There was a time, a time before Serato. When the local DJ reigned supreme. When people believed everything they heard on their cassettes were mixed live. This was an age when only men were allowed to DJ. And in Chicago, one DJ was more man then the rest. His name was DJ Silent. He was a god walking amongst mere mortals. His blends were so smooth that it could make a wolverine purr and He carried his equipment in flight cases so fine they made Sinatra look like a hobo. In other words, DJ Silent was the balls.