Over the decades, the shift in perception of “the DJ” has been enormous, and in the upper echelons of dance music, godheads up in the heavens stand in front of pyrotechnics, hitting play on laptops, content creators more than they are curators. Harvey remains a beguiling presence within the culture because of his integrity, affable charm, and straightforward approach to communication, describing “I love you” as his favorite lyric. “It has to be,” he says. “It's so simple and it can be said in every single way. I love to play songs. And if there is an issue in modern dance music, I’d say, actually, there is a lack of songs, so that can lead me to play older music.”
The content vortex of contemporary DJ culture has led to an avalanche of sameness, a conveyor belt of “selfies for the algorithm,” and it feels like the online monoculture is reaching saturation point—every day a new mix, a new flyer, a perfect Instagram clip of the crowd going crazy. All the while, clubs are closing, promoters are struggling to sell tickets, and there’s a creeping paranoia about what the future of dance music is. However, Harvey has remained untouched by any insecurity, playing at packed clubs surrounded by people celebrating being back on the dancefloor, “dressing up and having a whale of a time.” Despite his flamboyance and Roman lifestyle, there’s no artifice whatsoever about DJ Harvey—he’s been doing what he wants and loves for over 30 years and inviting everyone along for the ride. In a time of cultural insincerity and individualism, he remains attractive, because he feels rare and comes at his craft with an ageless approach—everyone needs to just enjoy themselves. It’s an ancient creed that appeals to the hedonist inside us, and pleasure is unlikely to go out of fashion anytime soon—certainly not any party he is at the helm of or at Pikes, Harvey’s debauched second home, an island within an island where all there is to do is dance, and maybe, just maybe, a DJ might save your life.