Seth Troxler hates himself. Whether DJing in L.A., Berlin, or Beunos Aires, his evening usually ends in a corner somewhere, his head in his hands, his hands running through his hair, his eyes staring at the ground, and his conceptually-rich mind wondering why all of us, not just those in the world of techno, don't see it: his immeasurable skill as a DJ and producer of dance jams that leave people feeling somehow molested. And yet, here is the irony: those who do see his skill and talent tend to annoy him with endless questions, propositions, jokes about Jews, and shitty drugs. So Seth is in a kind of trap--he wants the very things (universal recognition, acclaim) that will only isolate him more. And that's why no matter how well he DJ's or how massive his next jam is, Seth will not be happy. But that's a good thing, because unhappy artsy people like Seth Troxler, in the end, make average people, like us, happy.