In a booth high above the Nobu sushi and floating trays of Campagna hors d’oeuvre, Flex peers down over the sea of tuxes and Audrey Hepburn-in-Breakfast at Tiffany hairdos. He’s making some calculations. “Corporate heads, not real heads,” he murmurs. This is an industry party. “I think this is a little stuffy,” he says. But not for long. Flex starts tossing on the Marvin Gaye, the Earth, Wind and Fire, and Temptations -- old-school tunes for an old-school crowd -- mixing it all up with his favorite rappers. “Give it up for Biggie!” he orders the room. Hands wave high. Then the bow ties are twisting off, the hairdos flying apart greasily. Beefy-faced men are getting down like it’s a high-school dance. Flex gazes out at the crowd going wild. “I like taking people up and down and up and down. It excites me.”

He looks satisfied. “It’s funny, what music can do to somebody,” he says.

Related:

• Archive: “Features”
• Articles by Nancy Jo Sales
• Table of Contents: May 18, 1998 issue of New York | Subscribe!