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How Deadmau5—a.k.a. DJ Joel Zimmerman—came to make $100,000 a show and have four million Facebook fans

Mouse pad: Joel Zimmerman’s downtown condo has jägermeister on tap. (Image: Matt Barnes)

A steady August downpour drenched Chicago’s Grant Park on the final night of the Lollapalooza music festival. The rain and the force of thousands of feet had turned the park into a swampy field of splattering mud. The show should have been a flop; instead, it became a frenzied dance party, like Woodstock on methamphetamines.

Some of the dancers wore cartoonish, oversized mouse helmets that bobbed side to side and back and forth. The helmets’ eyes were blank and bulging, their crescent mouths leering grins. They were worn as a tribute to the musician Deadmau5, who was the headlining act that night. Deadmau5 (pronounced “dead mouse”) is the nom de guerre of the Toronto electronic music artist Joel Zimmerman. When he performs, Zimmerman wears his own electronically enhanced mouse mask, what fans call a Mau5head. The helmet looks goofy, but it’s important: it was key in Zimmerman’s transformation from a dance music outsider into a mainstream icon.

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The Informer

From the Print Edition

February 9, 2011 | 3:07 pm

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King State of Mind: When did the once-cool King West strip descend into a mess of stretch Hummers, drunken bachelorettes and last-call brawls?

Scenes from a never-ending party By Chandler Levack | Photography by Jess Baumung

2:45 a.m., Cobra

“Let’s get drunk and fuck! Let’s get drunk and fuck!”

I’m at Cobra, a King West club in a sprawling basement underneath a 19th-century warehouse. In this neighbourhood, the best parties are either deep underground or high above in a rooftop bar. Cobra is decorated like a gothic funhouse, with a wall of glowing skulls and lots of black. The get-drunk-and-fuck directive bleats from a techno remix as coloured lights, inducing a kind of electric synesthesia, pulsate on the basement ceiling. To my left, two girls make out and topple over, knocking down their bottle service glassware. Guys eagerly watch from the sidelines, plotting how to make their move. My teeth chatter from the vibrating bass. I down a shot that’s half Sour Puss and half vodka, proffered by a human Barbie doll bartender.

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The Hype

Prime Time

December 23, 2010 | 4:32 pm

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Being Am-Erica! Canada’s favourite TV time traveller is getting an American adaptation, so let’s cast it

This week has been an emotional rollercoaster for Being Erica fans (such as ourselves). First, we had to say so long to season three, with no definite plans from the CBC for season four (who knows if we’ll ever get to see who that mysterious glove belongs to). And then we find out that Temple Street Productions, the Toronto company that produces BE, has made a deal with ABC to develop an American Erica. Try saying that 10 times fast.

Word is the Canadian scripts will be adapted by American script doctor Maggie Friedman—she of the amazing Dawson’s Creek and the less amazing Eastwick—and as far as casting goes, the jury is still out on who will play everyone’s favourite time-travelling ginge, Erica Strange. Our picks after the jump.

The Hype

TIFF Talk

September 11, 2010 | 6:47 pm

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Playboy reality star Bridget Marquardt comes to TIFF for some reason

: Bridget Marquardt (Photo by Michael Tran/FilmMagic/Getty Images)

Bridget Marquardt, one of the three interchangeable blondes who dated Hugh Hefner on reality series The Girls Next Door, is doing what she does best—oozing non-threatening sexuality while posing for photos on a banquette at Toronto’s den of dim lighting, the Windsor Arms Hotel. Bridget has landed at TIFF as part of the festival’s unpopular “You’re Not in Movies so What the Hell Are You Doing Here?” series (past participants have included Lance Bass, Paris Hilton and Hilary Duff). The 36-year-old looks pert and pretty in a baby-doll dress, though heavy makeup can’t conceal the crinkles around her eyes.

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The Goods

Required Reading

February 18, 2010 | 2:30 pm

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Celebrities are out, Alexander McQueen label lives on, Tyra Banks tones down look

• Tabloids may need to cross fashion shows off their list of places to snap Paris Hilton and Lindsay Lohan throwing a hissy fit. There’s a noticeable dearth of celebrity presence at New York fashion week, in part because designers can’t afford to pay the costs (airfare, per diem, outfits) associated with having stars sit in the front row. But mainly, celebrities have become too stale in an industry that’s always on the hunt for what’s new. [New York Times]

• Alexander McQueen’s label will continue on without the designer, who committed suicide last week. McQueen had finished most of his fall collection, which will show during Paris fashion week. François-Henri Pinault, president of French luxury group PPR, said, “This would be the best tribute that we could offer to him.” [BBC]

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Toronto International Film Festival 2009

September 17, 2009 | 3:00 pm

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Natalie Portman is hyper aware of cameras, Lisa Kudrow loves playing horrible people

Natalie Portman shouldn’t fear cameras. Just look at her (Photo by Karon Liu)

When photographers snap 10 frames per second, more than half of the shots contain images of celebrities with their mouth open or their eyes opening unevenly. No one is more aware of this than Natalie Portman. (OK, perhaps with the exception of Paris Hilton.)

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Peanut Gallery

September 15, 2008 | 4:51 pm

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THE BEST & WORST OF TIFF ’08: Our Scene & Herd reporters list their most desperate moments, most exciting celebrity encounters and most hostile starlet

Most unexpected confession from a celebrity: “I mean, I have sex…and my sex is very, very boring. Very sloppy. I mean, I’m a total bottom and don’t get up on top,” said Kevin Smith, director of Zack and Miri Make a Porno.

Most frustrating “look but don’t touch” moment: The cake buffet at the Holt Renfrew bash was for your eyes only. And once, Brad Pitt was 20 feet away, giving us a raised-eyebrow stare-down, but he remained totally off limits. Many more best and worsts, after the jump.

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TIFF Round-Up: A short look at the festival that was

And…scene. TIFF is over for another year. We heard good things about The Wrestler and bad things about Burn After Reading (“burn after viewing” some say). A few critics grouched about the cult of celebrity that grips the city once a year, recalling those halcyon days when it was all about the films, while other critics got whacked with binders of some kind while trying to see one of said films. Someone crashed the InStyle party (not us—we wouldn’t have been wearing head-to-toe black). No one crashed One X One (though an attempt was made). Brad Pitt came, saw and split. Yeah, it was quite the year.

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The Velvet Rope

September 15, 2008 | 12:55 pm

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Swag roundup: The IT Lounge

The venue: NKPR’s IT Lounge at the Windsor Arms Hotel, staffed by the most cheerful publicists of the festival. Must have been the complimentary cupcakes.

The stars: The Degrassi kids, Strombo, Jennifer Aniston, Paris Hilton, Benji Madden (with sunglasses on, natch) and Queen Latifah stocked up on loot from Olay, Goody, ACE, Esprit, Fila and Teva.

Feel-goodery: An option to donate gift bags to a charity auction for Big Brothers and Sisters, and to sign the Wall of Heroes. Mom and Dad received shout-outs, as did Oprah and Madonna. Wives, children and Jesus got one mention each. Agents got none.

Media treats: A candy bar, Fiji water by the crate and endless cupcakes in the media room.

Rating: 9/10, with extra credit given for the stylist who, without comment, flat-ironed even the stickiest heads during last week’s heat wave.—Katy P

Peanut Gallery

September 11, 2008 | 8:50 am

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IN DEFENCE OF TIFF: Cantankerous critic Rex Reed spews vitriol over TIFF ’08, makes us miss Statler and Waldorf

Brooding over the “news” that TIFF has grown into a city-wide marketing ploy packed with overpriced hotel rooms and celebrities adept at hide-and-seek, film crank-critic Rex Reed writes in the New York Observer that this year’s Toronto International Film Festival sucks because things just ain’t how they used to be. You know, in the good old days—when Reed didn’t have problems controlling his bladder or stomaching fried foods, when he could chat with Clint Eastwood at Bistro 990 (the place to hang in town because, back then, it was the only place to hang in town).

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Stargazing

September 10, 2008 | 10:24 am

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Hoffman, Kaufman and Keener drink up at The Drake

Although the Park Hyatt rooftop is a “secret” retreat for A-listers, they have, apparently, been flocking west for late-night revelry. Seen last night at the Drake Hotel were Charlie Kaufman, Catherine Keener and Philip Seymour Hoffman—no doubt a more civilized meeting of the minds than the hussies who wailed at Paris Hilton down the street at Ultra Supper Club. Maybe Paris’s hair smells better, but we want to pick the minds of Hoffman and Kaufman forever.—Jen McNeely

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The Velvet Rope

September 9, 2008 | 4:42 pm

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One X One and Matt Damon’s impenetrable fortress (a.k.a. Maple Leaf Gardens)

We don’t care for sneaking into parties. It’s so sordid. But we couldn’t help ourselves last night at the One X One event at Maple Leaf Gardens. We circled a number of times—more for posterity than in the hope of finding an open door—before meeting some lovely security guards who politely told us to get lost, which we did (it was raining and we were expected at Ultra for a much-easier-to-get-into event. Sometimes, one’s losses must be cut, and not even Matt Damon can entice us to make an unladylike scene on Church Street. At least, not on day 5. We simply don’t have the energy. Perhaps One X One ambassador Russell Peters could have whisked us in the doors using magic, but, sadly, we missed him on the red carpet.

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The Velvet Rope

September 9, 2008 | 2:49 pm

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Crowds go wild for DJ Benji Madden and unnamed girlfriend

Benji Madden swept in to Ultra this morning around 1 a.m. with his girlfriend (some blonde; we hear that she’s involved in hotels). Who knew there were so many Benji Madden fans in Toronto? We were caught in the crush as dozens of well-dressed patrons rushed the stage, iPhones aloft, to snap pictures of the Good Charlotte star and his girlfriend (who bore a benign smile as she sipped sparkling wine from a can). Madden displayed consummate professionalism with the DJs by shaking hands all around before turning to his laptop. His girlfriend kindly smiled at the crowd while he set up; one might even say she was posing. We hope that he returns the favour this evening, as we hear there is a film about her playing at Ryerson.—Katy P“

The Velvet Rope

September 9, 2008 | 2:34 pm

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If only Don DeLillo were here

Standing in the middle of the phone camera orgy that was the Paris Hilton appearance at Ultra last night, we dug deep into our conscience to draw a comparison to a certain ENG101 class discussion about the Most Photographed Barn in America in Don DeLillo’s White Noise. Delighted by the postmodern absurdity of it all, we too scrambled to take low-quality photos of the most photographed woman in North America for our personal collection. Paris came, took a few sips of a certain sparkling-wine-in-a-can, smiled sweetly, and chatted with the DJs as a video montage of her sultry poses and various haircuts played on the video screens to the side. We were there. Our colleagues were there. Heck, even our editor was there. And we have the photos to prove it.—Melita Kuburas“

The Velvet Rope

September 9, 2008 | 12:12 pm

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Paris Hilton titillates the surging masses at Ultra Supper Club

At 11 o’clock last night, the swarm of paparazzi was thick all the way down Ultra Supper Club’s black carpet as dozens of folks waited for one Paris Hilton. The rain was falling and the swarm of media hacks was ready with giant umbrellas to scooch under to protect their cameras. We were among them. This was not a moment to be missed; we just had to deal with the man pressed up against us, the bulge in his pants locked to our behind. But not this, nor the rain, nor the choking clouds of cologne was going to keep us from leaning in to get an utterance from the world’s most famous young blonde. Prior to her arrival, we overheard every line imaginable being spat at the bouncers, as desperate Paris look-alikes clamoured to see their idol. Suddenly, we had overwhelming sympathy for every doorman in town. After the jump, the arrival of Paris and why fame is so easy for her.

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