Sound Check

Eight decks down, aboard the nuclear-powered USS Abraham Lincoln aircraft carrier, in an abandoned metal bilge room under the aft engine, Mad Rad’s Darwin (Ty Finnan) learned to DJ. In March of 2003, the Abraham Lincoln was 200 miles off the coast of Kuwait in the Persian Gulf. The three-football-fields-long carrier was one of three battle groups that took part in launching the Iraq war, the largest, quickest display of destructive force ever demonstrated in the history of the earth. Guess who was on board, not as a DJ, but as an ABH second class air warfare specialist? You guessed it: Darwin, the future-bass tropical space-cumbia dubstep pro, who will straight up play 76 genres of music on your ass if you’re not careful.

Finnan served in the United States Navy from 2000 to 2004 as an aircraft handler in the Primary Flight Operations Division. His job was to assist the air boss and the mini boss in landing planes. The carrier was stationed in the area when Saddam Hussein stopped letting weapons inspectors in. On March 20, 2003, they kicked off Operation Iraqi Freedom with a “shock and awe” blitz, along with the USS Carl Vinson and the USS Eisenhower. Every 20 minutes for two days, 30 planes with four 2000-pound JDAM bombs each took off from the three carriers. That’s 1,080 bombs an hour. A little over a month later, President George W. Bush landed on the Abraham Lincoln to give the famous “Mission Accomplished” speech. Guess who he spoke to 10 minutes before that speech? You guessed it: Darwin. They shook hands and talked about Ichiro.

What did Bush say to you before he made that speech?

I was in the tower and heard the very rare call of “commander in chief on deck.” Next thing I know, Bush is there. He stopped, stuck out his hand, and said, “Where ya from, son?” I responded, “Seattle, Washington.” This is 10 minutes before that speech to the world about how we won the war. Then he says, “How ’bout that Ichiro?” And he was talking about all these outfielders and baseball and stuff. When that guy shakes your hand, though, and looks into your eyes, it’s like there’s nothing else going on in the world.

What was it like being a part of “shock and awe”?

We had trained over and over and over off the coast of San Diego for so long. Everything became such repetition. When it actually went down, it didn’t seem that much different. I had a job to do, and I did it the best I could. We were going through the motions, not necessarily thinking about the ramifications of it all.

You joined the navy right out of high school?

Yeah, and six months after I joined, the World Trade towers were attacked.

When you think back on it, and your participation in the war, what do you think? Do you ever regret it?

Not at all. I have no regrets about it. This is my country; I did my time in the navy, serving my country. I volunteered, and by signing up to join, part of my job was to do what my country told me to do—regardless of whether it’s the right thing or the wrong thing, it’s your country. Politics aside, I had a job to do and I did it.

How did you find the room eight decks down to DJ in?

We scouted for it. It was an abandoned bilge room of some sort, about 20 feet by 30 feet. One homie would bring the turntables; one had the speaker, a Mackie self-powered monitor; and one had the mixer. We brought it down there in boxes to make it look like we were working. We had to carry the stuff down eight flights of steps, then all they way back up when we were finished. We’d set everything up with some chairs and strobe lights. It was a club.

What was your schedule like on the ship? How much time did you have off?

We worked 12-hour shifts, then had 12 hours off. We called the room the Engine Room, and it became our spot. It was a hollow metal space. The acoustics were amazing. We changed the lock and had a guy who would lock it from the outside and look out. That area was his responsibility, so we felt pretty safe. We were blowing off steam. We needed to blow off steam. It was the spot. There were 5,000 people on board, and word got out. Eventually, it got too big. We’d come out after however long, throw on our uniforms, and go fight a war.

So you were locked in there? Eight decks down in the hull of an aircraft carrier, in the Persian Gulf, at “war,” raving?

Pretty much. We would invite friends and take pills, ecstasy. No booze. If they smelled booze on your breath, you were screwed.

Would you have been in trouble for being in there, on ecstasy, throwing mini raves?

Hell yeah, we would have been in trouble.

How did you get around drug testing? I’m sure they tested.

I knew the master at arms. My one homeboy was sleeping with one of the head women, and she would give us a four- or a five-day notice. We never smoked weed; we always did things that could be out of our system in three days. We had someone tipping us off.

What happens if they catch you doing drugs on an aircraft carrier?

They kick you out. You’re given a “less than honorable discharge.” You get flown on the next supply plane off the ship and given a one-way ticket home.

How did your time spinning in the Engine Room affect your DJing?

I got a chance to learn about music from all over. This was before CDJs and Serato, so we spun records. There was a guy from Chicago who was into Chicago house music, I was into drum ‘n’ bass, there was a guy from Miami with all this Miami bass, and Detroit with Detroit techno. These different cats from different cities gave me a real personal side of what the music was, and what it meant to their city, and to them. It really shaped me as a DJ. At sea, we’d order records, and it would take them a month to get there. I would want to play a particular song so bad but would have to wait for the vinyl to get there. I think it gave me such an appreciation for music.

Did you continue the Engine Room club raves after the bombing had started?

Yes. We had become complacent in a way. We trained for so long—it was all this massive repetition, pressing the exact same buttons endlessly. We never saw the bombs land, we never saw people die. We were in this isolated place on the ship. Detached in a way. They program you to do one thing on the job and be extremely efficient with it. But yeah, when we were bombing Afghanistan, we were down in the Engine Room playing records.

When you were in there, did you ever think about the bombs that were falling and the destruction from the war outside?

No. Because you’re so in the moment at the time.

Were you needing not to think about it?

Yeah. Other guys would just play video games and cards, or work out, and to me, that’s just boring. When we were DJing down in that room, it was a release. It was a positive atmosphere. It was a break from the monotony and the seriousness of what was going on with the war.

Spinning in the bowels of that ship balanced you.

You could say that. It was how we were able to stay sane in a way, by letting loose and being with all this music, and each other. As soon as I got out of the navy, I started spinning. A lot of drum ‘n’ bass is at 174 bpm; I was able to take it into new places.

What made you first want to DJ?

When I was 18 and first got to Seattle, I started going to the raves that were at NAF Studio in West Seattle every Saturday. Every Friday, I’d go to the all-ages rave venue Club FX. Going to these nights got me so into the culture of DJing. This was before you could go online and download any song you wanted; you had to go into the record store and buy the actual record. I got addicted to it.

What’s a song you would have played in the Engine Room?

Anything from Hospital Records out of London. I was really into that.

What do you think about the “Mission Accomplished” speech and the banner that was hung on your ship?

It was a facade. A lie.

You and Bush stay in touch, right?

Oh yeah. How ’bout that Ichiro, huh?