Last Friday, I went to hear Derrick May spin at the Mockingbird. Many others, it seemed, went to SEE Derrick May spin at the Mockingbird. Last time I went to hear May spin, it was Fukhouse (RIP) at Industry (RIP) and the place was packed to the tits and everyone was dancing like a maniac. This time, there were maybe 100 in attendance at any one point, everyone was constantly wandering between the main room and the lounge, and one might have thought that May was the Mona Lisa from the way that people were staring, gawking and generally thrilled to be in his presence. I can't fault the idol worship, because after all, it's DERRICK F'N MAY. And I can't fault people for not consistently packing the dancefloor, because everyone is free to enjoy music in whatever fashion they prefer, it's not written anywhere that when the DJ plays, the masses are obligated to dance like pill popping teenage girls. Also, May played a challenging set, filled with everything from beatless Philippe Cam to old school L'il Louis to slamming hard techno-funk. As an aside, the biggest rise from the crowd seemed to come from the cheery house tracks he dropped early on which instilled a momentary fear in me that the only way he'd get a rise out of the tiny crowd would be to stoke the Richard Simmons at Gay Pride Day reflex, but that fear quickly passed once the music got rougher and faster and the dancefloor cleared. But I got the feeling that coming to the Mockingbird that night was treated like a spectator sport, with the music he spun being second nature to the man himself. It was an evening in a never-been-there netherzone between the stereotypical faceless DJ while ravers get off their heads, and a fan-club admiration society in which the star DJ shows up, pops their summer mix tape into the stereo, does the obligatory meet and greet, and heads for the waiting limo nary an hour later.