DJ’s Treasure Market at Fala’s 1st Anniversary
DJs Jigoo, OTO, Odd.ssi, Snug, 09xx, Twelvey, Dada, and Moro
Fala
Gwangju
Aug. 8, 2026
(Jisu Sheen recently moved from New Haven to Gwangju, South Korea, where she’s covering local arts and culture for the New Haven Independent and Midbrow.)
A jazzy piano lost control over a dance beat next to a 7-Eleven in downtown Gwangju Friday night. It was a special day: a baby’s birthday.
Not a human baby. Fala, a chill, underground DJ-centered club in Gwangju’s Dong district, was turning one year old, celebrating the special summer night with killer transitions and an eclectic sale of riches.
The night’s DJs had brought items from home to sell in the open-air space outside the club entrance; Fala called it a “DJ’s Treasure Market.”
I got there as the team was setting up. Folding outdoor lounge chairs formed a hangout spot near the DJ. One of the speakers rested in the soil of a potted tree. The collection of items on the table by the entrance looked like a yard sale.
I descended the stairs to grab a bite from the bar before getting into the music. Under the dim lights, I sipped a sweet Dr. Pepper Bomb (I imagined the 23 secret flavors meeting under the cover of night) and was handed a watermelon tequila shot on the house as a welcome drink.
Earlier, on my way to the party, I almost collided on the sidewalk with a man on a bike. It felt extra (almost-) disastrous because there was a kid riding the handlebars—wait, was it a puppy? I did a double take—no, it was a fat, calm chicken.
Later, I would look upon this moment as foreshadowing. When I came back upstairs, there was an enigma in the shape of an egg on the table.
“What’s this?” I asked in Korean to the man at the booth. I couldn’t have guessed his answer.
“It’s a time capsule,” he said in Korean and English.
He unscrewed the two halves of the sturdy egg and showed me the compartment within. You can put things inside and lock it away for ten years, he explained.
The party itself was like a time capsule, held together by taste rather than a hard shell. The DJs jumped through the years in style, identifying rhythms that connected one point in time with another. Even their yard sale treasures showed off the historian inside.
At the Treasure Market, I was tempted by a fancy harmonica and a giant retro boombox. On the table were several teaspoons with intricate handles.
The spoons were from Lyon and Paris in France, one of the DJs, 김다혜 (Kim Da-hye) or “Dada,” explained. I had asked her to give me a tour of the items she had brought.
Along with her spoons, Kim had brought skirts, reusable bags for tea leaves, stationery merch from an era where she used to make videos about Gwangju’s regional dialect, and a bag with seatbelts for handles. “It’s totally upcycled,” she said in Korean.
One shirt she brought bore the name of the neighborhood we were in: 동명, or Dongmyeong. Below the Korean text was a set of Chinese characters saying “East” and “bright.” Kim, among with the other key players of the neighborhood’s nightlife, were the ones bringing shine to the city’s hip East-side.
I walked up to the DJ booth to film DJ OTO, who was getting me to appreciate piano in a dance setting like I never had before. She turned the dials of the deck with an expert touch.
Then the music’s call went through a tunnel of sorts. DJ OTO stripped the track to its percussion base to set the stage for smooth, moody vocals. It was a short visit; the melody was just the entrance for videogame-like sound effects and a breathy R&B voice in a higher pitch.
At this point, I stopped filming and relaxed into the music. Here was the real destination—for now.
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