A Death in Mighty Silence

Former City Weekend columnist bids his dear friend and radio co-host "safe travels"

"There are some men," pens Leonard Cohen, "who should have mountains to bear their names to time." Cliché, maybe, to quote a singer / songwriter in times of tragedy, but for anyone who knew either of the men who recently left our lives, they'd tell you that adding music to this newfound nostalgia would be fitting.

Pierre Laret and DJ Flaneur passed away on October 3. Both at the same time, for you see – they made up one man. You might hear people overuse the phrase "larger-than-life" when trying to describe him and this is why. They worked in tandem, these two. One being businesslike; the other refusing to wear socks. One had plans of abrasively changing the way you listened to music; the other one would quietly make you a mix tape.

If DJ Flaneur didn't play at least one large night of your Shanghai tenure, then you weren't going to the right places. Even coming from someone who doesn't like dance music, watching him work a crowd was something to behold. In fact, many parallels lie between his performer persona and his real self. One night, in particular, I witnessed this from standing behind him in the booth. Almost seeming to know that the "international" DJ was glaring at him for taking the crowd into a frenzy too early, he twisted the bass up on one track, down on the other, then leaned forward and seemed to look every one of his 200 sweaty disciples in the eye. "I don't have to do what you tell me," he seemed to smile, below a mustache that would be too large for a man twice his size.

And then there was Pierre. He'd argue, in only a way that the French would, but would then come running up not two minutes afterwards, making sure that things were still cool. This is the guy who I fought with constantly on our music program "O.M.K.O.S." for not being productive enough, yet he is also the one who secretly spent more than 40 hours making me a "Birthday Radio Show." Never without a cigarette in one hand and an adult beverage in the other, he seemed to leave no doubt as to whether the term joie de vivre was of French descent.

He balanced both of these characters' qualities with the grace of an acrobat, never failing to entertain and be himself, but still keeping his arms, and heart, wide open. In fact, they'll tell you it was that heart that failed and they're right, but not for any reason that can be filed under a medical term. It failed of consumption. Consumption of too much life, of too much love. And in the end, it broke.

As did ours.

-Aric S. Queen