The history of Detroit's electronic music culture is vast and ever-expanding. There are countless individuals, collectives, clubs, events and spaces responsible for creating the beloved electronic music scene. What's interesting about history, though, is that regardless of the subject, there always seem to be those crucial figures whose stories go untold. In this case, it's an unsung hero who's been entertaining the locals for over 30 years. He's remained a local fixture over the years while many of his counterparts moved on to larger opportunities abroad. He is also the man who took over Jeff Mills' coveted Wednesday night DJ slot at Cheeks in 1983, and held the position for a little under a decade. His name is Al Ester, one of Detroit's best-kept secrets, and he's been there since 1977.

Al got hip to the music scene via his older brother, who would come home at night and tell him about parties, DJ Ken Collier and the music he played. Collier was a pivotal figure in Detroit DJ culture. Between the influences of Collier and local radio, Al started mixing two records in his head. When he reached his teenage years, he was DJing school dances, where playing music with two record players was a completely new concept.

By the time Al was 19, a chance opportunity had made him a resident DJ at Cheeks. As he tells it, Cheeks reigned supreme over the other clubs and hosted a clientele of Detroit's most famous movers and shakers. This is where Al built his name as one of Detroit's best DJs. Since that time, he's played countless shows in the city, including multiple appearances at Movement Festival, and even spent some time on Detroit's WJZZ radio, which he says opened many doors for him and allowed him to play different kinds of music. While his career may not have reached international acclaim like some of his peers, he undoubtedly plays an essential role in the story of Detroit's dance music evolution. After all, Cheeks is known for being one of the first places to play Detroit techno.

"His energetic style and vast knowledge of disco classics made him a crowd favorite," says Delano Smith, who notes that Ester is important because he came up in Detroit before the house and techno era. Of his residency at Cheeks, Smith says Ester "filled the slot very well and made his night there legendary."

On a muggy July afternoon in Detroit, I met with Al at an acquaintance's stunning Victorian home on Woodbridge's Commonwealth Street. We sipped champagne at the living room table, and he began to tell me about a musical journey that started when he was just a kid in middle school.

When did you figure out you could mix two records?

Oh god. That came in seventh grade. I used to roller skate a lot, and I had some friends I went to school with that I would always talk about the experiences my brother would tell me about when he came home from parties. He would tell me what records Ken Collier played and how he did it, and why he did it. So, I kind of started mixing in my head. One of the first mixes I can remember doing in my head, although back then I didn't know it was mixing, was the song called "Cuba," by the Gibson Brothers, and there was another song by Karen Young called "Hot Shot." And I was thinking to myself, those two sound alike, and I wonder, could you play them at the same time? That's the question I posed in my head. So when one would come on the radio, I would sing the other. So I guess it started in... hmm, 1977.

I read that your first gig was when you were around 13?

Yes. It was at my junior high school, incidentally the same year. I had a pair of SL-B1 Technics turntables, belt-drive tables and a battery-operated Realistic mixer from Radio Shack. The gig was only two hours, so luckily the batteries held up. But let's see, what were the hit records? Kano, "It's A War." Cameo, "I Just Want To Be." I wasn't really mixing, I was just going record to record.

One of the people who started my dance floor in the gym that day was Mike Clark. We went to junior high together. Mike was into martial arts and would wear these baggy pants with karate shoes, and his hair was always perfectly feathered. I'm playing and he's there in front of the table moonwalking. So yeah, that was I guess my first real gig. It felt great because my classmates looked at me like, "Why does he have two"... Well, they called them record players, "Why does he have two record players?"

Tell us about your first residency at Cheeks.

That came about through a friend of mine who's dearly departed, Angela Patillo Burns. She was a prominent hairdresser in Detroit. Very well-liked, knew all of the upper echelon hairdressers, if you will—that was the kind of clientele that would hang at Cheeks, and they all knew Angie and loved her. My brother and her were a couple, and they used to throw these basement parties at our house on the northwest side of Detroit. Eventually, Angie decided that she wanted to throw herself a birthday party at Cheeks.

Now, mind you, I'm only 19 and not old enough to get in. She had me go with her to decorate at like 7:30 in the evening. We're decorating and taking our time then she said, "OK, I'm going to go home and change, you go back in that corner and just hang." Once they came back and the party got going, I slipped out the corner, went into the DJ booth where I was introduced to John Collins, the DJ. After a little convincing, he let me do a guest spot for Angie. I'm playing, the crowd is going nuts. As I'm looking across the room, I see these two gentlemen on the other side of the club staring up at me with arms folded, like, "Get him," you know? I thought I was spotted and that they know I'm not old enough to be in here. But the party was rocking...

I'm looking at my records, and I look up, and one of the guys is gone, and the other is still sitting over there with arms folded. Then I hear a knock on the door and John opens the DJ booth door and in walks Marshall Jackson. He looked at me, and I looked at him and I kept playing. After about ten minutes of him standing over me, watching me play and watching the crowd's reaction, he asked me where else I played. I said, "Well, right now, my basement." He offered me a job on the spot.

When that started, I was just kind of a temp. So if somebody didn't show up, they called me. That summer, Upfront started this series of parties on Wednesday nights, and the DJ was Jeff Mills, The Wizard. He's a good friend of mine, and one of the best DJs, in my opinion, on the planet. He was the resident DJ. Well, Jeff had gone on to bigger and better things, so I was next in line to take over the Wednesday nights. At that time, it could be a tsunami, it could be a hurricane, it could be a major earthquake, Cheeks was packed every Wednesday. To the point where other clubs and bars would shut down on Wednesday because they knew they couldn't compete. They would shut down because they knew everyone who was anyone on the party scene—the hairdressers, the prominent entertainers, sports figures—would all be hanging out at Cheeks—and I was the young man at the helm.

Did you feel under pressure taking over for someone as popular as Jeff Mills?

Yes, I did, because he had his following and back then. The thing was... although I never thought cutting and scratching belonged in house music or dance music, he did it well, and I was OK with it, but it wasn't my thing. I thought that if I play here, I'll be expected to know how to do that, especially if I'm going to take over his night. But my brother was like, "Listen, just go in and just be you, do what you practice every day, what you are becoming known for, it'll all work out," and it did. So, that subsided any pressure I had.

You talked about Jeff Mills and Ken Collier a little bit. Were those some of your inspirations at the time? Did you have any mentors that were helping you when you were just starting?

As far as physically helping me, hands-on, Delano Smith was a big impact. Him and Ken Collier. Also, Felton Howard, he's the first man I ever heard or saw play using monitors. He had small speakers facing him, and I was like, "That's odd." You had to know what you were doing. I'm not knocking the laptop or controller DJs, but to be a DJ today takes little to no skill, this is why there are 500,000 good DJs but only ten or 20 great DJs, in my opinion. Records weren't made with drum machines back then. You had real drummers, real live drummers. Then drum machines were slowly being phased in, but you had to listen, pay attention, and your timing had to be on point, as well as mixing to actual sound, as opposed to it being brought right to your face. So yeah, Felton Howard taught me a lot. How to not cut off words when songs are playing, how to keep the meaning consistent. For example, you can't play a gospel house song, "I love the Lord, and praise God," then your next record is, "Come on, let's go to bed and do the nasty."

Another thing that happened back then is telling my mom that after school, I was going to spend the night at my buddy's house and that I'd be there till Sunday evening. I would actually go to the Greyhound station and buy a roundtrip bus ticket. It was $67 back then. Or $76, one of those. I would go to New York to the Paradise Garage. I went twice. I had a friend who was friends with Angie, the girl who got me the job at Cheeks, who lived in New York at the time, and she and I would talk on the phone. I'd tell her when I was coming, what bus I was on and when I would be there. She'd meet me at the bus station, and we'd jump on the subway, go to her house, eat, chill, or whatever, then maybe about 10 or 11 PM, we headed back to the subway and went to King Street where the Garage was located.

You had to have a membership, or you had to know a member to get you in so we'd meet the little member or whatever. I did that twice. So it wouldn't be right if I didn't say Larry Levan wasn't an influence on me as well because, to me, he did it the right way. The sound, what records to play, when to play them, the timing, telling the story. So yeah, that was a real big influence. What I love most about Larry, Larry only played what Larry wanted to hear. So if you weren't in line with his vision, then go party somewhere else. That's kind of what I do. If you're coming out to hear Al Ester, come out to listen to what's in my heart or see the music as I see it or get another DJ. That's how I look at it. I figure that's a lot of what's kept me going. I kind of march to the beat of my own drum.

What kind of music were you playing at around this time?

We called it progressive. It's kind of like Italo disco. Let's see—Kraftwerk, Telex, Baja Imperial, New Order, groups like that. When techno hit, no one knew it was techno. It wasn't like, "This is a techno record." At the beginning of high school, Juan Atkins had put out Cosmic Cars, which was like the first Detroit techno record I can recall. So we played stuff like that. And Afrika Bambaataa did Planet Rock only after hearing Juan Atkins' Cosmic Cars.

So everyone was getting some sort of influence from each other?

Exactly. Also, anything [the Electrifying] Mojo played, DJs wanted to play. The B-52s, they were known for new wave, but they had dance hits, like "Mesopotamia." Certain songs by Devo, slow them down, and people were grooving to stuff like that. But yeah, you just got your moves in wherever you could find it. You played what appealed to you and what you think the crowd would enjoy as well.

How would you describe your technical approach or DJing style? Has it changed over the years?

I just call it four on the floor. Keep it basic, simple and funky. Make them believe what I believe. I'm just me. It's changed. It's gotten a lot tighter. It's still a work in progress because there's always room for improvement. You learn every day.

Do you still play or collect vinyl?

I still have my collection. I like vinyl. Delano Smith got me playing CDs because I didn't like them. He was like, "Unless for the rest of your DJ career you want to walk into the party with big giant heavy ass crates of records, you better get with this medium, or you're going to be carrying records for the rest of your life."

When did you transfer over to digital?

The switch to CDs came right around 2002, somewhere around there. And I still wasn't crazy about them. I'm still buying records. But to this day, even with the USB thing, I'm still not a big fan of it, I prefer my CDs.

So no USB?

I do, but I'm not crazy about it. It's like, you put the stick in, push the button, locate the song, click it again, and then play it. That's too much. Just put the CD in and hit play and there you go.

I'll assume you also like the physical aspect of DJing with CDs?

Yes, you're not putting a record in, but you're sliding it in.

Something tangible.

Yes, exactly. That's another good way to describe it.

Ever get nervous before a DJ set?

If you don't get nervous, you need to stop doing it. A person who doesn't get nervous before a performance, I don't care what it is, if the nerves are not there then the passion is no longer there. But I still get nervous. I got nervous coming here for the interview.

Me too. Can you explain the role dancing and energy play in your sets?

It's not something that I incorporated, it's something that happens naturally. I was a dancer first, years ago. We had a dance group called TNT Incorporated. We were the talent show winners. If TNT entered a talent show, other dance groups would drop out because they knew they were not going to win. Dancing has always been a part of my thing. I can't remember a time when... Oh, no. I should say I can remember when I would play records and not move, you know, just play, but I'll tell you how it happened, as far as I can remember. I went to the Tangent Gallery one night to hear Joe Claussell, and the place was packed. I went up on stage, met him, shook his hand, and later he played Jaydee "Plastic Dreams." You know that song, right?

Oh, yes.

He had it creeping. It was like, "Doo, Dah, Dum, Dah, dum, dah, dum." He was creeping, and I was like, "Oh my god!" I'm on the floor dancing, I spin around, I look up, and it's like our eyes locked. He could see that I was really into what he was doing. We locked maybe 25 seconds, and it seemed like from that point on, whenever I played, I kind of wiggled or danced. I don't know if it came from the spirit that he instilled in me or his influence, but I just recall it kind of starting around that time. And to this day, if I can avoid it, I don't watch myself play. I don't watch videos of myself. I just don't.

Well, I mean, for DJing, it's not supposed to be about looking, it's supposed to be about listening.

Yeah, it's an excellent point. When Louie Vega played here, he played at Motor City Wine, and people were kind of standing around in awe because that's Louie Vega. But he was kind of like, "OK, put the phones away."

What are some of the challenges you've faced as a DJ? Have you had to make any personal sacrifices for your career?

My biggest challenge right now is I don't... How can I put this? I don't care about producing music. People are like, "Al, you need to make records. With your musical knowledge, you could make..." But I'm not a real technical person, studio-wise. I've sat in sessions and watched Derrick [May] create records. I've watched Kevin [Saunderson] and Juan create music. I've watched Eddie Fowlkes create, and I'm like, "That's a process. That's a lot." And it's not that I wasn't interested in learning, but I just ...When I hear it in my head, I want it that way right now. So I don't have the patience to produce.

So that can be kind of a downfall. Frankie Knuckles, rest his soul, the last conversation I had with him before he passed away, he said, "Al, you are a good DJ, but it's no longer enough these days to have a nice little two or three-hour set." He said, "You've got to remain relevant, and on top of the game, you might want to look into producing." And I'm like, "Frankie, I just don't have the patience for it. My heart's not in it." Too many records from Detroit artists in the dollar bin, you know? But then again, Norm Talley told me, "Look, Frank Sinatra got records in the dollar bin, so it's better to do it and say you've at least tried." And I have tried it. There are a couple of projects with my name.

I like the Jon Dixon "Fly Free" edit you did.

Thank you. But I'm more so like, "OK, Jon. Let's drop the drums here, let's..." etc. Jon does the hands-on. He's the arranger, and I kind of feel like, because I'm not doing the technical or hands-on, that it's not my piece. And they're like, "Al, that's not how it works. If it comes from your mind, then it's your arrangement." I know people to this day, and I'm not going to name names, but people who will let someone do all the work and then slap their name on it and ride the wave like they produced it.

Do you think it's easier to gain popularity and tour internationally without putting any tracks out in the current era?

It's already been done. You had to have real talent back then, and it was more underground. There wasn't an influx of DJs back then the way you have now. Any kid with a PlayStation can be a DJ these days. You have these laptop DJs that are doing it not because they love the music, but because it's a part of mainstream pop culture. These same DJs are getting more gigs, five, six, $7000 a night, and here I am, poured my heart and soul into this, and got to sit around and wait for $300 at the end of the night. DJs today are a dime a dozen. Back then, they weren't, especially if you wanted to have a name. It's just different now.

The culture has changed.

The culture has definitely changed.

Do you consider yourself an unsung DJ?

Definitely, but it's not anyone's fault but my own. It's probably because of what Frankie told me, and Derrick told me, "Al, you don't need me to go overseas. You don't need me to blow up. Just make a record." But I don't, I just ... That's not me. Not to get back to that point, but that's probably why I'm not as far along as I am.

The music I would want to make, there's not a big market for anymore. Soulful house records, if they don't come from Louie Vega, Karizma, Terry Hunter, Glenn Underground or artists like that, people don't really care about them. It seems like it's easier to make techno, it's kind of mindless.

Did you ever get the opportunity to tour internationally?

I did, with Carl Craig. Carl Craig has taken me to the other side of the globe on more than one occasion. So yeah, I got to see what it's like to play in Switzerland and Amsterdam.

How was that compared to playing in the US?

I loved it except I couldn't be me. I had to be them. If I went and were me, I would've kind of got lost in what they were doing. Everyone was playing harder, and then for me to go up there with soulful vocals and stuff, it wouldn't have translated well.

So you felt like you kind of had to play for them?

Yeah, I did. But I had a good time, and I learned my lesson with that after returning from Europe.

Tell us about the Sonic Natives collective you're a part of and how it came about.

That was the brainchild of Earl McKinney; he got the idea one night at a party that Angie Slate threw. There was a guy called Chris Habbibian. Chris lived in Detroit at the time, and we thought the guy was phenomenal after hearing him play. It was just so soulful. Earl was like, "You know, Al, this is the start of something right here. You, me, and him." That's what Sonic Natives started as. We've been together for about five, six years. When I asked Earl how he arrived at the name Sonic Natives, he said, "well, Sonic, meaning sound and hearing, and Natives because we're all Detroit." It made perfect sense. So, that's how it came about. It was us three, then Chris moved away. He's still a member. Then I eventually took a short residency at Baker's Keyboard Lounge. Do you know where that is?

Yes, I'm familiar. I didn't know they had DJs there.

They did for a brief time. They wanted me to play jazzy house because Baker's Keyboard Lounge is a jazz place. The concept was great. But the manager was a jerk, he said, "I don't like it when you come in here and play booty music." I said, "Sir, do you even know what booty music is?" I'm playing jazzy house—Mr. Fingers, Tortured Soul, the nice early Inner City stuff, and we just clashed.

Anyway, on one of those Friday nights, DJ Magic came in to check me out. He and I got to talking, and I was thinking he'd be a perfect fit for the group. I took it to Earl. It turns out that he and Earl knew each other from the radio. Between the conversation we had, his talent, and his excellent production skills, I knew he'd be a fit. So he came in next. There's a few of us now—New York, Chicago, Detroit.

What would you say is the collective's overall sound?

Just soulful. Soulful sonic, but we can run the gamut.

I read that you worked in radio back in the day. How did working in radio influence your DJ style?

Working in radio opened a lot of doors for me as far as playing other styles of music. I made some very good friends in radio who all happened to be A&R people and representatives of major labels, Atlantic Records, Mercury Records, RCA, Columbia. I got to know all these people. So it got to the point where music was coming to my house via UPS. That was the biggest feather in my cap for radio, and I got the hands-on experience of radio production and seeing how radio works. Once WJZZ changed their format, I did a show every Friday and Saturday from midnight to like four in the morning, and they would say, "Al, just play what you want to play, as long as there's no cursing." So yeah, radio was a pivotal point in my DJing career, it enhanced things.

Any tips or words of advice to DJs just getting started?

Do it because you have a genuine love for the music and not because it's cool or fashionable right now. The real ones always know when you're faking the funk. They always know.