He’s so Money and He Knows It

Katie Dolac / Culpeper Star Exponent
Published: May 10, 2007

Loud hip-hop thumps near the entrance of Hazel River Pub. However, the pub is empty. It isn't even open for business this early in the afternoon.

The steady beats bounce around the cold limestone on the other side of the Pub - the side only a handful of people even knows exists, the vacant space Jason Theis - known as DJ P.C. - trades his services to occupy.

In a tiny corner of the dark dungeon-esque expanse Theis sits amidst a swirling haze of cigarette smoke controlling the levers and knobs of his mixing equipment.

The faceless DJ (he prefers working behind a black curtain) recently moved his fledgling recording business there from Skinnes Barber Shop. ("The black barber shop is the mecca of a town," he said. "I'd sit there and my talent would just walk in.")

He DJs at the Pub on Wednesdays and Thursdays in exchange for the empty space he now uses for Paid Cash Records. The massive room is empty except for his small corner of equipment, a table stocked with magazines and the Paid Cash Records sound recording booth (slapped with a parental advisory sticker). He and his cousin constructed it with "the cheapest stuff from Lowe's you can buy."

He also works the Tavern on Saturdays, Club XS on Sundays and the Culpeper County High School lacrosse games, where he said he can't help but feel connected to the team's winning record.

"That's my funnest job right now," Theis said. "Everything else I do involves drunks."

First came tape decks
At first glance he's just another tall, slender white guy makin' it gangsta. He wears "fly" clothes and backward baseball caps, and he's got P-A-I-D C-A-$-H tattooed across his knuckles. He refers to competing DJs as "jukeboxes" ("These jukeboxes, they just press play - guys messin' the game up"), and produces hip-hop artists with names like Loose Cannon, Sice Fury and Kyoo (pronounced "Q"). It's not unusual for bar fights and baby-mama drama to erupt at his shows.

Theis' passion for hip-hop shines through his rough exterior after 10 minutes in his sound recording lair or ricocheting around his makeshift DJ cave at one of his gigs.

He's been enthralled by music since childhood. Between his musically inclined uncle Dave (whose songs he recorded) and his grandmother and mother's "hella" record collection from the 1950s and '60s, he mixed everything from big band to Johnny Cash back when tape decks were the "in" technology.

"I broke all her needles," Theis said. "I would just stay up all night making music."

When he was a high school senior vacationing in Myrtle Beach, he saw DJ Super Freak at a club called Freaky Tiki's.

"He was wearing fly clothes," Theis said. "I thought he was cool. I wanted to be like that."

That dream turned serious when he walked into 401 Club on his 21st birthday.

The music was playing, but no one was dancing.

"It was all messed up," he said, as he happened to be sitting within earshot of the club's owner.

It wasn't long before he was DJ-ing there four and five nights a week.

A slight detour
After a short stint in jail, Theis began reading books on music - its timing and formatting, tempo and beats, drum patterns and the art of mixing two songs together.

He also started rapping in his spare time, learning his new recording equipment (he claimed to have buried those early recordings so deep in his collection that no one will ever find them). Before he knew it, people started calling.

He learned to control the crowd like a puppeteer behind the DJ booth at 401 Club (now Lord Culpeper Bar & Grill) and the Bistro in Warrenton, though he does not currently work at either establishment. Music is the string he uses to make people move.

Play a country song and "make 'em cry," play a hip-hop song and "move 'em."

When the crowd gets unruly, he said, "Don't play country, that'll make it worse. Country is sad songs. It's all about the blues."

"People blame hip-hop," Theis said, "but hip-hop music heals. It's the beat."

He loves to "make 'em move"
Cordoned off in his DJ tent at the Pub on a recent Thursday, a fight broke out between two friends across the bar. Theis jumped in to break up the brawl before the Culpeper Police Department arrived, then hurried back to his turntables. A mellow song was all that was needed.

The wounded crowd returned to their longnecks and forgave the rumble.

A fight meant the bar would be close early, so he carefully eased the crowd back into dance mode. Before long, he was in the zone, skillfully selecting crowd favorites, bobbing to the beat with only the dim glow of his laptop.

Theis threw on "Moose Knuckle," a song he produced, and through the dark curtain he could see the Pub's tiny dance floor at capacity. Silhouettes were rubbing against each other and gyrating to the beat.

"Watch this," he said.

The music went silent.

The dancers didn't miss a beat.

And Theis, well he just smiled and rapped along.

Katie Dolac can be reached at 825-0771 ext. 138 or .