Northeast and all the attendant existential responsibilities of the artistic life of leisure.  So we arrived in a rush, running up to the security line, which was backed up beyond belief.  We ducked into the line for families and people with disabilities, which was nearly empty, where we were accosted by a TSA Advocate For Persons Of Lesser Persuasions.  

"Excuse me sir, where is your family?"  

"Not sure exactly.  Back in Boston I suppose?"

"Then you have a disability?"

My girlfriend interjected at this point, being the responsible one.

"He's suffering from a serious existential crisis.  He is an artist you know.  He has a new album coming out soon, and he is distressed because of illegal downloading and the state of the music industry.  He comes from a difficult background, they never had enough to eat as children, and he despairs that although the blogs are quite nice to him, nobody is buying music anymore, and how much does a good review in a blog pay?  Have you read Angela's Asses?  His cousin had a minor part."

"Ok miss, take him through."

And with that they put us ahead of the old lady in the wheelchair.  I think it's bullshit anyway, old people can walk, and to be honest it would do them some good to get some exercise.  I've caught these geezers getting wheeled to the gate, cutting ahead to the front of the line, then jumping up out of the chair when no one is looking, like "where's the mile high club?"

Anyway, the girlfriend goes through the xray machine first, no problem.  She is partly Mexican, so she speaks the language and everything.  But when I go through the machine, the trouble starts.  I'm immediately brought over to a roped in area and ordered to stand quietly and mind my business.  The woman who pulled me out pointed right at my crotch.

"Do you have anything in your pockets?  What is that?"

"Ahhh, is this some kind of joke?"

"We don't tell jokes senior, do you have a pen in your pocket?"

"A pen!?  Now you wish to insult me?"

At this point she calls over another security dude, and they start yammering away in another language.  I see my girlfriend looking agitated and giving me the old 'what did you do' look, and all I can do is point to the offending bulge in my jeans.  So she marches over and breaks into the conversation, talking in Mexican, which I don't understand at all.  There is a back and forth, quizzical looks, all kinds of confusion.  Finally the security guy holds up his hand, I thought he was going to slap her, but just to shut her up.

"Miss, we do not speak Mexican here, we speak Cuban.  Let us both speak American and maybe we can find some common ground."

"Don't pull that Che Guevara shit with me Fidel, we have to get back to Boston, so what's the problem?"

"The problem, puta, is that there is too much of something in your husband's private area."

"First of all he's not my husband, no man will ever own me, don't pull that communist indoctrination shit with me, and second of all, when did it become illegal to be well endowed?"

"Miss, your Harvard University has lost much of it's endowment because of the financial crisis of this great country and the escapades of the terrible jew Bernard Madoff.  I am no anti-Semite, but a Cubano would never do such a thing, it is an atrocity."

At this point I could see this was all going nowhere, so I appealed to the woman who originally pulled me aside.  

"Miss, you seem like a reasonable sort, what must I do to satisfy your security measures?"  

I complimented her a bit, to curry favor, told her I admired her moustache, etc.  After much debate, they called over a younger security agent, a 20-something black dude who was heading off to his lunch break, he had just announced.  The security woman quieted everyone down and made her announcement.

"Seniors and Senioritas, there is a solution to this problem.  Jamal here will take Juan to the private security screening room.  Juan will remove his clothing and we will know the truth about what he is concealing in his trousers."

Jamal became pretty agitated, if not outraged.  

"Listen, this dude is white, he wears tight jeans, of course there's a bulge down there.  Look at the bootychokers the dude is wearing!"

"Hold on a second Jamal, I take offense, not all white people where tight jeans.  I think it's unfair to make a generalization about an entire group of people like that.  There are entire sub-genres of white dudes who wear baggy or ill fitting trousers, if not high waisted ones.  Not everyone shops at APC, you know?"

"Ok Juan, I apologize, I see your point.  Its like saying all black people are African American."  

"Exactly Jamal, we're all Americans here."

Finally the other security agents broke in and ordered Jamal, who obviously had lesser seniority or authority or whatever, to take me back to the room and get the security check done.  So we head back to this little room, it's just he and I, and immediately I can tell Jamal is uncomfortable.

"Fuck this shit man, this is why the government is so fucked.  Why didn't they get the gay dude to do this?  I fucking hate working for TSA.  I'd be so much happier if didn't have to work at this fucking place, but with this economy and my stock portfolio tanking, what am I gonna do, you know?"

"Look here Jamal, you can't delay your happiness.  If you keep putting conditions on it, like i'll be happy when I have a good job,' or 'i'll be happy when i get a new car' or 'i'll be happy when my girlfriend stops fucking my brother,' you'll never BE happy.  Happiness is not the destination, it's the journey my friend, it's the JOURNEY."

"Fuck man, that's some deep guru shit.  Where did you learn that?"

"From a refrigerator magnet."

"A refrigerator magnate?  Like the dude that owns Frigidaire or something?"

"Yeah something like that, it was a seminar.  Anyway, before we begin, can you turn up the heat in here?  It's pretty cold, and when we do this, I don't want you to get the wrong idea.  I know what people say about the Irish, and it's not true, but in these cold conditions it's hard not to come off like there's a walnut down there, you know?"

"Oh man, I don't care about the size of your johnson.  I just want to get this over with.  Why couldn't they get the gay dude to do it?  He'd actually enjoy it, you know?  Those guys are always coming at me like that.  I'm not gay or anything, but you know how it is, when you go out to the club, and then your drunk, and the girls won't have anything to do with you, and next thing you know your talking to some dude with makeup on, and you're thinking he looks ok, you know, but I'm not a faggot, so it's like what the fuck, and then so you're just like I'll let him give me a blow job.  That's not gay, right?  If you're drunk?"

"No man, that's not gay, and non one thinks your a fag, don't worry about it."

"Ok, Juan, let's do this, let's see what you've got."

And with that I had to remove my trousers and then my underwear, and lift everything up so he could see that I didn't have any weapons or cocaine hidden under there.  Of course I didn't, and once that was confirmed we quickly left the room and I found my travel companion, who tried to convince me that I should feel honoured to have been made to endure such a thing.  To be honest, I'm conflicted.  Life is short, and I don't want to waste time with moustached TSA ladies pointing at my crotch in front of a crowd of people and declaring "it's too much in there."  But as the buddhists say, you only live once, so you have to make the best of things.  So I went home to Boston and it was raining and even though I knew the god in space was punishing me with the weather, I didn't let it get me down, because I had played 5 parties in Miami and saw more breast implants than I have ever seen in my life.  

So I'm sitting minding my own business at Hardpop in Juarez (an awesome club, btw), listening to the gunshots outside and hoping to escape without becoming involved in one of the nightly homicides, when these two young Mexican girls approach me screaming my name.
"Juan MacLean, Oh My God you are the Greatest!!"
"Sure I am honey...."
"Juan, my english is terrible, do you mind if I kiss you on the mouth with my tongue?"
"Did you brush your teeth before leaving the house?"
etc.

Usually when something terrible happens to you, there is an unspoken rule that they aren't going to let anything else terrible happen to you. For example, when you get hit by a car, it is too much to be lying in your hospital bed after and be told your dog has died. Or when you have the flu you don't break out in syphillis usually, stuff like that. But this is of course an illusion, there is no 'they' to orchestrate the tragedies in your life. Some people have the space god or allah the god of paradise, but if we are perfectly honest, both these guys seem too preoccupied with battling it out for supreme dominance here on earth to be bothered with actually making sure everyone is happy.
So when I was boarding the plane bound for a city in Colorado, I figured 'well, it's not a dance music city, that's for sure, but I'm due for some good fortune right about now...' I won't name the city because I don't want to cast aspersions. Jesus cast the money lenders out of the temples, and at one point he was like "thou shall not cast aspersions."
Anyway, this was a chance to see my old friend J. Ryan, lead singer of Six Finger Satellite and ex-fish mongerer, among other things. He moved out there, and so at least I'd have someone to guide me in the customs of these strange people. When I got out of the cab at the fish restaurant he had me meet him at, there were fireworks booming in the sky, right above the place. He came out and was like "welcome, I hope you are pleased with my fireworks demonstration in your honor." In fact, times have been hard and I was quite pleased, it made the corner part of my eyes become riddled moisture. Only later did I discover that the fireworks weren't really for me, they were part of some convention they are having in this place next week. I could tell there was a convention going on because when I got back to my hotel there were prostitutes in my hotel's elevator, but that is another story.
I am saddened to report that if in fact I were due for a bit of good fortune, it was not granted to me at this time. WHen I arrived at the venue I was informed that Girl Talk was having a FREE show in Boulder. How can we compete with this? This Girl Talk, he not only gives people loads of other artist's music for free on his releases, but then he goes and plays free shows? People love free stuff, even if it is not something they want. They also love expensive stuff, even if it is something not worth it. But free? Like free love, people loved that stuff, everyone was into it, at least until the government squashed it with AIDS and bad feelings.
But in the spirit of providing a nice night for the people who were in attendance, I resolved to do my best. I focused on people like the hipster couple who danced the entire night away. I threw out some tests at them; like every time I put on a DFA record they seemed excited. I loved them. But they broke my heart, so carefree and happy, not a care in the world. And then the gay couple, I'd throw out some really gay disco or house numbers and they'd make out and yell my name. Oh well, I thought, every show can't be a sold out night in NYC or London or LA or whatever, and I had this idea of just playing what I feel, you know, letting it out as they say, playing what was on my mind, etc. So right in the middle of it I threw on the Aaron Carl track "Crucified," one of my all time favorite house type records. I just cut right out of the record I was playing and dropped it in on the opening accapela. The whole place went quiet, and Aaron comes in with:
"drowning in despair,
searching for a love,
that isn't there......
I might as well be,
crucified..."
People started weeping. I played Ashley Beadle's edit of Running Up That Hill, and when she's like "if only we could, make a deal with god, and get him to swap our places..." a girl with a really nice shirt ran up and hugged me, pressing her nice shirt against mine, and was like "it's ok juan, we are all going to be ok, the god in space will take care of us all." And I was like "the god in space let his own son die on the cross, he inflicted Job with boils and locusts and destroyed his crops and took away his family, he made Abraham agree to kill his own son and then stopped him as Abraham was about to plunge the knife in. How is he going to help me? He doesn't seem helpful at all, he seems much more into fucking with people, and don't get me started on the god of paradise, he makes you blow yourself up and says you'll get all these virgins when you go to live with him in paradise, but the thing is, who wants virgins? What is this thing with virgins? It's perverse, and quite troubling to me. Like, how old are these girls? And what is the big appeal? They are going to lie there, scared, and no matter what it is going to hurt, then they will cry, and they will want to know that you care for them and won't abandoned them but then you've got like 69 more virgins waiting for you. And they'll have no idea what to do, they won't know any of the tricks or techniques. Maybe they've read some of the manuals or Cosmopolitan but it's not the same, is it? Would you want to be on a flight where the pilot of the plane was undertaking his first flight after having only studied pilotry in manuals or read about it in magazines? Or watched movies of other pilots flying obscenely large planes, flying longer and faster than is humanly possible? I don't think so honey."
She seemed moved. "Juan you are so wise. I can't wait for your new album to come out, it will change everything, there will be a new paradigm. When will this happen."
"Early Spring of 2009. There will be single first, maybe by the end of the year. Then the touring will start full-on, the videos, the radio edits and all that. Don't worry, it's all going to be ok."
And that's when I realized that in helping others, I was really helping myself. By bringing hope and joy to this young lady, I could feel peace myself, and then I didnt' feel so bad that J lied to me about the fireworks.

"juan is a big fan of patchouli oil"
- Shit Robot

I used to carry a little vile of Patchouli around with me on tour. If I wanted to 'get' someone, I would put some on either their person, when they didn't notice (like walk up and pat someone on the back, "how you doing Shit Robot? Doing well? Oh good to hear it, cheerio mate!?" with a hand dosed in the magic oil).
The best case, however, is one involved Stickbug aka Eric Broucek, who played keytar and theremin in THe Juan MacLEan band. I started putting patchouli on the keys of Eric's Roland SH101 while it was still in the case, some time before we got to the venue. I started this practice overseas. After doing it for a couple of weeks, I started to think he didn't notice, so I really let him have it before we left for the US tour with LCD Soundsystem.
THe LCD tour started in Portland, Oregon, fittingly enough. Home of the indie rock self-important hippie!! So we load in all our gear and we start taking everythign out of the cases. We had just come back from EU/UK.
Soon after you hear from Eric "FUCK! I'm so sick of this!"
I thought I was busted, so I played dumb, "what is it ERic, what's the trouble old chap?"
"Every time we fly with our gear, the airline security uses tons of that oily stuff that tests for gunpowder or whatever, and it smells like patchouli and it's all over my keyboard again!!!!"
Always trying to look for the positive in any situation, I really tried to make him feel better.
"Oh that's tough, but look at it this way, those people are keeping us safe so no one blows up the plane while we are on it. I saw an Arabian guy when we were at Heathrow and I got very nervous, but then I saw him working at the falafel place and it eased my fears. Small price to pay, Eric, for our safety, so let's not think of ourselves here and think of the bigger picture, there is a war going on her, the Allah god vs. the god in space, and it is heating up. Let's be grateful we haven't been caught in the crossfire."
I looked around and everyone had become contemplative, I think I even brought a tear to a few eyes. Eric seemed moved.
"Well, now that you put it that way I guess it's ok. I just don't want my fingers slipping on the keys when i take a solo. You only let me have 3 a night, and I need to make the most of them, make them count."
About a week later I figured enough time had gone by and that Eric had sort of forgotten the last patchouli incident. So once again I spread the patchouli on the keys of Eric's SH101. It was at a show in Dallas. AFter LCD's soundcheck, we didn't have enough time for a soundcheck ourselves, so when we got up there to play, it was the first time Eric was using his 101 since the most recent dousing.
Our first song was AD2003. About halfway through I saw Eric fumbling about, and I looked over and he had a terrible look on his face. I saw him smelling his fingers, and then I saw this look of realization on his face. He looked at me and I knew it was over. I quickly realized my error: we hadn't flown on any planes!!! We hadn't gone through any security check, there was no reason for him to have the special oils on his keyboards.
Right in the middle of the song, Eric stopped playing and walked over to me. He took his index finger and held it under my nose. Usuallly in this situation the offending digit would reek of fish oil or clams or low tide or whatnot, but this time it was the smell of patchouli. I looked out into the audience and saw 100's of contorted faces, people making these sort of "ewww, gross!" faces. I can imagine what they thought was on that finger. I wanted to tell them, "it's not what you think, it's not the old fishfinger, it's PATCHOULI!," but I thought that would be unprofessional. Instead, I told them that Eric had had a bad dose of acid and needed a minute to get his bearings.
Eric has inadvertantly had his revenge, however. In 2008, with The Juan MacLean Band touring again, Nancy Whang has inherited Eric's old SH101. The first day she took it out at our first rehearsal, she remarked "is someone wearing patchouli?"
I actually like the stink of patchouli. I enjoy the scent, AND it does have some practical uses. It is used by members of the hippie organization to mask the smell of pot. It fends off insects after weeks of not showering or bathing. Also, it can really combat the smell of rotting dreads, especially when mayonaise or male ejaculate or other organic substances have been used to get the hair dreaded.
At any rate, as the French say, "c'est la je ne said quoi."

Here is the link to a Pitchfork feature on the Marcus Worgull remix of the new The Juan MacLean 12," The Simple Life:

http://www.pitchforkmedia.com/article/download/143299-premiere-the-juan-maclean-the-simple-life-marcus-worgull-remix-stream

Those of you who have heard Juan dj in the past year have most likely heard Juan playing Marcus Worgull's amazing 12" Spellbound.

And Btw, the 'male voice' at the end of the Simple Life is the voice of Juan. duh.
The Simple LIfe is the first track on the upcoming The Juan MacLean LP The Future WIll Come, which will be released in early 2009.

After rehearsing for months in an abandoned warehouse in Brooklyn, today is the day the Juan MacLean officially commences touring once again. Already these times are laden with high drama, and we have not ventured further than the confines of Bed-Stuy. An argument with my lifelong Theremin instructor Vlad resulted in an actual fistfight. Sometimes the student is the teacher, and sometimes convention must be disregarded in favor of exploration and advancement of a higher consciousness, more in keeping with the heartbeat of the dance. Vlad would here none of this of course, and I called him a Russian Drunkard and an imbecile besides. He went back to Greenpoint with a bloodied nose; I had my arm in a sling for a few days, ironically making my Theremin playing all the more unorthodox. Rafael was deported back to Mexico when we applied for an Australian visa. Perhaps most disturbing was what has become known as the 'knight of the rave.' Apparently some local kids could hear us practicing out on the streets. They pushed through the door to our space (not our space at all, just an abandoned warehouse building we broke into, ran an extension cord in for electricity from the bodega next door for $15 a day). They came in in the middle of one of our space jams, not sure how long it had been going on but i had stepped out for a sandwhich during a breakdown section. When i came back in the kids were in therr looking sorta bewildered and laughing. Then Nick brought the 4onthefloor kick back in and they started dancing. Someone turned on our strobes. More people showed up. This was about 2am. Eventually it was full-blown party, people were calling their friends and whatnot. The only problem is this is Brooklyn in 2008 or so and soon the police came too. They weren't too upset, they just told us to get rid of everyone. They never knew we weren't supposed to be there. One of the younger cop dudes asked if i ever heard of Joey Beltram and i said of course Energy Flash never left my record and i had recently broken out Mentasm again. Then we argued about wether Mentasm was really the first song to ever use the Hoover, I said it was and he said it wasn't, that that sound was actually done with a PPG or something. It started to get heated and i lost my temper at some point. I promised to send him some DFA stuff but i lost his card. This is good cuz his cop friends were calling us fags and stuff, and this guy was like "these guys like techno, that's not fag stuff, you're thinking of disco."
At any rate, were all pretty shaken up by the time they left. Disco or no disco, we were just trying to rehearse and get ready for this Cut Copy tour in Australia. So we left today for it, flying to Melbourne. It's pretty much like a 6 hr flight, even longer than flying to L.A. Right now we are in the plane about an hour away, except we left on Sunday and now it is Tuesday and I am started to get really paranoid. I did take one pill to help me sleep and I am starting to think i slept through something important. I mean, what happened to Monday? So I asked the stewardess as they call them here, i was like, "hey what day is it?" and she said "it's Tuesday of course," and i said "what about Monday," and she was like "are you retarded or just mentally deficient?"
Now in the United States in customer service they don't talk to you that way, it's all 'sir' and 'ma'am' and whatnot, none of this calling people retards. I was like "do you know who i am?" and she said 'no,' and i was like "have you ever heard of disco-punk lady? Huh? NO?! Who's the retard now? Go get me a cocktail or a cuntail or whatever the politically correct Australian term is for it, and think about this: I will not join your mile high club for any amount of frequent flyer miles."

Hello this is Juan speaking to you again. I know it has been a long time since i have written anything, but i have been in so much trouble because of my writings i feel like one of the Russian guys they threw in the gulag for writing bad stuff about Joey Stalin or whatever.
I have finished a new album that will be coming out sometimes in the Spring/Summer of 2008. It is called . Before that, though, a 12" called Happy House is coming out on March 4, 2008. Already advance orders are selling out, so be sure to be on top of the ball and get one on the first go round. I imagine it will be available through the usual download channels. Not just the free ones that everyone uses, a practise that ensures that i never recieve a dime for any of this, but also through iTunes. I had this idea that if like 100,000 people bought it when it came out then i would be number one in the charts that week, but then someone told me that was unrealistic because the song is actually like 12 minutes long and it would take too long for 100,000 downloads to happen. But we can try.
Happy House is a piano house type thing featuring Nancy Whang on the vocals, Nick Minllhiser (who you know from the Juan MacLean band, electro percussionist) on the drums, bass, and percussion, and Alex Frankel (who you also know from the Juan MacLean band as a keyboardist) on the keyboard, a piano and a Wurlitzer. This is a sound that very much reflects the years of touring we did for Less Than A Human, the first LP. Which brings me to the new LP, .
' ' will be released some time in the spring or summer of 2008. It is very reminiscent of the Juan MacLean live show. Much more of a live sound than A Lesser Human. Also, there it is much more vocal oriented, with lots of vocal presentation by Nancy and Juan. Sometimes Alex does a falsetto. Touring with the band will commence in the spring. It will be pretty much as before, except the full time addition of Nancy and Alex. We will be playing everywhere in the world, even in the Orient this time. Probably not Arabia though, unless stuff gets better there. Other than that we will be everywhere. 2008 will be Juan's year finally. The pope is calling it the year of forgiveness.