By Amanda Nowinski

AMERICAN DRUM 'N' bass producer Jordana Lesesne wasn't able to celebrate the Feb. 15 release of The Cities Collection, her third full-length album, with the usual amount of enthusiasm. It wasn't a matter of receiving negative criticism or a lack of press; her tracks consistently chart high on CMJ and college radio and have even been made into MTV videos in the States and abroad, a remarkable feat for an American drum 'n' bass producer. Jordana, also known as 1.8.7., hasn't felt terribly festive recently for one reason: she was beaten unconscious outside a rave in Kent, Ohio, Feb. 22 (see Cosmopolis Shakedown, 3/15/99).

The crime sent shock waves through the dance music community worldwide, but when discussions of Jordana arise, it isn't just the beating or her music that come into play. Three years ago Jordana was simply an up-and-coming drum 'n' bass DJ; now she is a successful transgendered drum 'n' bass producer. Despite her popularity as a musician, the Philadelphia-based Jordana faces an incessant amount of absurd criticism; she's been accused of using the sex change as a marketing tool, of making a "big deal" out of her situation, and of courting mainstream acceptance. Jordana is tired of the public's reduction of her identity to that of "a transgendered DJ," but with more than 50 singles under her belt, she is still determined to keep pushing the boundaries of American drum 'n' bass and to help scoot it past the old U.K. comparisons.

Bay Guardian: What exactly happened that night in Kent, Ohio?

Jordana Lesesne: I was on tour and was the headlining act at a rave. When I was leaving the club, I turned around and saw this really tall guy just swing at me. He punched me straight to the ground, and I blacked out. When I came to, everybody was standing around me, and I could hear people running in the distance. A fan of mine saw the guy about to stomp on my head when I was unconscious.

BG: You mentioned that the police were not entirely cooperative when you went to report the incident.

21st-century soul ORIGINAL JUNGLIST JORDANA Lesesne steps forth with the final installment in her 1.8.7. saga, The Cities Collection, nine intense dance-floor jungle tributes to U.S. cities she's frequented on her endless DJ tour. The album will be the last for 1.8.7., not only in name but in sound as well, generally sitting comfortably in the "jump-up," or most dance floor-oriented, subgenre. The best thing about Cities is that, in most cases, Lesesne actually manages to make each track sound like its respective drum 'n' bass scene. Take "San Francisco," for instance. The track is on a dark, melodic vibe, using a tough, rolling two-step beat with triplet syncopated bass-drum fills like those favored by local producers UFO! and Abstract. A mutating analog bass line and eerie strings punctuate the track and typify the S.F. sound. "New York," on the other hand, is music for the junglistic hardcore, with its foreboding minor-key synth stabs, speedy layered breakbeats, MCed vocals, and acid bass line – this is the one the kids will raise their lighters to. "Chicago" has a funky melodic vibe with beats that are tough as nails, propelling highly FXed horn stabs and guitar licks. Lesesne's hometown, Pittsburgh, gets the best track in the collection: "Pittsburgh" rocks an energizing combination of well-programmed beats, computerized vocal samples, and an air-raid siren buildup that should send any dance floor into a frenzy. Rounding out the set are the notable "Philadelphia" and "Detroit," the former being a more straightforward "San Francisco" with expertly tweaked sounds and a monster of a bass line, the latter Lesesne's homage to the Motor City's techno forebears, building on minimal synth bleeps until multilayered breakbeats carry the track into trademark 1.8.7. territory. Mike Bee

JL: I don't know if I should chalk it up to [Kent] being a small college town; maybe [they] see a lot of assaults and don't think it's a big deal. But a good friend of mine put this into perspective: You come into a police station, you're bleeding, someone's knocked you on the ground unconscious, and they've got the guy's name and address. People knew where he was going to be that night: at an after party. Had it been the other way around – some six-foot-tall black guy knocking down a five-foot-seven white girl – I doubt they'd have had the same kind of reaction. But that's par for the course in American society. I can't really say it's overt; it's institutional.

BG: Will this be prosecuted as a hate crime?

JL: I think my friend that chased away the attacker sanitized to me what was said. The attacker said to my friend, "Don't hit me, this is between me and him. You don't know what you're getting involved in." He referred to me by my old name, but my friend didn't tell that to the police because he was trying to protect me. The police didn't know I was transgendered. But even if they had found out, it wouldn't have mattered; there are no hate crime laws in Ohio that would have protected me anyway. They were so slow in helping me that I think it would have been to my detriment to come out. I do think it was a hate crime, but unfortunately, it will not be prosecuted that way. In Ohio they only have ethnic intimidation laws, so unless the attacker had called me racially biased names, I'd have no case to present a hate crime. I don't know if I'd even want to bring it into a conservative town like Kent.

BG: Has finding acceptance in drum 'n' bass circles been difficult because it tends to be very –

JL: I know exactly what you're going to say: that drum 'n' bass is totally straight. I'm straight. A lot of people in drum 'n' bass don't understand me. They resent me, and unfortunately, there's nothing I can do about that. I chose to survive. I've seen people write things on the Internet like "Why did she have to put out a press release about her sex change?" OK, right, I'm supposed to change my gender and not put out any information whatsoever and show up to play at a gig with a different ID? There was one gig that I had to miss because the promoter couldn't bring himself to put my correct name on the plane ticket – they wouldn't let me board. It was ridiculous.

BG: You mentioned that people have accused you of making a big deal out of your sex change.

JL: I didn't make a big deal out of it; the media did. I put out a press release for promoters, and it mushroomed into something it probably shouldn't have. I didn't want this sort of attention; I wanted attention for my music. It makes me sick. And what sickens me more is that it's two years after the fact, and I'm still having to deal with this. I want to move on to something else at this point. I'm sick of the fact that right now I'm making some of the best music of my life, and what's getting all the attention? It never ends. I don't want that attention; I just wanted to make music. I guess it makes for a good story, but at the same time, a lot of these people would never have interviewed me about my music. They can't fault me for taking an interview, because they would do the same. You don't put yourself through this to sell more records.

BG: Some of the dance music e-mail lists reveal some harshly critical attitudes.

JL: That's another thing: these e-mail lists are over the top. I love the drum 'n' bass scene; I love the music. The thing I'm having troubles with are certain people in the scene who take it all entirely too seriously. They take the music too seriously, and it's almost like the drum 'n' bass scene is so self-important they don't realize there is a whole other world of music out there. The maturity level is not what it could be.

I've always tried to be the counter to that, even prior to the gender thing. I tried to bring out the fun aspect in it, and most people here have forgotten that.

BG: How do you feel about the notion of crews and posses in drum 'n' bass?

JL: It's the whole monkey-see, monkey-do thing. The U.K. had crews, but they were trying to emulate the hip-hop thing here. It wasn't an intimidation thing; it was the party aspect, like the party aspect of hip-hop in the eighties. Your crew was just a group of friends, not a group of people out to hurt others. The crews in San Francisco are pretty much just groups of friends, but certain crews on the East Coast say, "We're this, and it doesn't matter what you are because you're not part of our crew. So you can't do anything with any of our people unless you come to me first." It's much more open in California than it is here.

BG: Promoters often put big-name drum 'n' bass DJs in the side rooms at larger parties. The music doesn't always get proper respect from the party people in charge.

JL: I've argued that point with many a promoter. Once I was playing a party, and Frankie Bones missed his flight. I basically said to the promoter, "You flew me all the way to L.A., and you're going to have me play in the walkway? You don't have enough DJs in the main room, so put me in." She had a house and trance crowd and was afraid to put drum 'n' bass in the main room. She said it had never been done before. But she put me on, and it was not a problem. People were feeling it, putting their hands in the air, following the breakdowns – it was beautiful.

Promoters actually segregate the music more than people would segregate themselves. That's why I'm starting to spin to step garage. I want to break down the boundaries. I know the serious drum 'n' bass people don't take me seriously, and I love two-step garage music. If it's something the house crowd can relate to, maybe they'll take drum 'n' bass more seriously. It's really just about good music.

BG: You mention twice in your open letter [www.jordana.co.uk/mainb.html] that you're no longer afraid to die.

JL: If someone were to kill me now, it wouldn't matter. I've had death threats on my answering machine, got a suspect package in the mail last year, and I've had people tell me to watch my back. It's gangsterism in drum 'n' bass – it's almost like they watch too many eighties gangster rap movies or something. I've had some people really threaten me, but I never took it seriously until this incident, which has caused me to reevaluate the whole thing.

If I said I was going to leave drum 'n' bass now, it would do more harm than good. If I'm going to leave, it's going to be on my time. I didn't choose to continue to be in music to be afraid of people. I'm going to do what I do, and if something happens to me, it doesn't really matter. What I do and what I represent isn't going to be killed off by killing off me. People like me have existed forever, but they don't always go public. In hindsight I wish I had done this a different way, like just leaving and coming back, starting from the beginning. I've had people in drum 'n' bass tell me that if I had gone about it that way, I would have been the wiser and would have had a much easier time.

BG: How could you possibly have reentered the scene as a new person?

JL: I could have played dumb. In hindsight that's a lot more attractive than what I've had to put up with. I've had jungle DJs tell me, "It's unfair what you've had to go through, but too bad you couldn't have gone through it in a different way." If your only exposure to ethnic groups is through watching Jerry Springer, your understanding and acceptance is definitely going to be colored by those views. A lot of people in the U.S. only see transgendered people on talk shows or on Cops getting busted. It's ridiculous. The fact that I've chosen not to be the typical transgendered statistic and am successful in what I do, it upsets people who want to maintain the whole freak aspect of it.

BG: Your prolific musical output usually takes the back burner.

JL: I don't even get credit for music anymore. It's like they humor me but won't accept me because number one, you're transgendered, number two, you're a freak, number three, you're American (so you don't count), and number four, it doesn't matter what Rolling Stone or MTV says about you because you're not underground. I could give another twenty reasons why people in the serious drum 'n' bass scene don't take me seriously.

BG: What makes your new album distinctly American?

JL: It's all American influences. I think the most innovative U.S. drum 'n' bass is being made in California, and it's getting recognized for that in the U.K. People like UFO!, Sage, and Abstract – all these people are just locals to you but are getting quite a bit of attention overseas. They're putting their own twist on it. We're going to have to change drum 'n' bass to gain respect here. People on the forefront are in L.A. and S.F., which is why I'm moving to San Francisco in four months. The S.F. song on The Cities Collection was inspired by the scene there, people taking beats and splitting them up. N.Y. people decided to make U.K. tracks; S.F. makes S.F. tracks.

BG: In your open letter you imply that your days of drum 'n' bass are coming to a close.

JL: I didn't set out to be a role model. I knew this was going to happen if I succeeded, that I would become a role model or sacrificial lamb. But it's two years after, and I'm almost thirty and don't want to spend my life being a transgendered DJ. I have goals. I want to get married and adopt a child at some point. And I don't want the baggage of being a transgendered DJ the rest of my life. If I move on, no one is going to find me. If I decide to leave, I'll do my best album ever and then go and blend in somewhere else. I won't want to keep doing this if people's maturity levels don't change, if people's perceptions of me don't change. The fact is, there are a lot of people who never even knew me prior to two years ago who have really warped perceptions of who I am because someone whispered something into their ear at a party. I don't want to live with that the rest of my life.

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