Wednesday, 10 December 2008


Those of you who know me know I am not the best DJ in the world, I pretty much keep the crossfader in the middle, slide the volumes up and down and pay no mind to petty conventions like finding songs of similar bpms or cutting out really long intros. My skills were called into question last Saturday I was playing my usual eclectic mix of dancehall songs downloaded off of Skreemr and Death Row rap from 1993 at Bar Rumba to a crowd made up of burly girls who looked like they worked as mental health nurses and drunk Indian men with boundary/grinding up against girls issues.

I was there because my friend Lester had the brilliant money-making idea of putting on a night in a West End club, not thinking that West End club types expect a certain amount of top 40 music, RnB and a certain standard of DJing. What they got instead was whatever dancehall mashup was giving away that week fading out two thirds of the way through, a moment's silence and then Bitches Ain't Shit played slightly too loudly.

I'm not saying they should have put up and shut up, I don't think it was punk to make them listen to that stuff, I was totally in the wrong place (ie not the Macbeth) to get away with this appalling standard of DJing. These people paid a fucking tenner to get in and have a good time and all they got was me chatting away to my buddies and not noticing the end of a song had come -and other assorted illegal DJ moves on my part.

Anyway, about a half hour into my set a pretty girl came up and sheepishly handed me a folded piece of till roll, I was pretty excited and thought that maybe this was going to be the first night ever I got laid from djing, but alas, instead of a phone number or a 'meet me by the toilets in ten minutes and I'll spin you round like a record baby' all I got was the cold hard truth.

In case you can't make it out the last line it says I'm not even fit. Yeah, this was a pretty big blow to my confidence.

However, I got this note a little later on, which was a little more positive even if it was off a big mental health nurse, so it all evens out:

I'm never leaving my comfort zone again, it's too much of an emotional rollercoaster.

3 comments: said...

I'm pleased to see the use of good grammar in both instances.

Anonymous said...

You are a hot potato though.

Jonny said...

Punters eh? I foolishly played a friends sister's 21st birthday last year and after an hour or so of hip hop, ragga and R 'n' B, some girl sheepishly approached me to ask if I had any drum 'n' bass.

"Not with me" was my reply.

Half and hour passed and the same girl asked the same question again.

"No, I told you earlier, I didn't bring any with me."

After fending off some dude who insisted on playing TI at me from his phone whilst I was DJing, one of the aforementioned girls friends approached:

"Are you playing this shit all night or are you going to play some drum 'n' bass?" was her rather direct line of questioning.

"No. And tell your friend to fuck off"

I hadn't even had my 6th vodka by that point.

Never mind the acid . . .