For his own pleasure, AM would often play completely unknown records to large crowds at the peak of the night. Sometimes, if I was there in the DJ booth, he would throw on an old school hip-hop classic that we both knew was completely unfamiliar to everyone in the club except him and I. These were the times that made knowing DJ AM so much fun.

Behind those wheels, working his magic, he had the world at his fingertips. It just felt good to bask in his presence and watch him work. He was the hardest working DJ in history, never allowing a record to just play, always cutting, mixing and blending to keep the energy flowing. Women would gather around the DJ booth, vying for his attention and begging for a picture. When he was in a relationship, he was always loyal to his girl and refused the easy temptation. But in his single moments, he did indulge in the company of select ladies that struck his fancy.

Sometimes after the gig we would grab a meal or retire to his suite and talk about music and life for hours. It became easy for him to transition from “superstar DJ” to “regular guy.” If he was around in the daytime, we would grab a matzoh ball soup from Canter’s Deli inside Treasure Island — his favorite — somehow connecting us to a long-standing tradition of Jewish entertainers.

Adam’s love for music was infectious, and he thrived on analyzing both new and classic music of many genres, figuring out what part of the song he would incorporate into his nightly musical collage. His mind was as quick as his wit, and we would challenge each other in a modern version of “Name That Tune” involving back-to-back laptops. He always beat me. Adam spoke to other DJs daily, both prominent and obscure, keeping the pulse of what was heating up and making them feel good with his respectful approach. For most of us, Adam was the most famous person we knew, and he seemed to thrive on keeping a humble face while impressing us with his newest triumphs. He enjoyed the company of his friends and hosted gatherings in his upscale screening room for True Blood.

Still strong in his sobriety, Adam would even tolerate mild substance use in his presence without feeling any urge to participate. When friends would ask if it was OK to light a joint, he would declare, “Of course, I want you to do it! I just want to smell it!” It was like he had an impenetrable suit of armor preventing him from ingesting any drug. Frequent calls to his therapist, his sober brothers, his sponsors and sponsees would keep AM grounded and brutally honest at all times.

“I’m not like you guys,” he would say. “I am an addict. If I take one sip of liquor, if I take one hit of a joint, I cannot stop. I will be smoking crack within a week, tops.” At the time, it seemed like that scenario was impossible.

When, after many successful nights, the Pure deal had run its course, AM once again sought a nightclub partner in Las Vegas that could accommodate his massive fees and super-sized draw. After a lengthy courting process involving George Maloof and N9NE Group president Michael Morton, he settled on The Palms and its Rain Nightclub. The new set-up was bigger than ever before, with a massive marketing campaign announcing DJ AM’s newest residency. From the opening night, the DJ AM show at Rain was larger than life, involving custom video segments, graphics and lights to accompany his advanced DJ skills.

With his fee still rising, DJ AM had come further down to Earth. He frequently arrived alone for his Friday night performance at Rain, by car, without a manager or entourage of any kind. We would joke that a giant menorah would light up the sky when he crossed over into Nevada territory after the long drive through California. I would meet him at the Palms valet, where we would enter and immediately take the stage. These seemed to be his most grounded times, and I was blissfully unaware that trouble was brewing deep inside him.