Marz -- or Miracle Marz as he prefers to be called these days -- is shrewd, but not crass, about the fact that the art of being a turntablist is also a business. An enormous business, actually: Sales of the Technics 1200 line, the granddaddy of turntables, have skyrocketed; one model of Vestax mixers saw a sales jump of 166 percent between 1997 and 1998.
Four months ago, Marz got a mixer sponsorship, but that's only a small part of the reason he sees the turntablist boom as a godsend. "Last year was the first year where there was really just an explosion," he says. "Now the needles just fucking grab and the mixers, you can beat the shit out of them and they're not going to break. That's really cool compared to five, 10 years ago. Those mixers, you'd have to open them up every damn week, and everybody had had alterations they had to do, sticking tape over the faders to make them not so wide."
The upshot of this is that Marz now has more time to concentrate on making music. Brain Language, a compilation of tracks culled mainly from a series of mix tapes he began putting out in 1996, was released on local label Hip Hop Slam last month and showcases the growth and inventiveness of one of the Bay Area's most eclectic and compositional turntablists. If esteemed DJs like QBert and Quest are sheets-of-sound Coltrane, putting their scratch skills at the forefront, Marz is myself-when-I-am-real Mingus, melding old-school hip hop, new wave synth sounds, clarion-call guitars, laid-back L.A. B-3 organ jazz, Detroit electro, and more. And while that's not terribly different from the bag of tricks most DJs use, Marz is more successful than many at merging the manipulations into a seamless whole -- into song. "[He] has his own style and his own way of doing things," says DJ Cue of the Space Travelers, which includes Marz, DJs Eddie Def and Quest, and MC Eddie K. "He's the younger generation of what we were. If we're a family, he's the rebellious, teenage kid, and we're the conservative older relatives." MC Luke Sick of South Bay hip hop act Sacred Hoop explains that "the thing everybody says is that he has no predecessor to his style. He's brand new. It's almost like he doesn't listen to other DJs."
But if Marz isn't a strict traditionalist, his heart is certainly in early hip hop: No. 1 on his list of 10 favorite tracks, listed in the Brain Language liner notes, is Newcleus' "Jam on It," the "Go and Tell Aunt Rhody" of rap. "I try to spread it around -- whatever I can get my hands on," says Marz. "I like old-school hip hop material. You have to be very selective these days when you're buying music. You're spending all this money buying the freshest shit and a few months later it's not really. Gems are rare these days, or underground classics, compared to classics from the '70s or '80s. Any music that has survived to be here today is pretty good."
As the first wave of hip hop was ending, Marz was getting started on his mixing career, making pause tapes off whatever he heard on the radio. At 12, he got his first turntable and mixer and was able to mesh those tapes together. "It was just noises over beats," he recalls. "The sounds -- not everything's on beat, it's just kind of there. So I was timing things so they could fit into four-bar, eight-bar sequences." At 14 Marz was seeing Cue and Quest -- then members of the Bullet Proof Scratch Hamsters -- at DJ battles, and eventually took a job at Cue's Hip Hop Shop. After honing his skills further, Marz competed in the '94 and '95 DMC battles, but gave up on being a battle DJ soon after. Today he writes it off as paying his dues. "I'd rather play for an audience for half an hour," he says. "Battling, you have to know everything, and I don't give a fuck about knowing all the different styles."
As the youngest member of the Space Travelers, Marz is aware he approaches the turntables differently. "I grew up in a whole different generation than Eddie Def," he says. "Kids these days are a lot different than five years ago, or even three. [Cue] is four years older than me, and in four years there's been the whole electronic music thing. That's my generation."
In 1996 Marz released his first tapes. Most of the songs, as re-compiled for Brain Language, are fairly typical scratches over breaks and beats, but the two most striking moments are "Mixing Extravaganza" and "Wake Up 2 Break Up," epic panoramas over 18 minutes long. "Both of those mixes started out as a fluke," Marz says. "The three-minute ones I could see out the whole way -- I could pretty much plan out what I was going to do. But sometimes I can start something out and not know where it's going to go, and it ends up being 20 minutes."
After the tapes came a deluge of various projects: DJing for South Bay hip hop acts Sacred Hoop and 99th Demention, scratching on a pair of tracks for the Cue's Hip Hop Shop Vol. 1 compilation, a pair of break records, a tour of Europe and Japan with Latyrx, a contribution to the upcoming Dwarves album Come Clean, and a Space Travelers track on Om Records' forthcoming Deeper Concentration 3 compilation. There's a 99th Demention/Sacred Hoop spinoff, the Bachelors, he's also involved in, as well as Noise Pollution, another forthcoming project with Eddie Def.
The break records, Mayonnoise and Skrilla Skratch, were released on Marz's own Underaged Grandfather label. "That name, that's a great description of him," says Luke Sick. "He's so young, but he's got this amazing skill level."
DJ Cue says of Marz, "He has an idea for everything. If you have a bad pair of shoelaces, he'll tell you how to make better shoelaces. He doesn't have a tired bone in his body."
There is a youthful arrogance in the way Marz discusses his work. He points out that the break records were put together mainly with a four-track recorder and a mini-disc player, and sagely explains that from a business standpoint, break records bring in repeat buyers (from DJs who wear the disc out), unlike 12-inch rap singles, which get obsolete quickly. "I just got an e-mail account," he says. "If I had a computer, I'd be using digital recording equipment right now, and I'd have 20 albums in my bag."
Part of Marz's secret would appear to be coffee: He's slow to get talking at first, but within a half-hour he's caffeinated enough to ponder the idea of whether turntablists' tracks can be converted into sheet music ("Everything's always going to be within an octave -- you've got your middle C, your B flat ...") and wondering why some people don't have the same initiative. "Staying busy is what it really comes down to," he says. "Half of my group of friends have no fucking clue about what I'm doing, and they all have jobs and complain about not having time and always being late -- they can't really go on vacations and do stuff like that. And that circle's just death."
As Marz sees it, he's in business for perpetuity -- as long as there's music, there's room for the remix. "People are always open to being fucked with," he says. "You can always fuck with them, there's always an opening for that, so why not go for that? It's so easy."