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DJing is Harder than You Think
“Can you play some Scorpions or Def Leppard?” The man asked without thinking of anyone other than himself. “Here, I’ve written down a list of 10 awesome songs for you to play!” Says the goof who doesn’t know anything about good music.
This is what people do at DJ events. They request songs that they want to hear not realizing that their requests reflect on me. No one realizes that I am playing a song to make someone happy, instead, they think “Why is this DJ playing the Chicken Dance?” – because your mom requested it.
I’m not complaining about my work at all. I FREAKING LOVE IT. But… I spend hours downloading music and putting together playlists. I have to make follow-up calls and meetings in person with wedding clients to go over details and reception flow. I have to constantly stay up on the hottest trends of music: Frat Rap, Emo, Alternative, Country, Rock, Reggae, Oldies, Motown, New Age, the list goes on and on.
But on the upside, I get to learn about new music, I get to spend hours listening to new tunes, mixing together great songs, looking at beat counts and knowing what song will flow well to the next and how to transition a party smoothly from a rocking bump and grind fest to a slow romantic waltz.
I think this is where the art of DJing comes in – knowing how to mix a set of music that keeps the party ever-escalating while still keeping the dance floor packed.
What you do is play songs for each group in the room. The single dancers, the kids, the rockers, the old lovers who want to cuddle and the hip-hoppers.
As someone who LOVES to dance, every now and then even I need a break. If you play hit after hit after hit then I want to dance to all of them and I just get tired. Instead, I like to have a few hits and then a few slow so I can take a break between my hip thrusting and gyrations.
So this is my life and I love it. Even the part where I tell people “No, I can’t play that song”.
DJing is harder than you think, but it is better than any other job I’ve done in my life.
Saturday October 3, 2009
I’m awakened by the sound of the shower coming on in my hotel bedroom. I’m groggy from a sleepless night, a night which I had consumed a late night Whataburger and two tylenol PMs. This concoction is normally a perfect sedative but for some reason on this night I just can’t sleep.
It’s 7:45 when Doug says to me, “Good Morning” from behind the bathroom door which is cracked slightly. It’s day two of the Song of Solomon conference and although the weekend has been a cram session of Jesus and good times, I feel hung over.
A conference break at 10:30 has me interviewing young couples about hearing about the conference, “What was your favorite part?” I ask while holding a small portable camera. The young couple looks sort of granola with a pierced lip on her and the tattoo of a snake snaking down his arm. Flip flops and vintage t-shirts complete their carefully crafted “i don’t care” look.
It’s 1pm and I’m racing home to Plano in the rain. The rain is something that threatens to thwart me in my efforts to arrive to my 7pm appointment. It cannot impede me as I thrust onward in my olive green Honda Pilot which effortlessly guides me on and only occasionally hydroplanes and nearly removes me from the face of the planet.
At home I get ready for the 80’s party. I realize that the 80’s clothing styles were really all about the women and then I pause. Wait. All clothing styles are really about the women. Has men’s fashion changed all that much over the years? Tight pants, loose pants, cargo pants, beards, goatees, who cares? It’s the women that dress up and they do it for us men and that is what matters so I don’t put on anything really 80’s, but instead slide into a white Adidas jacket with royal blue stripes, a pair of jeans and call it day.
It’s 1am in the morning and a large woman just lifted her shirt and flashed me. She’s drunk, married, and flirtatious. On the dance floor I find this same married woman suddenly pressed to my back, her arms wrapped tightly around my waste and her hips grinding me wildly, her hand dangerously close to my crotch.
Later I would find her facing me in this same position, but instead of her hand dangerously close to my crotch it is directly on my crotch and fondling wildly. I push her hand away and say, “Aren’t you married?” “So” She replies, flippantly and without a smile. Her aggressiveness is alarming and before the conversation ends she has grabbed me 3 times.
It’s 1:30am and I am loading up my DJ equipment. The night has been a great success and unfortunately the married lady is not ready for it to be over. “Can I hold something for you?” She says as I try to put my equipment away. She grabs my crotch again and pulls me toward her. “You have a husband” I reply again pulling her hand off of my genitals. “He’s not awake, see, look right there.” She points to the dark window in the house next door. Her hands are all over my body and I’m forcing them away and thanking God that my friend shows up and cools the heated situation. As I am walking back into the house she tries a final attempt and puts both of her hands in my back pockets. “So you aren’t go to stay?” “Nope.” I respond and hurry quickly away to get the last of my stuff.
It’s 2:25 and I’m at home still unwinding from a very long day. I do a quick mental recap of the day and compare the odd turn of events. I go from a marriage conference that morning to being assaulted by a married woman that night. I shrug, pretty much a normal day in my life.
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Remember My Name
Fame! I wanna live forever! I wanna learn how to fly!
I’d sit in front of the television back in the 80’s and watch rapturously as the screen was filled with people wearing polka-dotted shirts, leggings, scrunchies, tight jeans and jean jackets. This song, these dancers, they spoke to me. Dance is the body’s way of interpreting music and although I couldn’t play any instruments, dance was something that came natural to me.
I have to say that all my life I have felt like a 5′ 11″ man trapped in a 6′ 5″ body. I’m too big to be a dancer or a gymnast, but these are things that I loved growing up. Some guys grow up loving football and sports. They trade baseball cards and play catch with their dads. I preferred to dance. I loved Michael Jackson and parachute pants and although I didn’t grow up with MTV, I was aware that somewhere out there in the world there were people who really danced.
When I was little I always felt like someday I would grow up to be famous. Does everyone feel that way about themselves? What would Freud or Jung say about this feeling? Who knows, what I do know is that as a kid I always felt special and even now when I watch people on stage, I don’t just think, “I could do that” I know I can – and sometimes I do.
For me dancing and performing aren’t about Fame or Remembering My Name… but rather something that is a part of me, like breathing. In order to exist I have to dance. When I hear a great song I envision the choreography for the video. I see a backdrop for a scene, a stage, the lighting and then I imagine myself or someone else dancing to the beat.
When I was a kid I always loved the show “Fame” and when I saw that it was being turned into a movie I was so excited. However, the movie was sort of a let down. There wasn’t much of story line and the ending was sort of anti-climactic, but it did have some nice dance scenes and some great songs mixed in. Perhaps I had my expectations set too high by films like “You Got Served” and “Step Up 1 and 2” but this movie was so close to being good, it just never picked a direction. Instead it did what many of us do in our lives – we try multiple paths and directions hoping to be good at everything instead of being the best at one thing.
I don’t care if people remember my name while I’m here on earth, but I hope to instill in people around me to follow their dreams no matter the cost. I think a lifetime spent working hard at something you love is way better than a lifetime spent working hard at something you don’t.
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i can do bad all by myself
I recently saw this movie and not only was it good, it was therapeutic.
Sometimes when we are hurting we build up walls and push people away when they are trying to help us. Why is it that pain is often something that we become accustomed to? Why is moving forward so hard?