At first, I worry for this review. I hate when my ignorance shows, and I don't really have a vernacular for DJs and electronic music.

I am at Nation, a place I don't frequent because I don't dance, and I own only three CDs by DJs--one of whom is Moby. Downstairs, I-Spy is packed. They're showing snowboarding movies with DJs, and the crowd is loud and happy. Up here, the room is sort of quiet. It's Wednesday night, and this isn't music for dancing. It's a set by Quazar, who spins a gorgeous, ambient mix, very downtempo and city-slick.

I talk to Model Citizen, the DJ who will be spinning after Quazar, and ask him to tell me a little bit about what his friend is spinning. All I am thinking to say in describing Quazar's set is that it's mellow; that there's some good, obscure soul-and-funk stuff happening throughout an otherwise jazzy set, and some sexy, stuttering drum and bass patterns being interwoven, lending shape and texture to the music's dreamlike flow. I'm told (not by Model Citizen, but by someone else) not to call the set "drum and bass"--that calling the set drum and bass would be an insult to what Quazar is doing. Let it be known that this is not drum and bass. It's experimental. There is no ridiculous hand-jerking happening on the dance floor. Instead, Quazar's listeners luxuriate.

The set is moody and emotional, soft around the edges while percussion-driven. Like many DJs, Quazar is sort of beautiful to watch. He smokes cigarettes and wears a knit hat, and though he occasionally dances along to the beats he creates, Quazar epitomizes staid confidence behind his turntables. This, in my layperson's opinion, is one of the most important aspects of the DJ, especially in a trendy atmosphere like the one tonight. Quazar has that DJ's air of authority. He smokes upward as he raises the volume to fill the room with robotic noises; the crowd (there are about 10 of us up front) demurs. Heads bob coolly, and faces register appreciation: acceptance of Quazar's pulse, held in tow by the welcome, redundant bass elements within the set. We relax to a few tastefully layered snare hits, the subsequent tssk of the high-hat.

Most distinctive and dreamy about Quazar's set is his use of flange, often set against female R&B vocals. The affected beats fill the air, their sound wide open. Quazar mixes in hand-drum beats. They are higher in pitch than everything but the high-hat. The mix is grounded in a deep, subterranean thumping of bass beats that make listeners want to drink. The set is dizzying. The bass track halts momentarily, and a song becomes completely entrancing. All sound seems nonlinear, even as it is patently mathematical. The beats return, different this time, harder and deeper than before.

Everyone in the room seems very happy. I am told that Wednesdays at Nation used to be more crowded than they are lately. It's a shame, really, given that the room and the rum in my hand are aglow by mid-set.