What was that? A request? Your days are numbered, sunshine.
So we had another epic NONONO!!! gig on Friday night. Top class, as befits our tenth foray onto the high seas of cutting-edge music. Loadsa people, hopping and bopping till late at night, great crowd, awesome tunes, all that. In any case, so there I was, minding my own business, just busting a few tracks to warm the joint up...
Clueless Muppet #1: 'Listen mate I don’t mean to disturb you…’
Actually that’s a redundant statement, isn’t it? After all, if you really don’t mean to disturb me, you’d have stayed down there dancing, as opposed to climbing up onto what is clearly a DJ podium, no?
…but can you play something faster…
Well, considering it’s 10:30pm and I’m warming up this floor with 110BPM tunes, um, no.
…because my mate over there – you see him?
Uh, not really, seeing as how I have 9 seconds left to fuck this mix up and I haven't actually looked at you because I'm a little preoccupied by the rapidly diminishing countdown timer...
…well, he’s a professional dancer, and he can dance really well, you should see him…
Gee, that’s great Sparky, because I’m doing this just so you can watch your mate dance. Because there's no-one else here, apart from...the other two hundred people in this place.
…but he needs faster music…
What, like 140 BPM industrial death trance? Damn, musta left that bag at home tonight.
…like the stuff that DJ you had play here in January, you know who I mean…
Funnily I do know who you mean but as it happens I’m playing now and I don’t play the same music as him. Strange, that.
…so can you make a plan, because my mate there, he’s a professional dancer…
Well fuck me gently over a keg round the back, a pro dancer – when did we ask him to come round and dazzle us with his mincing cakewalk?
…and it’s such a waste to have him not dance…
Couldn’t agree with you more. I know I for one am truly gutted.
Smile. Nod your head to the beat. Eventually they go away.
And that’s pretty much how it went, actually. Straight up. But wait – there’s more – shortly thereafter (and this is a gig headlined by me, my wife and our friend – and we are collectively called The ECLECTICA Allstars, as if that's not enough to give you an idea of what we don't play) another muppet climbs on up with that classic spangle-eyed, lantern-jawed, cold-sweat gloriousness of the triple-dropping rave muppet, and proceeds to tell me – not ask, mind you, but tell me – that ‘You need to play house or R and B! (mate)’
To which, of course, I reply: ‘Heyyingguhhooffouttahere!’
Quizzically he responds: ‘Eh? House and R & B!’
Me: ‘I DO NOT PLAY THAT CRAP!’
He: ‘You must have some house, or some R & B! Come on!’
Me: No. I Don’t. Now fuck off. (but luckily he’s standing right in front of the monitor and can’t hear a thing. So, he leaves. Which is great. But I’ve just fucked up another mix.)
These are not isolated incidents. Oh no, no, no. Far from it. Every DJ has a tale to tell. I just seem to attract a larger flock of flailing muppets. Like the dainty damsel who fell - fell - onto the decks with a full drink...which, as liquid is wont to do, spilt all under (thank feck it wasn't over) the cables and plugs. Close one, that.
And so it goes.