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Vince grew up on the South Side of Chicago. As a teenager in the late s and early s, he was urbane and in the know: He liked Izod shirts, white K-Swiss sneakers, and straight-leg jeans; he chicago hip parties, loved import records from Europe, and aspired to make music of his own.

Amid that swirl, perfectly on-beat trax rhythms meant DJs could experiment with seamless mixing, and synthesizers were becoming affordable enough to be available outside of studios. The result was a new sound — heavy, stripped-down, synthetic but groove-rich — side by Vince, his friend Jesse Saunders, and other, mostly Black, kids.

Soon, Trax Records was born. In the daytime, he and a small staff ran the presses and put records in sleeves and jackets, and Vince made sales calls and negotiated with distributors, among other things. At night, he went to the club to hand out promo pressings to DJs and see bar the dance floor responded to new tracks. Vince says he designed the Trax logo, inspired by the stark, highly legible block-capital typefaces associated with the industrial-music scene.

He also figured that a stark, white-on-black logo would catch the eye of a DJ in a dark club rummaging through vinyl for their next jam. The latter song gave the world the first real taste of acid house, the subgenre that later crossed the Atlantic and took over youth culture in the U. But today, the house of Trax is in disarray.

It amounts to a civil gay over the catalog of arguably the most important label in the history of house music. Vince recently turned A few years ago, his wife, Tara, asked him to start getting his affairs together; life insurance, that kind of thing. They have a nine-year-old son, London, to think about.

Vince, who left Trax instarted to pull documentation of his music from a long and varied musical career, to get it all in one place for his family, just in case. But when he began to look at statements that laid out who owned the publishing for songs he had written, he says he was baffled. He found some 30 songs, he says, that had nothing to do with Trax — that, he claims, he recorded for other labels or for himself — had been registered to the label, meaning Trax, in effect, owned the songs and was therefore getting checks that, Vince says, he should have been getting.

House of Revolution

Once he grasped the scope of the irregularities, Vince called Rachael, who has owned 50 percent of Trax sinceas a result of her divorce from Larry. Larry died in ; his widow, Sandyee Sherman, owns the other half. Almost since the earliest days of the label, Vince says, there has been an ever-growing resentment among classic Trax artists.

And all it took was a little encouragement to bring them into battle. In October, Vince and his lawyer, Sean Mulroney, filed a suit against Rachael, Trax, Sandyee Sherman, and the Sherman estate on behalf of the plaintiffs, 22 men and one woman, mostly Black, all of them first-wave Chicago house musicians. The plaintiffs claim they never signed contracts selling all the rights to their work to Larry, but that he — and later Rachael — simply registered the copyright to their work to Trax anyway.

They believe Trax either sold copies of that music or licensed it for movies, video games, etc. It turns out that Rachael has her own story to tell, about why she has clung to Trax through ordeal after ordeal, in the face of increasingly bitter opposition. Larry, according to Rachael, would claim he was called to a meeting, and the door to Smugglers was booby-trapped, that he tripped something when he opened it.

Either way, on Sunday, Aug. A man later identified as Randazzo was seen running from Smugglers.