Eleven trips to the bathroom is ugly to witness. But with a ripped-up stomach lining and a half bottle of Soothe—a generic version of Pepto-Bismol—as company, Frankie Anobile's dedication to his job is the only thing that can get him through the night.
DJ Frankie began struggling through a grueling seven-hour set of mixing songs, sounds and tempos at 8 p.m., trying to put together a set list for the weekend from a temporary deck set up in his Miami hotel room. It's the price one must pay for being music director of the country's best ultralounge, Tabú.
"I have a terrible stomach-acid problem, and within the last 15 hours, have eaten pizza, spicy Thai and coffee," says Frankie, two hours into his work. "Right now, I'm paying for it and it is kicking my ass."
It's Tuesday and Frankie has been in town for a day and a half already, looking for the sound of 2005 at the Winter Music Conference. Don't let the term "conference" fool you, though, no one goes for that. It is all about the awards and the parties. The six-day-long WMC is considered the American mecca for international music, DJs and clubs. It is where club owners and management from around the world go to party and find the next "big sound." Frankie is not only here as Tabú's music director but also as music director for the other two of MGM Grand's venues, Studio 54 and Teatro.
Earlier that day, we had trekked through the jungle of Miami's record stores, searching for the future sounds for his three clubs. He begins to go through bin after bin at Uncle Sam's, a goldmine for import albums.
"I always go through the latest imports first, because they often only press about 2,500 copies and then they are gone. Domestic labels I can get anytime," Frankie explained, flipping through LPs.
The store was a frenzy of activity as DJ after DJ came in with the same purpose. It was during these countless hours (OK, it was only six but it seemed longer) of sifting that Frankie took that fateful break for Thai next door.
Frankie admits it can be tedious finding music for three venues. Studio 54 calls for disco, pop remixes, hip-hop and house; Teatro needs remixes and mash-ups of old rock with funky electronic overlays; and Tabú requires a more organic vibe, with live instruments mixed with a clean, strong bass. All of this means that not only does he have to listen to old and new songs, but also new mixes of old songs.
"You have to stay fresh" Frankie says. "Miami gives me the opportunity to see what DJs are hot, what the latest in club sounds and trends are and to talk to others in the industry. It's also nice to see how the MGM clubs measure up to the rest of the country." Measure up, nothing—more like setting the trends. Tabú will end up winning its second consecutive award for best ultralounge in the nation.
As we walked along the streets of Miami from record store to record store, Frankie spotted world-famous DJ Paul Oakenfold and handed him a Vegas Party invitation—one of most talked-about events at this year's WMC.
Fourteen Vegas clubs have united to present a single face to the world, an idea that Frankie and Marc Jay, director of marketing and special events at Vegas' Ice metaclub, came up with. The simple concept of pooling efforts was so well received that even the City of Las Vegas donated $45,000 for the Thursday night party.
But it's still Tuesday and here Frankie sits, haunted by the effects of poor food judgment as he tries to finish a set for one of his clubs. "I really don't want to finish this but I always remember what one of my friends, Steve, told me. He said I was like a star running back who was faster and outmaneuvered everyone only to get to the 5-yard line and throw the ball away. He challenged me on my commitment to finish things. So, that's what drives me sometimes. Times like now."
I'm committed, too, but to other things, and I run off to the sights, sounds and clubs of South Beach. When I return at 3 a.m., I find him still sitting there. I sit on the other bed across from him and he begins explaining to me how much of putting a set together is math. Something about if one song is 200 beats and another is 150, you wait 50 beats into it to start to finish simultaneously, or something like that. All I know is that my head is still thumping from the set DJ Infusion played over at Club Spin. At this point a good writer would have started writing everything down for later—me, I doze off. I'm awakened a half-hour later by a boisterous yell from Frankie, "F--k you, Steve, I finished!"
For the days leading up to the party, Frankie plays the roles of event planner, host and even errand boy, running to Costco to get mixers and ice. He spends most of Wednesday and Thursday making last-minute calls, stuffing gift bags and making sure city ordinances aren't about to be violated.
Held at a synagogue-turned-private mansion, the Vegas party is full of VIPs, folks from industry powerhouses like the Crobar and Mansion nightclubs, and of course, TV crews. Just about every resident Vegas DJ is here, including Hollywood, R.O.B., Scotty Boy, Faasheed and Lisa Pittman, each taking their turns on the somewhat wobbly mixing platform.
The night is a phenomenal success, even though Frankie ends up running late and having to take a cab here instead of the pimped-out Ice bus chock-full of hot women. Then again, I think Frankie is used to being surrounded by beautiful women dancing around him. "Music is what drives me and I have been fortunate enough to be able to make a living off of it," he says. "The fringe benefits of being a DJ are pretty damn good too." He then proceeds to tell me a story of how he hooked up with a Playboy Playmate at a past WMC. But I promised to keep that off the record, so you didn't hear it from me.