Above & Beyond Help One Man Find Signs and Salvation in Music

This is a story of loss, recovery, rediscovery and faith. And of course, trance. Let’s not forget the trance.

It begins with a eulogy.

Way back when—let’s say around 2001 or 2002—I was heavily involved in the club scene. I would go out just about every weekend, and oftentimes I would meet some DJ or producer for an interview. Sadly, I had no car at the time, and traveling from the hinterlands of Ventura County all the way to distant Los Angeles was problematic.

Fortunately, I had a great friend, one Miss Leslie Hirschorn, who was equally involved in the nightlife, also lived in Thousand Oaks, and was gracious enough to give me a ride out to wherever it was we were headed that weekend: Spundae, Giant, the Monday Night Social. On the drive down to Los Angeles, we’d listen to a lot of DJ mixes; I’d frequently be pushing some covermount CD from whatever Britmag I’d just picked up. A Mixmag compilation by Eric Prydz from 2004 was often on heavy rotation.

Leslie knew everybody—from the valets, all the way to the top promoter, and everyone in between. She was especially familiar with the “talent.” It seemed she was on a first-name basis with almost every single DJ we went out to see. I had acquired a few friends through my efforts in writing, but their numbers were dwarfed by the amount of people Leslie knew. It was completely ridiculous.

Lest you get the wrong idea, Leslie was not some trampy, VIP-humping bottle rat. She was an intelligent, steadily employed, self-possessed woman who enjoyed her Jack Daniels and Diet Coke. She was the reason I wound up hanging out with Hybrid in their Venice studio watching Man on Fire (a movie they scored) on Super Bowl Sunday 2005. What began as a need to get from point A to point B wound up shaping a great deal of my experience in “the scene,” and to her I am grateful.

Sadly, we all lost Leslie to a long battle with cancer in December 2010. It was a dark period for those of us who knew and loved her.

I practically shouted in the pre-op room at 6 am. His grin let me know he was messing with me.

Fast-forward about 12 years. I never stopped listening to electronic music and DJ mixes, but somewhere along the line, going out fell by the wayside. Earlier this year, I was sampling various DJ podcasts, blindly, trying to recapture the sounds of the past. Perhaps I was just looking for something as elusive as a feeling, a shot in the dark at best. I cast my nets in seemingly familiar waters, though my quest to find Tiësto in his In Search of Sunrise days or Paul Oakenfold echoing his Perfecto Presents moments were futile. I remembered the name Above & Beyond, as I fondly recalled their remix of Aurora’s “Ordinary World.” I began downloading the Group Therapy podcast and found myself in a place that was extraordinarily emotionally familiar. Not only did the show feature a great deal of music that stayed true to the sound I loved; it also fostered a strong sense of community. (Hello, shout-outs?!)

On a March night, I collapsed on my bed after work and, while in repose, found something on my person in a place where it should not be. Something with a definitive lack of symmetry, warranting a late-night freak-out and a call to a friend. A lump.

The rest of March and April was consumed with worry, doctor visits, and lots of speculation. Intellectually, I knew that my form of cancer was highly curable, but there remained a sneaking suspicion in my mind—the nagging “what ifs” that creep in when no one is around. My doctor assured me that he would “save my life”—his exact words—but life itself holds no promises.

On March 21, I was listening to Above & Beyond: Group Therapy podcast #71, and a tune came on: a new, ripping, fully realized anthem. The kind of track that makes you want to test the limits of your car stereo. It was none other than Eric Prydz’s “Liberate.” It felt hopeful to me. Strange as it is to write, I knew that it was Leslie reaching out to me. I knew that no matter the outcome of my surgery, everything would be OK. I was assured of it 100 percent. That’s how confident I was.

The date of surgery arrived. Having never gone under the knife before, everything was new to me. I got the male nurse with a sense of humor. Of course. “So today, we’ll be removing the right testicle?” he asked me. “Left!!!” I practically shouted in the pre-op room at 6 am. His grin let me know he was messing with me. I was wheeled into the OR and given the gas. Next thing you know, I’m awake in the recovery room. There are follow-ups to be done for the next two years, but right now, today, I am cancer-free.

In Group Therapy podcast #75, Paavo broadcasted my shout-out to all the friends and family who supported me during my difficult time. Directly after, he played Chicco Secci & Fabio B’s “Crosses.” To a Christian man, the connection was obvious and reassuring.

It is quite something to have the universe point its finger down upon you. People everywhere frequently demand a sign from God. The caveat is: When a sign is shown to you, will you be wise and willing enough to recognize it?

Post-surgery. Still thriving. Liberated. Therapy, indeed.

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