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This message comes from Capital One. Banking with Capital One helps you keep more money in your wallet with no fees or minimums on checking accounts. What's in your wallet terms apply. See capitalone.com bank for details. Capital One NA member FDIC this is FRESH AIR. I'm Tanya Moseley. Music producer and DJ Mark Ronson's new memoir, Night People takes us back to a New York that no longer exists before Mayor Rudy Giuliani's crackdown on nightlife, before camera phones and bottle service transformed the culture forever. It's the story of how a young outsider with a British accent found his place in the 1990s club scene, learning how to read crowds, dig through crates and create the perfect mix of venues where the city's tribes collided. Rappers and models and skaters and socialites, everyone glamorous and, as Ronson describes them, a little lawless. Night People, as he defines them, are different than people who simply enjoy a night out. They become their best selves once the sun goes down and daytime is just the warmup. These formative years spinning records would shape everything that came after. Ronson is a nine time Grammy Award winner, producing career defining albums for Amy Winehouse and Lady Gaga. He's also behind hits like Uptown Funk with Bruno Mars, Shallow from A Star Is Born and the Barbie soundtrack. But Night People takes us to Ronson's beginning DJing in 90s New York and rubbing shoulders with artists that would go on to become hip hop and R and B legends like Biggie Smalls, Timbaland and Missy Elliott, Jay Z, Puff Daddy and Aaliyah. Mark Ronson, welcome back to FRESH air.
B
Thank you so much. Thank you, Tanya. Thanks for having me.
A
Yeah. You know, Mark, this was a really fun read and it had me thinking that most of us experience the DJ from the dance floor. So this book really gives us a glimpse of what it's actually like for the dj. And I actually think I want to start our conversation by you reading from the book. It's the opening scene right at the top and it gives us a taste. Can you read it for us?
B
Absolutely. 2am you're at a house party packed with people rolling up from the club, all trying to squeeze a few more hours out of Saturday night. It's not wild, but it could get there. In the kitchen, party bodies huddle around a counter mixing bottom shelf vodka with whatever's in reach. Capri, Sun, Kombucha, maybe both. Out on the terrace, the die hards are smoking cigarettes like it's still 1999, ashing into a cereal bowl that's been sacrificed for the occasion. In the living room, speakers pump out a mishmash of bedroom pop. In the occasional boy band classic, somebody's go to playlist. It's ironic, tolerable, and ultimately a bit lifeless. Yet you can feel it though. The party is on the verge. It just needs someone brave enough to tip it over. You pull out your phone and queue up your sure Fire banger. Sliding over to the speaker. You hijack the aux cord like it's nothing and a sharp electronic buzz rips through the room. Eyes snap towards you. The judgment is heavy. But then your fingertip makes contact and the opening kick. Drums of Fat man scoops Be Faithful tear through the room like blood from Thor's hammer. The shift is seismic. Cups slam to countertops. The sofa gets shoved back. Bodies flood the floor with raised hands. A collective finally overtakes the place. You stand by the speaker, cradling your phone like a trophy. The room is alive, buzzing, and somehow united. Your finger hovers over the screen to cue up the next heater. The crowd now trusts you. You're about to show them why.
A
That's my guest today, award winning producer and DJ Mark Ronson, reading from his new memoir, Night People. Mark, I love this moment because it really is kind of a pure show of your power as a dj. You're able to just make the room explode by the decisions that you make. And you describe in this book how nothing compares to the first time you feel it. Take me back to the actual first time you actually experienced that rush.
B
Yeah, I. So the first time I had that feeling, I was at my mother's wedding to my stepfather and I think I was 10 years old and they had like a really small little wedding in the garden of this summer rental. And even though my stepdad was this really successful huge rock star, he was in the band Foreigner and, you know, wrote all these songs. I Want to Know what Love Is Waiting For A Girl like youe. It seemed like the music at the wedding was almost an afterthought. Like, I think they were playing like a tape deck in the house that was wired to some speakers in the garden. And then one point as the sun was going down, the music just kind of stopped entirely. Like you heard the cassette kind of snap. And Mick just looked at me and he was like, ma, go put something on. And, you know, obviously this felt like all the responsibility of the world in my hands. Like this little kid obsessed with music, like my stepdad saying, like, you can control the music, you know, like at this wedding. So I ran in the house and there were all these cassettes and I remember like searching through them and there was nothing that seemed right. And then I saw Timepieces, the best of Eric Clapton. And I was like, ah. And even in my like 10 year old brain, I saw the song Wonderful Tonight on there. And I was like, that is an appropriate song for now. That is like my mom, my mom looks wonderful in her dress and it seems romantic and I'm gonna put that on. I quickly cued it up, hit. They, you know, had some crazy 80s cassette deck with an auto cue and found the song hit play. And I remember standing inside the house looking through the window as my stepdad pulls my mom in for like a slow dance and the moon. And you know, I even say in the book, my memory here is blurry and it might be a little Hollywooded out, but it was like he brought her in, she's luminescent in this dress. And I just stood there watching this scene, slightly drunk off this feeling of like, oh my God, you know, this is my music playing out there. But also it was this thing that was like the first time in my life I genuinely have a memory of having done something right. So, you know, obviously at that moment that wasn't like my Spider Man Genesis story. I wasn't suddenly like, ah, now I'm going to be a dj. I didn't even put this together probably till I was writing the book, but it really is one of my most sort of visceral early childhood memories.
A
Well, you make this distinction between people who enjoy a night out and night people, people who kind of just become their best selves once the sun goes down. And when did you realize that you were also a night person?
B
Well, I think it's one of those things, you know, when I was 18, starting out as a DJ in clubs in New York, music was just my passion. So I'm chasing this thing at night because if you're a dj, obviously you work at night. But then as I was writing the book and I started to piece together like, wait, this really tight knit crew of maybe 200 people that we saw at all the time that were all a little broken in their own way. Or maybe it's too much of a generalization to say everybody was like, you know, falling apart or a vampire. But there was this thing that just the people that I saw out night after night were people that the daytime was just like a little too, like in the broad, in the, whatever, the bright light of day, it Was like, too much for people. Maybe they were running from something, running towards something, looking for community. So I realized, you know, I came up with the term night people because I thought that applied to our little cracked community of people.
A
You also were raised by night people. You mentioned your mom, you mentioned your stepdad, Mick Jones. He would actually wake you up in the middle of the night on school nights, and I think you were in middle school to get your opinion on Foreigner mixes.
B
Yeah.
A
What do you remember most about those nights?
B
I just remember thinking it was so cool that he obviously, he valued my opinion. You know, I was so obsessed with music, and he had a home studio, and the idea of being in his home studio, watching him craft these demos and trying to learn how to work these tape machines and stuff was so cool. His home studio was my favorite room in the house. So the fact that he would wake me up at 2 in the morning and be like, play me these mixes from the latest Foreigner songs and ask my opinion. I just. I mean, I've so valued my time spent alone with him because he was out of the house and on tour a lot, and I was so close to him, but also feeling like my opinion meant anything was also really kind of. Yeah, meant the world to me, Mark.
A
I mean, it's your life, so it's normal for you. But I think for any Foreigner fan, or even those who just are aware of Foreigner, to hear that you were in the room as he was going through these mixes, some of them went on to be very popular songs, iconic songs. Are there things that you remember where you were listening to those beginning, like, the beginning stages of music that would become the tapestry of our lives?
B
I don't remember specific songs, but I think it was the first time that he brought a mix home and played it for me, and then he played me a mix of the same song, you know, a week later. And I said, I kind of like the other one. I was, you know, nine years old, squeaky English accent. I kind of like the other one because it had a. The bass was a bit louder. And he was just like, what? Like, how? And then he checked and with the engineer, like, was the bass louder? And I think after that, he realized I had these sort of, like, bizarre, like, recall for these things. I think he started to value my opinion. But, no, it is crazy to think that I was listening to. As he was like, I want to know what love is in these songs that would become classics. Like, I can't tell you how much of my, you know, opinion actually went into the final product. But it was so. It was so important to me.
A
I really can't get over that. He wrote I want to know what love is about your mother.
B
I know. And no, that's insane. And then also the song that he wrote, Waiting For A Girl like youe before he tried to convince my mom that he wrote it for her too. And she was like, not having it. She's like, but you wrote that four years before you met me. But he was like, but I was waiting for a girl like you. I think he was just trying to be romantic or something. But, yeah, she wasn't having it.
A
You had this incredible music education at home with Mick, and just. Your mother also had lots of musician and creative friends who would come in and out of your home. She had lots of parties at night, so you got to see night people, even in the adults who were around you as a young child. But at 17, you write about how you were still kind of searching for your own musical identity. You had started a couple of bands with friends, and then you heard this song by Pete Rock and CL Smooth. They reminisce over you, Troy. That's the name of the song. And something in you clicked. And I want to talk to you about that. But first I want us to listen to a bit of it.
B
I reminisce for a spell, or shall I say think back 22 years ago to keep it on track. The birth of a child on the 8th of October. A toast. But my granddaddy came sober Count all the fingers in the toes Now I suppose you hope the little black boy grows.
A
I think that came out like in 1992. Tell me about the night you first heard that and why it rocked you'd world.
B
Like you said, you know, I'd spent my whole teens wanting to play music. I had this band that I'd put like my entire sort of. Like I had no social life at school. Like everything was about this band and there were four other brilliant musicians in it. And I was. I was sort of probably the weak link technically as a guitar player. But my, you know, I hustled, got us, you know, made the flyers, got us the gigs, arranged the songs, produced our demos, and stole stage clothes from my mom's closet. I think there was just this moment where I started to become a little frustrated with the lack of my technical abilities and everyone's kind of shooting past me and I started to have this more realization, like, if this is what being a musician is, if I want to be in music, I might have to find my own lane. And we had had this really big gig, our most important gig ever. At this thing called the New Music Seminar, which was sort of like a South by Southwest that used to happen in New York in the 90s. Where the biggest bands and new ban would play and, you know, A and R scouts would come. And that's how they find the huge superstars of tomorrow, Whatever. And we got this big gig, which I sort of blagged our way into opening up for. I think it was Arrested Development. And we had just. We had bombed. We had bombed at the gig. It was the last gig before a couple of the band were going off to college. It was like just one of those turning point nights where, like, wow. Like, we just. This might be over. And riding back uptown in my drummers. I remember he had a Mazda 626. That it was his stepdad's. And we'd shove the drum kit, my amp's in the back, and we're heading up the west side highway, kind of like in dead silence. Because we're just both kind of like, just so bummed from the gig. And he put this song on. They Reminisce over your. And there was just something. I mean, you just heard it. How mournful. It's just so beautiful. But the drums are so driving and groovy and incredible. And there's something about loss and mourning that's in the lyrics. And I just heard it, and it just got under my skin in such a way. And I just was like, this is what I want to do. Whatever I have to do to only be around this music from now on. That's what I want. And that was kind of the turning point when I decided to become a dj.
A
You described it as wanting to live inside of the song, which I thought was just really powerful.
B
Yeah, there was a. Yeah. And I think I said, like, I got back to my drummer's house and I stayed over at his house. Cause it was just one of those nights, like, you do anything not to go home. Like, even if you're sleeping on someone's couch, just to be in the next room from someone. And I just remember listening to his. He had a single cassette. Single. And I listened to it over and over again. Like, chasing the ache. Like, you know when there's something that's just sad, but you just, like, want to absolutely fully dive into it. And that was a real turning point for me.
A
There's that saxophone that loops in that song, which is a sample. It's actually from the 1967 song Today by Tom Scott.
B
And.
A
And I actually want to play a little bit of that too. And we're actually picking up the song where that saxophone comes in for the song, which is kind of later in this song. Let's listen. To be any more than I am.
B
Would be alive I'm so full of love I could burst apart and start to cry.
A
That was Today by Tom Scott, 1960. And Mark, this was a real turning point for you. As you said in this original sample, you found it as well. And that ignited an obsession for you. You write about spending hours in record stores hunting down for these kind of obscure records, but what strikes me about this particular sample is how. I don't want to say buried, but it comes at the latter half of this song. So when you're hunting for samples, I mean, you're not just hunting for rare records, you're hunting for hidden moments within the records. I'm just wondering when you started to go search for your own samples, how deep would you dig into a single song?
B
Well, I think you're exactly right. Like, this is an example that the most beautiful moment of a song could be somewhere in the middle. And there's a tendency when you're sampling or digging for breaks, like you're just kind of listening to the beginning, three seconds of every song. But, you know, you talk to any legendary producer from that time, DJ Premier or Q Tip, they were always like listening to the whole record. Dilla, you know, one of the most celebrated producers, always would. But I love that you played that song. A, thank you and B, it's so emblematic of that time. Like, that was. I know, because I'm so obsessed with the Pete Rock song. I know all the folklore. And there was this famous record convention that would happen a few times a year at the Roosevelt Hotel in Midtown, and everybody would go to find their breaks in the 90s. And large professor, a very popular producer at the time, had grabbed the record and decided maybe listen to it quickly, it wasn't for him, and handed it to Pete Rock while he was leaving, like, hey, there's nothing for me on here. You might dig this. And then the fact that it's an obscure. Tom Scott was this incredible session saxophone player who played with Joni Mitchell and on countless film soundtracks and so celebrated now. But back then he was just making an obscure jazz instrumentalist record where he was covering also, like, not obscure, but a lesser known song by the Jefferson Airplane. And like, how do all these things come together to then provide the music for One of the most sort of iconic hip hop songs of its era just was just such a wonderful, like sort of, you know, patchwork, like of all these coincidences. So it was so emblematic of that time.
A
How deep was your obsession to find these obscure records and like what lengths would you go to?
B
Oh my God, like, well, this record was an obscure record like most things and probably a $5 record until that sample happened. And then suddenly it was a hundred dollar record because now it's part of an iconic, it's part of history. And everyone wants to also check what other gold might be on that album. So that record was out of the question for me to have at that point. Cause you know, it was $100 record, but I would, you know, there was no streaming, there was nothing there. So there was one guy at DJ record collector named Ben Velez who I knew who had that record. And I would just go to his room, like sometimes he would come back to his dorm room. He's a senior and I was a freshman. And I'd be like sitting outside his dorm room waiting for him to open the door so I could come and listen to some of these records again. Because that's, that's. And I had to spend like the first month at college, like proving my worth and like trustworthiness to him so he would even let me listen to records. So like it was such an interesting time that if there's something that you love, like the access to it was so slow, you had to kind of like befriend people who had the records and then prove yourself as whatever, like a genuine music appreciator. But of course I love it because it made everything so sacred. But it's ridiculous now to think you could just go to who sampled and you would find out what the thing was and you would immediately go to Spotify or YouTube.
A
Our guest today is Mark Ronson, Grammy winning producer and author of the new memoir how to be a DJ in 90s New York City. Hey, I'm Tonya Moseley and this is Fresh air. On the plus side, you get sponsor free listening to over 25 NPR podcasts. On the minus side, you get fewer chances to tap fast forward on your podcast player. On the plus side, you get to support something you care about. On the minus side, you like challenges and think this makes it too easy. So why don't you join us on the plus side of things with NPR? Learn more and sign up at plus.npr.org sources and methods. The crown jewels of the intelligence community Shorthand for how do we know what's real? Who told us? If you have those answers, you're on the inside and NPR wants to bring you there. From the Pentagon to the State Department to spy agencies, listen to understand what's really happening and what it means for you. Sources and Methods, the new National Security podcast from npr. Military commanders, intelligence officials, diplomatic power players, they know things you may not about where the world. And we will pull back the curtain on what they're thinking on sources and methods, NPR's new national security podcast. Our team will help you understand America's shifting role in the world. Listen to sources and methods from npr. You paint this vivid picture, but I want to go a little bit deeper into the sheer physicality of your job because I would just guess that New York City is not for the faint of heart for DJs, because today you just have kind of like a computer or a thumb drive with your music. But back then, you had to lug these big crates of records through the city to play gigs. How many crates on average would you take to a gig? And like, where would you jump in a cab? Would you be on a subway? Would you be climbing upstairs?
B
Oh, my God. I mean, all of it. I mean, so the standard that I would take on any given night was probably three crates with 100 records each and maybe like a giant bursting bag. Because you're taking old school disco and classics, old school hip hop, new school hip hop, R and B, reggae, a little bit of house music. So if you're doing a four or five hour set, which is what we're doing most nights, that's what you're bringing. So if I was playing a cool club, I had a bunch of friends with me, everybody wants to get in, get some drink tickets. If I was playing like a not so cool club, like playing one of my uptown people, like pay the bills gigs at a bar on the Upper east side, nobody was coming with me. And those were the nights when, you know, I mean, I kind of write about it. Like sometimes leaving my apartment would be like that riddle of the teacher in school. The fox, the farmer and the bag of grain and the fox and the chicken, and the farmer has to take them across the thing. So I had three crates and put one in my front door to keep the door open, call the elevator, Put one in the elevator, keep the elevator door open, Go back for the third one that was in the apartment, put that in the elevator, pick up the one that was in my apartment door, bring that over on the way in. Kick the one that's holding the elevator door open all the way downstairs. I'm already breaking a sweat. And then repeat the whole thing in reverse. And that was like in the apart, that was only one building where I ever had an elevator. The rest of it were like four or five story walk ups. So you were really like. Yeah, you were, you had broken a sweat before you were even in the cab on the way to the club. But I was 22, you know, my back could take it. It's a little bit too bad.
A
Yeah. What's your back like today?
B
Yeah, it's not very grateful to that 22 year old DJ I have. Like, you know, listen, it's not like maybe being a chef or another intense line of thing where you're just like covered in cuts, bruises and calluses. But I still have. I only found out two years ago that I have this crazy arthritis in my right foot from 25 years. The doctor, when I went in, he was like, oh, I watched a YouTube video of you. I noticed you kind of like really aggressively tap your foot while you're DJing. And I had never thought about this because you're just tapping to the beat. He's like, yeah, that happens to musicians in the Phil. Like even just tapping your foot for 30 years, that's a thing. So I've named it DJ Foot because I just want it to be like my own. But no, and then, I mean, I'm not proud of any of this, but like terrible tinnitus. My back is completely messed up from 25 years of headphones on. You've got your neck crooked to one side, which looked kind of cool, you.
A
Know, like that always is kind of the stance.
B
It's the stance. It looks cool, but it's not great for you.
A
Is there something you miss about it though? I mean it's much easier now you just got your computer in front of you, I would guess.
B
But yeah, you know, in the book I wanted to keep it as diaristically and just really only in the 90s. And it's really only in the epilogue where I'm walking around downtown with my daughter strapped to me in the Baby Bjorn, seeing the clubs and talking about what it was like then versus now with the laptop, versus the hundreds of records. And a good friend of mine read the book and he said, I really like the book. He goes, it just sounds like you really miss playing vinyl, so you should just only play vinyl till the end of the year. And I don't know why, I was just like, okay, so I just, I started to play records again and been playing out in clubs and Brooklyn and downtown. And it really has been this joyous restart of my love for DJing. So I'm very grateful to it in some ways. But in other ways, like, yeah, carrying those records around is insane. Going down into a basement and coming back up and like, I used to. I hope this is okay. Like, I used to be leaving the club and like dialing the dealer on the way out of the club. And now I'm making an appointment with my acupuncturist online as I'm leaving the club because my back is just so. But it's been incredible playing vinyl again, actually. I didn't realize how much I had missed that process.
A
I want to talk a little bit about that power and control that you have to move people. There's this night you describe where you made people go literally nuts. It was at a club called Sweet Thang. Can I have you read?
B
Absolutely. One night around 1am, I dropped a new cut called Deja Vu Uptown Baby. Only a few weeks old, its hometown pride refrain had already taken over every club and radio station in nyc. When the chorus hit as the crowd chanted Uptown baby, Uptown baby, we gets down baby. Loud enough to be heard five blocks away. I ducked the volume and dropped the instrumental to Busta Rhymes. Put your hands where my eyes could see on beat under their voices, remixing the room itself. There was a half second delay as their brains processed what just happened. And then they ignited like an energy rocket from floor to ceiling. For eight bars, it felt like we'd all leapt into another dimension.
A
Okay, so in that moment when there's that half second delay for everybody's brains to process what just happened? That must have felt like an eternity. What does that feel like up there where you're taking a chance and trying something new? You're not sure if the crowd is actually going to respond to it.
B
It's just, it's such a visceral memory of all the times because there were, you know, thousands of times that I would do that. You would drop the volume. So the whole crowd is chanting, uptown baby, Uptown baby. And as they're chanting, that's all they're thinking about. You drop the bus rhymes instrumental. So they're still chanting. There's a split second where they have to realize, oh my God, he's dropping this other song that we love even more. As we're singing under, you are literally remixing the room. And whenever you do one of those mixes we used to call them wordplay mixes, where you go from like the line in one song, there's a line in Snoop's Gin and Juice where we got and they ain't leaving till six in the morning. And then on six in the Morning you go right into Nas Uchiwale because he's referenced that song. So they ain't leaving till six in the Morning is now Nas. So you've just done this slick, onbeat transition from Snoop to Nas. And of course, like, you know, it takes a half second for the brain to realize, but it's still on beat and you just get this like, crazy, like, blowback, this charge from the crowd all going like, oh, at the same time. You know, they call it the scream, the chant, whatever it is. And it's like clay or play doh. Like the whole crowd is this thing that you're able to mold together. It's incredible. It's kind of why I can't stop DJing. It's like still a feeling that I only get from this one thing, no matter sort of what else I do in my work as a producer.
A
Let's take a short break. If you're just joining us, we're talking with Mark Ronson about his new memoir, Night People. We'll continue our conversation after a short break. This is FRESH AIR. The Trump administration has moved fast to change U.S. policy, but much of the country is still trying to catch up.
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Okay, Mark, so the crowds that you're playing for in the early and mid-90s, it was such a blend. As you say, hip hop heads and fashion kids and artists. But you also write about being Jewish in hip hop, often one of the few white faces and having advantages that most DJs didn't with your family money and your connections. And I'm wondering, how did you balance being an outsider who, on one hand, you needed to prove yourself with being an insider who already had, like, certain doors open.
B
Yes, yes, of course. When I started off DJing, like, coming from this, like, nice family uptown with this, a stepdad who was a rock star, and my mom, who was just, like, larger than life, you know, she was out in the parties, out in the scene in New York, sort of amazing rock and roll artist. Mom. I was horribly embarrassed of all of it, but it's probably like, more in a teenage way when you're just like, oh, mom, do you have to come to the club when I'm DJing? Meanwhile, everybody thought it was the coolest thing that my mom came to these, like, hole in the wall basements and clubs. But, yes, I think in this kind of immature way, I thought that that would make me, like, quote, unquote, other in this scene where really, like, the scene was just about showing, improving. I remember Funkmaster Flex in an early article in the New York Times, and it was like. I just remember being like, this is the nicest thing anyone's ever said about me is like, he knows. Doesn't matter who his family is, where he's from, he knows how to rock a room, like, blah, blah, blah. And that was like, you know, obviously Flex at the time was the absolute biggest figure in New York hip hop. But, yes, I did have advantages that other people really didn't have. Of course, my mom bought me the turntables for graduation. I had a stepdad who was a musician who nurtured, like, you know, my musical, what I wanted to do as a kid. So I had to really deal with that and address that really out in the open in the book. Because, of course, I had advantages and stuff like that, but I also, you know, worked my ass off. And that's kind of like the two sides of the book.
A
It also sounded like something you did. And stick with me here. Like, it sounds like maybe that tension also pushed you to find your own lane to do something different. I actually think I want to reference the AC DC Back in Black moment. You talk about this moment where you took some risks, where you brought in other types of music, not just old samples, but also, like, rock music that actually helped you develop your signature offering. And to do this, I want to actually play a little bit of back In Black. So we remember what that sounded like. Let's listen. That was ACDC's classic back in Black. And Mark, you tell this story of how you took this gamble to smuggle this song into what you call the hottest hip hop party on the East Coast. What did you do with it and how did you know it would work?
B
Well, I absolutely didn't know it would work. So obviously just listening to that song now, it's like anybody with a pulse knows it's hot. It's pretty undeniable, that record. And it had been sampled by Rick Rubin for the BC Boys. KRS had sampled it for Boogie down production. It wasn't completely foreign to hip hop, but nobody played that record in the clubs at that time. And I was at this club called Spy Bar one night, which was this very, like one of the first super trendy, exclusive ultra VIP lounges. Like, I remember being at the door sometimes and watching like Trump get turned away. And it was just like it was this. It was this place. Leonardo DiCaprio, whatever, the 90s. Like, it was like the place everybody wanted to be. And the DJs there played a lot of rock and roll. And half of the time I tried to get in, I couldn't get in. But one night I'm in there and they play the song and everybody just starts going crazy and like dancing on the couches like it's the Fall of Rome. And I just remember being hit by how powerful that record was. And this was a crowd that was dancing, was very unlike the crowds that I DJed for. But I remember starting to think, God, I really want to play this song. At Cheetah, which was the big party on the Monday night, which is where Mike Tyson and Janet Jackson and Missy Elliott, it really was the place. So I worked out this mix all week where I could play the Benjamins by Little Kim and Puff Daddy, which was the biggest song of the time, and go into this rock and roll remix as a transition of that song. And then right on the one, as soon as Biggie's verse ended, Play Back in Black. And you know, obviously, like, it was the kind of club that if I played and fallen on my face, like, it's the kind of place something could get. A bottle could be thrown at the booth. Like, you don't really know. Like, it wasn't a place where you really wanted to mess around too much. So I played the thing and I dropped the record. And it's a split second where it's like the crowd is just kind of like huh? But it's on beat. Everybody's still dancing, and there's no chance to kind of be too judgmental when your body's still moving, right? And it feels. And by the second time the riff came around, the club just kind of erupted. Like there was this incredible feeling, like the crowd, like just everyone knowing they were doing something they kind of weren't supposed to be doing. Like this song that we weren't supposed to be hearing at Cheetah. I wasn't supposed to be playing it. They weren't supposed to be dancing to it. And it was just this great moment. And from that moment on, it did free me up and made me a little more brave. And it's funny because, you know, the mashup era came quite soon after. So it's almost a little ho hum to think of like, like playing back and black in a club. Like, of course, why not? But at that moment, there was nothing like it. But it did help me find my own sound and identity. And that's kind of when I really started to, I guess, get like crazy gigs and offers because I was doing something that nobody else was doing.
A
How many times can you pull out a trick like that all about the Benjamins with AC DC in the same club and then people identify it or does it work no matter how many times you do it? Like, how do you make that calculation?
B
Yeah, you can't do it too much because then it sort of loses the. It loses the excitement. Right. It loses the surprise factor. It's like if you're a stand up comedian and you're gonna do the same joke twice to the same crowd, it's gonna be sort of. It's gonna lose its impact for sure. So you kind of do it in different clubs or you kept finding new ways to drop it or surprise it. You know, I'd be spending my whole, like, practicing my mixes and the things that I wanted to do in the club that night.
A
The job does seem very similar to a comedian because you're responding to the crowd, so you're coming with an established set. But are you also making decisions in the moment based on the reactions of the crowd and the dance floor?
B
Yeah, I mean, sometimes you're making the decision before. Like just once you walk into a room and you kind of scan it, you're like, oh, I know what this crowd is going to be like. Or, you know, DJs and standups. We both completely. Our talent and skills are useless without a crowd. We can only do what we do in front of people. We work nights. You know, all my comedian friends are quite insular and, you know, obsessed with their craft and only hung out mainly with other comedians. It was like the DJ community was totally the same. You know, comics have timing, DJs have, have rhythm. We work clubs, we call it killing. When we do good, it's like it's actually funny how many similarities there really were.
A
Let's take a short break. If you're just joining us, we're talking with Grammy winning producer Mark Ronson about his new memoir, Night People, which captures his early years as a DJ in 1990s New York City. We'll be right back after a short break. This is FRESH AIR. On NPR's Wild Card podcast, actor Matthew McConaughey says it's important not to over over commit creatively.
B
What can happen and where ambition is led me astray is you end up with a bunch of freaking campfires and no bonfires.
A
Listen or watch that wild card conversation on YouTube, the NPR app or wherever you get your podcasts. A lot of short daily news podcasts focus on just one story. But right now you probably need more on up first from NPR, we bring you three of the world's top headlines every day in under 15 minutes because no one story can capture all that's happening in this big crazy world of ours on any given morning. Listen now to the upverse podcast from npr. Congress is back from its summer recess with a lot on its agenda. What's all in store for lawmakers and what does their work mean for you? Every weekday, the NPR Politics podcast unpacks Washington's inner work. Listen to the NPR Politics podcast on the NPR app or wherever you get your podcasts. In this era, people know you for the hits that you have produced for people like Amy Winehouse and Bruno Mars and Lady Gaga you write about in the book. Though your first real production success outside of DJing was like a Feather with Nika Costa. And it's this fusion of hip hop beats and rock guitars and of course, her soulful voice a little.
B
I come on around to bend it cause my resistance been far too persistent. How come too far to faucet.
A
So I'm just glad I'm late. I can tell I'm strong and willful.
B
But I'd rather watch it fall to the palm of my hand.
A
That was Nika Costa's Like a Feather, produced by my guest, Mark Ronson. What did you learn about that type of collaboration? Cause DJing is also kind of a solitary endeavor as well. It's like you and your Mind and your tastes. And in this instance, you're working along with musicians who have very strong opinions as well.
B
Yeah, we would have these crazy arguments, you know, and it was the first time that I really was, like, in a full collaboration with Nika and her husband, who was the co producer. And, you know, she came out playing in live bands and, like, she didn't maybe love, like, hip hop and the program drums as much as I did. And, you know, I was trying to, like, force that hand. And, of course, Lauryn Hill miseducation had just come out. There was just this incredible synthesis of live and programmed, and we all were enamored with that. But, yeah, it suddenly was. I realized I wasn't the most important person in the equation. And actually. And I still hold that to this day. Like, if I'm working with an artist, you know, of course, if I have an idea I feel passionate about, I'm gonna fight for it. But they're the one that has to go around singing that for the next two years or maybe the rest of their life. So it's like, okay, at the end, I will give that artist the final say if I haven't. Whatever. Pleaded my point strong enough. But, yeah, the collaboration thing was that I learned from that. But to be honest, like, growing up in a family of 10 siblings and sort of, like, constantly, you know, practicing diplomacy or whatever the hell it was, I think that my childhood, like, made me a good listener and understander, and that's kind of. That's an important tool for a music producer.
A
What are some of the biggest DJing sins, in your opinion? I'll just say, like, I hate when a DJ does that. Plays that horn, like, oh, really? The arrow.
B
Oh, my God, the klaxon. Yes. There's something about that that's sort of like. It's a little bit like an extra explosion in a film. Right. It's like, kind of like, all right, if you're not making me feel it, enough with the music. I don't need the horns to be bullied into having a visceral emotion to this music. But I also kind of like the air horn. I mean, there's something about it, like, it feels very New York radio. Yeah. Yep. The other ones are like. And I sort of talk about them because, you know, the book I said, how to be a DJ in 90s New York City is the title because it's a little bit tongue in cheek. No one's ever gonna be a DJ in 90s New York City, so. But there are a lot of things in this book that I feel like at any era might, might sort of like, help out. So there's things like back in that era, my era, it was a cardinal sin to really play a record more than once in the night. Like, if there was a huge hit, to play it five times throughout the night was like this thing like, oh, you're not good enough to rock a night with only playing the big records. Once there was a bit of that sense. There was this thing like, never play all the big records when you're the opener. In fact, you don't play any big records when you're the opener.
A
I remember dj, like radio hits.
B
Yeah. Any of the big club records. Like, I remember opening for Funk Master Flex and being so nervous to, like, play anything. Like, I, like, I didn't play anything from literally the past seven years or something. And then the idea of, like, you know, playing huge records to an empty room, like trying to ignite a room before it's ready.
A
Hmm. Before the room is ready. So timing just is such a thing. Like, you have to know it. You have to be, be so attuned, which means you kind of have to be attuned to human behavior. And it's a sense. Is it something that can be taught?
B
I mean, that's why they call it, you know, the expression reading a room. Like, it's like, I don't know if it literally goes back to DJing, but it's like reading the floor, reading the room, reading the dance floor. It's like there's so much of it that's just. Yes. It's the interplay between you and the crowd. You could be in the best nightclub in the world with the best sound system. It doesn't matter if the crowd isn't with you and you don't have a relationship with them. That's what it all comes down to, certainly for a great night.
A
Mark Ronson, it's such a pleasure to talk to you, and thank you so much for this fun read.
B
Thank you so much.
A
Mark Ronson's new memoir about DJing in the 90s New York club scene is called Night People tomorrow on FRESH air. President Trump recently stepped up pressure on the Department of Justice to pursue his political enemies. One of them, former FBI Director James Comey, was indicted last week. Legal scholar and former U.S. attorney Barbara McQuaid joins us to talk about what this means for U.S. law and the precedent it sets. I hope you can join us to keep up with what's on the show and get highlights of our interview Follow us on Instagram prfresh.
B
Air.
A
Fresh Air's executive producer is Danny Miller. Our technical director and engineer is Audrey Bentham. Our managing producer is Sam Brigger. Our interviews and reviews are produced and edited by Phyllis Myers, Annmarie Baldonado, Lauren Krenzel, Teresa Madden, Monique Nazareth, Thea Chaloner, Susan Yakund and Anna Bauman. Our digital media producer is Molly CB Nesper. Our consulting visual producer is Hope Wilson. Roberta Shorrock directs the show with Terry Gross. I'm Tanya Moseley. Shortwave thinks of science as an invisible force showing up in your everyday life, powering the food you eat, the medicine you use, the tech in your pocket. Science is approachable because it's already part of your life. Come explore these connections on the Short Wave podcast from npr. Here at Life Kit, we take advice seriously. We bring you evidence based recommendations. And to do that, we talk with researchers and experts on all sorts of topics because we have the same questions you do, like what's really in my shampoo? Or Should I let my kid quit sock? Or what should I do with my savings in uncertain economic times? You can listen to NPR's Life Kit in the NPR app or wherever you get your podcasts.
Fresh Air – Mark Ronson On DJing In The '90s
Host: Tonya Mosley (for NPR's Fresh Air)
Guest: Mark Ronson
Date: September 30, 2025
In this episode, Grammy-winning producer and DJ Mark Ronson joins Tonya Mosley to discuss his new memoir, Night People, which chronicles his formative years in the 1990s New York City club scene. The conversation examines how Ronson became immersed in nightlife culture, the technical and emotional aspects of being a DJ, his musical upbringing, the art of crate-digging for rare samples, the intersection of identity and privilege, and the lasting lessons he’s carried into his career as a producer for icons like Amy Winehouse and Lady Gaga.
[00:00–03:51]
Quote:
“Night people... become their best selves once the sun goes down and daytime is just the warmup.” – Tonya Mosley [00:19]
Ronson gives a vibrant reading from his memoir’s start, describing capturing a party’s energy by hijacking the aux cord and uniting the room with the perfect song.
Quote:
“The party is on the verge. It just needs someone brave enough to tip it over...” – Mark Ronson [02:09]
[03:51–06:40]
Quote:
“It was the first time in my life I genuinely have a memory of having done something right.” – Mark Ronson [05:40]
[06:40–09:32]
Quote:
“I just remember thinking it was so cool... he valued my opinion.” – Mark Ronson [08:18]
[10:52–18:44]
Quote:
“I just remember... listening to his single cassette single... chasing the ache.” – Mark Ronson [14:41]
On Crate-Digging:
“Everything was so sacred. It’s ridiculous now to think you could just go to who sampled and you’d immediately find it...” – Mark Ronson [19:53]
[22:11–26:25]
Quote:
“I have this crazy arthritis in my right foot from 25 years... the doctor said, ‘You kind of aggressively tap your foot while you’re DJing.’ I’d never thought about that.” – Mark Ronson [23:53]
Quote:
“Now I’m making an appointment with my acupuncturist online as I’m leaving the club.” – Mark Ronson [26:19]
[26:25–29:21]
Quote:
“There was a half-second delay as their brains processed what just happened. And then they ignited like an energy rocket.” – Mark Ronson [26:55]
Quote:
“It’s like clay or play doh... you’re able to mold together. It’s incredible. It’s kind of why I can’t stop DJing.” – Mark Ronson [29:06]
[30:43–38:11]
Quote:
“I did have advantages... but I also, you know, worked my ass off. That’s kind of the two sides of the book.” – Mark Ronson [32:24]
Quote:
“By that second time the riff came around, the club just erupted... it did help me find my own sound and identity.” – Mark Ronson [36:14]
[38:11–39:08]
Quote:
“DJs and standups... our talent and skills are useless without a crowd... we call it killing when we do good.” – Mark Ronson [38:40]
[41:30–43:48]
Quote:
“Suddenly, I realized I wasn’t the most important person in the equation. And I still hold that to this day.” – Mark Ronson [42:23]
[43:48–45:54]
Quote:
“If you’re not making me feel it enough with the music, I don’t need the horns to be bullied into having a visceral emotion.” – Mark Ronson [44:04]
Quote:
“That’s why they call it reading a room...” – Mark Ronson [45:54]
This episode is a rich, behind-the-scenes journey through Mark Ronson’s early days spinning records in 1990s New York—an era defined by creativity, physical hustle, and the intoxicating power of the DJ. Through vivid anecdotes and thoughtful reflection, Ronson and Mosley discuss technological changes, the enduring mystique of crate-digging, the complexities of identity, and the eternal dance between DJ and crowd. Whether detailing musical discoveries or dancefloor alchemy, Ronson’s passion for music and performance shines throughout.
Host’s Parting Words:
“Mark Ronson, it’s such a pleasure to talk to you, and thank you so much for this fun read.” – Tonya Mosley [46:26]