Philadelphia Weekly

The show at the Baltimore club was supposed to be bigger, but headliner Le Tigre canceled at the last minute when one of the three came down with a sore throat.

Diplo, booked to DJ between sets, is resigned to the fact that it'll be an off night. Sonar, a club with an industrial vibe hard by the Pulaski Highway, has a main room for a band, a room filled with people dancing and a kind of chill-out room with a pool table. It's dark and loud with the screeching music of a band called Lesbians on Ecstasy.

With Le Tigre out, Diplo has the headlining spot.

It's a spot he's used to when he spins with Mike "Low Budget" McGuire at Hollertronix, the now-famous anything-goes mashed-up Dirty South/'80s/Missy-Elliott-over-"Rock the Casbah" party that's been getting kids crunk at the Ukrainian Club on the edge of Northern Liberties for the past two and a half years.

But headlining solo is still a novelty. He recently came off a tour opening for underground DJ-of-the-moment RJD2, where he made no money but gained lots of exposure playing to crowds that had maybe heard of Hollertronix or the mix CD Never Scared, the one he put out with McGuire in 2003 that The New York Times dubbed one of the year's 10 best.

Some in his audience may have heard his full-length, Florida, or got a hold of his Favela on Blast CD--31 minutes of relentless Brazilian baile funk music--or heard about the mixtape he made with Sri Lankan/ British MC M.I.A.--the one that garnered huge buzz after it was handed out guerrilla-like at Hollertronix's Halloween party. But it was possible they hadn't heard of him at all.

"Tonight I just want to keep people in the club," Diplo says. "I'll play Baltimore club music, fun music. I'll just try to get people to stay."

When he finally gets on the decks after midnight, he fills the floor playing a remix of J-Kwon's "Tipsy," followed by "Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This)" with a pulsing backbeat. One of Diplo's proteges, a rapper called Spankrock, takes to the stage, surrounded by fly-girl-like backup dancers and a guy on bongos.

Diplo dances in the background, then gets back on the decks as soon as Spankrock's done, putting the "Drop It Like It's Hot" beat in the background.

He plays New Order. He plays hip-hop. He plays Depeche Mode's "Personal Jesus." At 1:40 the lights go on, but everyone's still dancing. At 1:50 he puts the "Drop It Like It's Hot" beat back on. Everyone's still dancing. He ends his set with the first few bars of the Pixies' "Where Is My Mind?"

It's a question that's difficult to answer.

"Hello. What's your name?" a smooth female voice intones over an insistent melancholy guitar solo on "Florida," the title track from Diplo's first full-length effort.

"Diplodocus," a man's voice responds. "Diplodocus. Diplodocus. Diplodocus ... "

It trails off as the guitar is joined by a drum, then a synthesized voice that chimes in, "Di-di-di-di-di-Diplo!"

If Hollertronix represents everything great about a party jam, Florida is everything great about downtempo headphone music. It's an aptly named tribute to the Everglades, swampy alligators and being on a shrimp boat in the middle of nowhere.

Born in Mississippi and raised across the South, Diplo identifies with the "real" Florida, where his family owns a bait shop and an RV camp in tiny Oak Hill, 60 miles west of Orlando on the intracoastal waterway.

When he goes home, he's Wesley Pentz, now 26, the son of a local hospital's CEO--a Vietnam vet and the only one of his siblings to go to college--and a born-again Christian whose devotion to God is matched only by her devotion to the Republi-can Party.

"My grandmother had her first child when she was 13 and had 10 after that," he says. "I come from a real Southern family. I got cousins that are older than my uncles. My uncle had a mobile home, so he was always going to Mexico, doing gospel retreats, bringing Bibles to Mexicans. I took trips with him to Oklahoma, and visited my aunt in Alabama. I spent my time in those states. That's how I grew up."