Somewhere in the middle of Jim West’s two-hour vinyl set, disaster struck.
One of the turntables at the Blue Galaxy suddenly erupted into a wall of hissing static. A quick inspection ruled out the cartridge. The mixer looked fine. The culprit turned out to be a failed cable feeding one of the speakers.

For most DJs, losing half a vinyl setup midway through a festival set would be enough to spark panic. Not here.

Within moments, the lineup switched to “selector style,” the classic Jamaican approach where DJs abandon headphone cueing and simply play one record after another on a single turntable, relying on instinct, timing and deep familiarity with their records.

The technical hiccup barely slowed the music, and if anything, it became an unexpected showcase of the experience behind the decks. London DJ Baby Soul, who followed West, hardly missed a beat. She rarely uses headphones anyway, instead watching the mixer levels to know when a record is live.

“The transitions were a little quicker than usual,” she said with a laugh. “But that’s just something you deal with.”Her set rolled effortlessly through soul, rhythm and blues, keeping dancers packed around the improvised setup of one turntable spinning

Fellow London DJ See See Rider was equally unfazed.”Every festival has different requirements,” she said. “Sometimes you bring your own needles, sometimes your own headphones. I just like playing records, so I didn’t really think about it.”

A regular at London’s Royal Exchange, See See Rider specializes in 1950s and ’60s rockabilly, rock ‘n’ roll, bop and ska. Her philosophy is simple: keep people moving.

“I usually play two or three songs with a similar feel before changing direction,” she said. “Fuji Rock audiences are really open-minded. They just respond to music that makes them move. I try to keep the changes smooth while still finding those crossover moments.”

By the time the final DJ of the night stepped up, the one-turntable challenge had become part of the fun. Cumbia Kid, Jason Mayall, casually thumbed through a box of 45s before dropping a string of James Brown classics that instantly sent the crowd into a frenzy. The missing deck seemed almost irrelevant as dancers packed the floor, bouncing shoulder to shoulder late into the evening.

Known for a marathon spin sessions at London’s Royal Exchange, Mayall eventually shifted gears into the cumbia records that earned him his nickname. As midnight approached, the rhythms slowed into hypnotic Latin grooves, with festivalgoers swaying together, hands raised, until the final record spun to a stop.

The equipment may have faltered, but the DJs never did.

At Fuji Rock, sometimes the best performances aren’t defined by perfect conditions—they’re defined by how effortlessly musicians and selectors turn the unexpected into part of the show.