Ooh I'm turning red
Who could this be?
-- Tweet
This weekend for the second time in memory, although there may be a repressed one or two uncounted, I reprised my role as DJ Dad. You can't win.
One of the most frustrating and yet rewarding jobs is that of a live party DJ. There is a constant tension between musical taste, workmanship, the demands of the crowd and the power of radio. At least that's what I went through this weekend djing at Doc's summer gig. It's probably more difficult for me because there isn't much music I don't like. So it's kinda troubling that you know only a few songs are going to get people on the floor, and then you have to be sparing with those..unless of course you're a club DJ and you've got beats. I had no beats, so I was not able to take Usher and remix it myself in realtime. After the last 'Yeah' I had to go to the next song.
The surprising bit was that once I got the party started (it took a little Missy Elliot, right after Mystikal) I was right there with the party people. That's a hard feat because I get so tired of that whole Dancing With Sluts groove. I don't like it, but I understand it, and no matter where you want to go in life, you never forget what you understand well. And if the mood is right, it can put you right into the frame of mind where you let it all rush back. I was halfway there.. it being a house party there simply wasn't enough humanity to bring be all the way.
You see, what you want in the club is the ability to set the mood with the minimum of effort. You want passive seduction, and it's the DJ's job to create and sustain that mood. All the less effort for the dudes and chicks in the mix. The mood is about vertical friction which leads to horizontal, without the need for doing much more than grabbing your partner's hand and taking her out to the dance floor. Your clothes, your walk, your attitude and the music do all the talking. Your voice can't be heard in the club anyway. It's all about saying, I'm hot, you're hot, let's be hot together. Simple.
But the pretense of sophistication has fallen away, and what was once Marvin Gaye is now considered practically gay. These days it's all about the big Dirty. And it turns out, somewhat surprisingly that I have about 8 hours of Dirty on my iTunes. I have enough Lil Kim, Missy Elliot, Nelly, 50 Cent, Mystikal, Outkast, Jermain Dupri, Lil Jon and assorted others including the Yi Yi Twins and Tweet, to keep mothers' hands over their kids' ears and party people humpin' and bumpin' until all hours. It took me most of the afternoon to cull those hundred songs from my collection of about 12k songs, but I found myself pleased with the results. Not only because I kept the adult party rockin' for what it was worth, but I kept the G rated stuff going long enough for the kids to have fun too.
The kids? Yeah. It was a family party. Or a new extended family party so therefore there had to be a Will Smith interlude. That was the only Soul Train Line at the gig. As it turned out, it was only the narrow demographic that engaged in this bit of club culture. But I had to provide dinner music, background music and old school domino slammin' music as well. The task truly tested me.
Spearhead's Michael Franti wrote 'Memories come down on me once again./ I'm caught without an umbrella', in a bittersweet tale of a suicide gone wrong (which was good). And for good while there, I was caught. Something about the music got into my pants and suddenly I was doing my moves like back in the days of Giant Step in the Village when acid jazz was new and hiphop had just discovered instruments. It wasn't long before I remembered that I run out of breath and that pleasant sweat breaks out a little too soon on my middle aged frame.
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