Dj Evil K & Blackhearts Ball: The Return of the All-Ages Underground

Photo: Kelly Ashkettle

I’ve known Kevin Reece (aka DJEvilK) for over half my life, and I have marveled at his stubborn dedication to a music scene which has often taken him for granted. I’ve shaken my head in disbelief, muttering "Silly Kevin," as if I really knew better. I had had forgotten how much we have in common.

While he laughs at the idea of being "a legend," it should be noted that Kevin has been the face of Utah’s goth/new wave/industrial/post-punk scene way before 16 years ago, when I stumbled into a club only to find that there was a safe haven for self-anointed outcasts who picked Robert Smith, Peter Murphy and Siouxsie Sioux over whatever pseudo-hip-hop-flavor-of-the-week-lip-sync-band was popular at the time.

Over the years, Kevin has acted as advocate, friend, writer, fanzine creator, concert promoter and lead singer for The Midnight Dreary. Currently, he plays in Dada-influenced, dark cabaret act Domiana. He has also made a few cloaked appearances with the likes of Tragic Black and The Gothic Rap Project, to keep things unbalanced. He’s also been a DJ with various residencies since 1991. "I always think of myself as a musician first, but I’m recognized as a DJ and I’m very lucky to have lasted this long," Reece says. "I’m not just the longest-running goth DJ in Salt Lake, I’m one of the longest-running DJs in Salt Lake, period."

At age 14, Kevin was introduced to the world of DJ-ing carrying boxes which housed hundreds of vinyl records for a mobile DJ who worked the wedding circuit. He was paid in pizza and strictly forbidden from touching the equipment. "It was a no-touch philosophy," he says with a smile.

In the late 80s, Salt Lake and Provo were filled with all-ages dance clubs that catered to the "modern music" comprising everything that subverted the top 40. Five nights a week it was Plastique, London Underground, The Palladium, Ivy Tower, The Palace or The Ritz. "It was more than just dancing. It was a personal theatre; a way to find yourself. It’s a catwalk for everyone to explore their ideas without recourse. You can’t do that at school or at home," Reece says. Days were fodder, merely the filler between when Kevin would dig through records and create the perfect soundtracks for that night’s adventure. "I’d make mix tapes with a two-channel mixer to listen to while we drove to and from the clubs in Provo. The idea was to find a flow that connected the songs together."

As the late 80s turned into the early 90s, clubs evolved (devolved in some cases), and the landscape changed as new nights and new buildings opened. Old venues were demolished, relocated or simply disappeared. The Ritz saw their numbers diminishing and called on Kevin to bring the bodies back into the building. "I never thought about being a DJ. They asked me because they knew I owned the most music and had some idea around a mixer. Now I can’t imagine not doing it."

"In the early 90s, goth music was still relatively new [to Salt Lake] and unexplored. People would be more open to dance to new music. There weren’t really your dance floor hits; obviously, there were songs that everyone knew, but you could get away with a lot more because people were willing to take risks with you. Really, we were all just variations of punks; there weren’t as many subgenres, so you could play a broad range of music." Radio was even favorable then. The Cure, The Sisters of Mercy, The Church, The Jesus & Mary Chain, The Mission, Peter Murphy, Siouxsie & the Banshees, Xymox, Love & Rockets and The Cocteau Twins were crashing into the college charts.

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