A techno album showcasing a great club DJ elicits the same response as a videotaped performance of a great Broadway show: You hadda be there. Place him in a tempest of sweaty testosterone and pheromones with his usual partner Sasha, and Digweed can move the crowd masterfully, but shorn of its context, Los Angeles turns sterile, sitting there like a smart-drink-deficient wallflower.
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