Fifty minutes till tip-off. A few dozen fans are separated by vast expanses of empty seats, the stadium music is using its library voice, USC and Washington State’s players are in their respective locker rooms and DJ Mal-Ski is down on the court chucking up half-courters.
He doesn’t make any. Normally, he does. Not today.
After a particularly promising heave sees its hopes and dreams die with a clank off the right rim, Mal-Ski is done. He starts dancing, alone near his DJ booth in front of an empty student section. At the booth, there’s an empty Starbucks cup and a blue Powerade, about a quarter full.
Some time later, USC’s players are on the hardwood, and Mal-Ski hypes up their dunks one by one. “Last one, get up,” he says for the grand finale. The team obliges, timing their leap in unison with the dunker’s.
The players leave, and with 25 minutes until tip-off, Mal-Ski leaves too, then returns with a hot dog. Also, another blue Powerade. An impressively short amount of time later, the hot dog has vanished, the foil crumpled up and tossed into the booth, left of the soundboard.
A student — they’ve started to trickle in — asks Mal-Ski if she can request a song. Already? You only get one! Kanye West’s “Flashing Lights,” please. Maybe. Twenty minutes till tip.
Seventeen minutes till tip. Another blue Powerade has appeared — the second full one, third overall.
It’s game time. Not that game — still 11 minutes till tip; be patient. Mal-Ski is down on the court with Crash, the guy in the front row of the student section who wears caution tape around his head, for some reason. Crash and video-board-edition Max Agbonkpolo are squaring off in a contest to name as many USC men’s basketball players as they can. Crash gets six, a valiant effort, but the junior forward wins with 8.5 (he botched Boubacar Coulibaly’s last name, hence the .5).
Now, Mal-Ski is giving a play-by-play of basketball tic-tac-toe between two students named Kyle and Dylan. Rules: Make a layup, run to halfcourt, place your giant X or O on the board, repeat. Mal-Ski’s commentary includes (justifiably) lambasting one of them for shooting 3-pointers, even when told approximately 948 times to take a layup. “Don’t ever wear Scooby-Doo boxers,” Mal-Ski advises the crowd. Kyle, allegedly wearing Scooby-Doo boxers, wins.
Six minutes till tip. Mal-Ski plays on loop the three-word intro from T.I.’s “Bring Em Out,” then clears the air for the band to play the fight song when the players jog out. Mal-Ski walks the crowd through some rules: 1) Hands in the air for a 3-pointer, 2) noise for opposing free throws, 3) on your feet until the first Trojan bucket. He tests them on No. 2: “That’s not loud enough.”
Two-and-a-half minutes till tip. Onyeka Okongwu is here. Mal-Ski daps him up.
“One more time, make some noise for your Trojans!!” Mal-Ski implores the crowd while the Cougars run onto the floor. “You won’t stand up,” he challenges three fans. (They stand up.) A student is holding an “I ❤️ Drew Peterson” sign, and Mal-Ski’s confident Peterson sees it, but Peterson isn’t looking, he’s walking back to the bench because tip-off is in less than a minute and he’s in the starting five and the affectionate sign is sweet but probably not his primary focus right now and —
“EVERYBODY SCREEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAaaaaaa……..,” Mal-Ski yells as the countdown to tip-off hits 0:00, steadily moving his head away from the microphone so his voice trails off into nowhere and everywhere at the same time, the “m” sound engulfed on all sides by the fans obliging to his command.
The ball is tipped. Play halts because Chevez Goodwin corralled his own tip, which isn’t allowed. Play resumes.
Mal-Ski hasn’t touched the blue Powerades. He’s saving them. This is a demanding, exhausting gig. He’ll need the electrolytes.
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$5 is good money for a 9-year-old.
When Mal-Ski was growing up in Long Beach, his father liked to have some fun. Friday night parties with a fairly open invite were the avenue. NBA players would come — Jamaal Wilkes, Michael Cooper. Artists would come — Barry White, Eazy-E and Apollonia, who once planted a kiss on Mal-Ski’s cheek, which he refused to wash for the next two weeks. The result? Ringworm.
Mal-Ski had a simple assignment: Don’t let the music stop the entire night. Do that; make $5. He would.
But Mal-Ski got away from DJ’ing. He got distracted, he said. Eventually, he wanted to get back to his purpose — to do what he felt like he was created to do.
“I spent two years digging into my history,” Mal-Ski said, “and the best times of my life were at those parties.”
A mentor of Mal-Ski’s put two and two together. Mal-Ski loved DJ’ing. He loved sports.
Why not DJ at sports events?
He told Mal-Ski to write down his goals. Mal-Ski did. He wanted to DJ for the Lakers, the Sparks, any hypothetical NFL team that moved to Los Angeles and USC. (He’s always been a USC fan. When Marcus Allen is your cousin, it’s hard not to be.)
He’s DJ’ed for all of those teams — even the NFL team that came to Los Angeles and just won a Super Bowl, the parade for which Mal-Ski also DJ’ed. He’s been DJ’ing USC basketball games since the 2013-14 season and appears at other events around campus as well, football games included. He even turned down “a lot” of money from a certain crosstown rival, because for Mal-Ski, it’s not about that.
“The goal was not the money. The goal was here,” Mal-Ski said of USC. “Which is why I’m still here.”
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“Victory signs up for Boogie,” Mal-Ski instructs the crowd as junior guard Boogie Ellis approaches the free-throw line, hoping to cap off a four-point play early in the first half. Boogie hits the free throw. Laser sounds emanate from Mal-Ski’s sound system.
“Victory signs up for the Ice Man,” he now directs, this time for junior forward Isaiah Mobley, who’s also approaching the line for an and-1. He hits it. Cue the lasers.
“Victory signs up for — " a pause for contemplation — “Peter Pan.” Moderate laughter breaks out. Peterson hits his two free throws. Lasers.
“Victory signs up for Isaiah,” as in, Isaiah White. He hits the first, but misses the second.
Should’ve used a nickname.
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To say DJ Mal-Ski has a solid list of mentors is like describing Mount Everest as a swollen hill in Nepal. Some of those mentors, his three favorite co-performers, could reasonably compose live music’s Holy Trinity: Prince, Stevie Wonder, Michael Jackson.
How’s that for a lineup?
During a show in Las Vegas, Prince once offered Mal-Ski some advice on pacing and fan engagement: Start it at an eight, drop it to a four, end at a 10.
It’s how Mal-Ski operates USC basketball games, but it’s a philosophy he takes to heart in other reaches of life as well.
Meals, for instance. “You start with an incredible appetizer. But it’s not the main course. You drop it down into your soup,” (it’s unclear what he has against soup), “and then you end with the main course.” Sex, too, he added, beginning to go into detail before being interrupted and reassured he wouldn’t be quoted on that, a promise rescinded when he granted his approval.
Inside scoop: Mal-Ski is writing a book. It’s about crowd psychology. He fancies himself a master of the craft, particularly because he’s been taught from “the greatest performers to ever hold a microphone — ever.”
They’re all different, though. Prince, he said, is meticulous. Planned. Scheduled. Stevie is about the feel: how you feel, how the crowd feels, what feels right. MJ is about entertainment. You can hit the wrong note, but was it entertaining when you did it?
Each of their unique approaches to performance has influenced Mal-Ski’s own. But Mal-Ski said he’s derived the bulk of his approach from another mentor: Doug E. Fresh.
At a USC basketball game, it’s pretty obvious why.
“Doug E. Fresh,” Mal-Ski said, “is all about making people happy.”
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Mal-Ski isn’t afraid to make people angry.
Noah Williams, a junior guard for Washington State, is at the free-throw line, shooting two. He misses the first.
“She’s a brick … " Mal-Ski plays from the 1977 classic by The Commodores, " … House!” He laughs, either at the miss, his own joke or both.
He’s having an impassioned exchange with a couple players on Washington State’s bench, closest to the USC student section. These are the same players whose back-and-forth with a student a few minutes ago — the students had told them to sit down; they declined — had been the object of Mal-Ski’s amusement.
Williams — ironically — hits a 3-pointer, and Washington State takes a 20-19 lead. The players on the bench are flexing at Mal-Ski, who’s telling them to keep that same energy. “We’re gonna keep it. You see the score?” they say, up one in the first half. Mal-Ski doubles down: “Keep that same energy,” he tells them. “Watch what happens.”
A Washington State player draws a foul — or at least, he tries to. “Give him an Oscar,” Mal-Ski says into the mic. Later, 5-foot-11 guard Tyrell Roberts steps to the free-throw line. “I wish I was a little bit taller” from Skee-Lo’s “I Wish” greets him. Later, Roberts is treated with Lil Wayne’s “6 Foot 7 Foot.” No punches are withheld.
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Not even the family is off-limits.
Stanford’s women’s basketball team was visiting USC’s at Galen Center. One particular fan, an athlete himself, was cheering particularly hard for the Cardinal, especially Stanford guard Anna Wilson.
Why Wilson? She’s his sister. The brother’s name is Russell.
Mal-Ski wasn’t about to let the quarterback of the Seattle Seahawks — the Rams’ rival, no less — take over Galen Center by cheering for the visitor.
“I decided to clap back,” he said, “by playing songs that would trigger him.”
What songs?
Ciara’s. Yes, Ciara, Russell Wilson’s wife.
The tailored troll — that’s Mal-Ski’s favorite. Everything he plays has a meaning. Another example came from another women’s game at Galen Center earlier this season. The opposing coach got a technical foul, and Mal-Ski chimed in with Rae Sremmurd’s “T’d Up.” Later, the coach complained about a foul, and Mal-Ski played an excerpt from Ella Fitzgerald’s “Cry Me A River.” Later, an errant pass hit the coach in the head, and The Weeknd’s “Can’t Feel My Face” followed.
That last song is a repeat trick. Mal-Ski once played it at a women’s volleyball game when a USC player spiked it off an Arizona State player’s face (after he knew she was OK, of course). ASU’s coach stormed over to Mal-Ski and told him he should be ashamed of himself. Mal-Ski laughed.
Four days later, he got an email from that same coach. You’re a really, really great DJ. Would you be willing to come to Arizona State and do some women’s volleyball matches?
“She realized that I didn’t do anything wrong. I just catered a clean song to the moment, which is not illegal,” Mal-Ski said. “I like those tailored ones where it’s individual. And you know that I am referencing you.”
It has to be subtle, though. It’s like a grenade, he said. Drop it, wait a few seconds. Once they realize it’s for them — they’re done for.
“Now I have their attention for the rest of the game,” he said. “If I get 1% of you thinking about me, then 100% of you is not into the game.”
His music isn’t just tailored to the opponent, though. It’s also tailored to the moment. It’s about guiding USC’s own players to where they need to be mentally, if they seem to require such assistance. It’s about maximizing each moment, fitting the perfect soundtrack to the perfect scene, much like in a movie. “Live Event Scoring,” he calls it. It’s about capitalizing on a team’s energy and feeding off of it. It’s about making sure that if a player isn’t fully engaged, he gets them there. If they already are engaged, they won’t hear him. That’s ideal.
Those are some of the things Mal-Ski wants to teach the next generation. He plans to hire 50 DJ’s in August, teaching and training two each at any college that will let him.
“That is the endgame for me,” Mal-Ski said. “There are still things that I’m mastering. ‘Cause I want to be able to communicate. I want to be able to say ‘This particular game, this is what happened. This is how I prepared for it to happen.’”
Mal-Ski wants to teach them how to sense the rhythm. For example, the Washington State game. Mal-Ski noticed that when Ellis checked back into the game in the second half, he immediately walked right over to the Washington State player who had prompted his departure with a forearm a few minutes before. Oh, he’s ready, Mal-Ski thought. Ellis hits a three on the first possession. “Uh-oh. Here we come,” he warns the building. Ellis is attacking the basket, hitting his free throws, triggering the lasers. “Everybody say ‘Boogie,’” Mal-Ski says, “cause here he comes.” Ellis is tunnel visioned into takeover mode.
“You sense that,” Mal-Ski said. “If you miss it, you don’t know how to take advantage of it. You don’t know how to maximize the moment.”
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The basketball game on the floor is just one of several contests throughout the course of an evening at Galen Center, and DJ Mal-Ski is at the center of all of them.
A student named Allie is competing with video-board Reese Dixon-Waters to see who can use chopsticks to transfer more ping-pong balls from one fast food serving tray to another in 20 seconds. The freshman guard goes first and gets 10. “He be eating sushi,” Mal-Ski concludes. Allie is next, and gets her 11th with plenty of time to spare. “You be eating sushi,” Mal-Ski concludes.
At halftime is the Takis Fuego Contest, a fairly new addition. Initially, Niall appears to defeat Nick by climbing into a giant bag of Takis, hopping to the basket, making a layup, then running back to halfcourt and rolling himself into a tortilla first. But Mal-Ski lets the crowd overturn it, because Niall’s tortilla came loose during the act of rolling. Nick wins. The fans got it right.
Shot For A Shirt — in which Mal-Ski invites a confident fan to attempt a free throw (it used to be a half-courter) to win a T-shirt — is supposed to be next. It gets shut down, though, because USC’s players are coming back out of the tunnel to shoot. That’s OK. Shot For A Shirt will be back at USC’s next home game against Arizona, and Mal-Ski’s promised a certain Annenberg Media Sports writer he’ll bring him down to shoot. We’ll learn Tuesday night whether he’s a man of his word.
There’s the Ultimate Fan contest. (Tip: The contest starts well before the video board says it does. Mal-Ski remembers everything, including the fans who don’t have to be reminded to stand. The ones who are “lit already.” That’s how you win.) Today, it’s a guy wearing a floppy hat and a Brian Scalabrine USC jersey, not the guy who took his shirt off for the camera.
Then there’s the T-shirt Toss. Mal-Ski has previously demonstrated that he has an absolute cannon, hitting the second deck with ease and pinpointing any target in the building. It makes one wonder whether he has an extensive athletic background, because — just look at that arm. He must.
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Actually, he does. Mal-Ski played professional basketball overseas, in Seoul.
He didn’t like it.
“I’m not about me. I don’t like pleasing me. I like pleasing crowds, I like pleasing people,” he said. “I like taking someone from having a terrible day and walking into watch basketball to smiling, dancing and the best day of their lives.
“I like taking a player who misses a shot and feels terrible because he missed a shot, and help reminding them how great they are, even with a missed shot. I like reminding a crowd — like the Super Bowl — I like reminding L.A. that we’re a city of dreamers that dreamt of a stadium, that dreamt of bringing a team back and dreamt of actually playing the greatest sporting event in this country in that stadium with that team. My job is just to remind you of that. And when I remind you, you’re gonna get loud, because you know how great it is.”
Well said.
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The team is feeding off of Mal-Ski’s energy, and Mal-Ski is feeding right back.
Agbonkpolo hits a three. “Uh-oh.” Peterson hits a three. “UH-OH.” He’s using the mic as a drum during the “Let’s Go Trojans” chant, imploring the crowd to shake the building on defense, taunting an airballed Washington State 3-point attempt and inviting everyone else to do the same.
Boogie’s feeding off his energy, too. There’s 20 seconds remaining, and the game is tied at 60. He takes the ball, gives it up to Peterson, demands it right back. Mal-Ski was right. He’s tunnel visioned into takeover mode.
He waits around half-court a few seconds, drives right, retreats a few steps, now goes left, drives toward the free-throw line, shakes the defender. There are two seconds remaining when Boogie rises.
Everyone in the building is on edge, including Jamaal McCoy, who was named after Jamaal Wilkes, the NBA player who attended parties in Long Beach that became inspiration for a 9-year-old kid to pursue DJ’ing, a kid who now goes by the stage name “DJ Mal-Ski,” a Super Bowl champion who can’t wait to get his ring and was thanked by Aaron Donald for his contributions, and he’s performing at the school that runs in the family, inspired by legendary musicians, friends with countless other artists, athletes and celebrities (check his Instagram), and his music and trolling and lasers and in-game entertainment are all part of something bigger — a return to his purpose, a purpose he’s trying to spread to the next generation, a generation which will learn from a master in crowd psychology, who remembers everything, who understands the scene and how to cater to that scene and whose scene-catering has led to this exact moment, when the guy whose energy Mal-Ski sensed right as he came into the game is trying to finish what they, together, started.
Just two-tenths of a second remain when Boogie’s shot drops. Only a full-court heave and a prayer of a tip-in can save Washington State, and Mal-Ski is exploiting that fact: Deniece Williams’ “It’s Gonna Take a Miracle” is playing, and it’s accurate.
The Cougars are about to inbound the ball, and Mal-Ski is directing the crowd to “shake the building” again. This is the “10″ that Prince taught him about. Just as players have bad games, Mal-Ski said he has them too. Games where he peaks too early and the momentum can’t be sustained, the energy plateaus, the team loses and he blames himself. No early peak today, though. Mal-Ski is bringing the 10 right at the end, just as Prince taught him.
There would be no miracle. As always, Mal-Ski has a song for the occasion — “All I Do Is Win” by DJ Khaled. Next, he’s doing the victory sign to the rhythm of “Conquest,” and after it’s over, he signs off: “Enjoy your Sunday. FIGHT ON!” As if they’d waited for his permission to leave, fans head for the exits. Mal-Ski spots a few friends down on the floor and goes to greet them.
He walks away from his booth. On it are two bottles of blue Powerade, still completely full, replete with the electrolytes that DJ Mal-Ski never needed.