Adventures in the Land of Dj'ing - Pull Up To The Bumper

Driving down those city streets,
Waiting to get down
Want to ditch your big machine
Somewhere in this town?
Now in the park and lock garage
You'll find the proper place
Just follow all the written rules
You'll fit into the space.

Pull up to the bumper baby
In your big black limousine
Pull up to my bumper baby
Drive it in between..''

Aah the subtle sweet sounds of Jones, Miss Grace Jones harassed the bass speakers and the crowd in the Camden club.
It was relentless, hard and made you sweat when you really wanted to go for it.
Speaking of 'going for it'...what is it about folk partial to copping off, failing to book a room and going for it in the club, literally?

''Nay Deckspinner, you lie'' I hear you cry. NOPE, this is fact.

Let me break it down for you and put it together if i may.

It's the weekend and you feel you wanna party - check!

Hang out with your friends and boogie - check!

You've got some new threads that are ready to be launched - check!

You may have got your hair done(boy/girl optional) - check!

Shoes? Yep, you may have got those Manolos or those Sweeneys (delete where applicable) - check!

Call up the friendly fam and you're on way to the club of choice, you love the nighttime, your peoples are nice, the music's nice...you...feel...nice - CHECK!

So, at what point of the evening do you notice the girl with the huge set of Chernobyls, backside like Kim Kardashian in killer heels or man in slick Boateng suit, Jeffrey W shoes with slick patter(delete where applicable) and think to yourself..I wanna get sexed up with him/her - In here?
Nothing wrong with chirpsing (chatting up folk) - we've all done it, but we don't think to ourselves - ''Yeah, I'm gonna tap that - in here''

Case 1, your Honour..
Proceed, Deckspinner, proceed.

I love music, you know that.
I love people, you know that,too.
But that doesn't mean I love to see people playing 'hide the salami' or listen to someone re-enacting Salt 'n' Pepa's Push It, when i go for a pee in a public place.

Like I said earlier, a club in Camden, nice venue, a little like the Sugar Shack(Ernie Barnes), bodies bumping to the music (remember i said bumping, not banging).
We're playing MFSB - Mysteries of the World(fat choon, no question) and Tony takes over from me.
I need a drink but i need to pee first. I make my way through the crowd and by the time I've opened the men's door, I can already hear the screeching.
I couldn't quite tell if my eyes were stinging from the sweat from my brow or the spectacle in front of me.
The cubicle door is open(they couldn't be bothered to close it), the guy's legs are inches off the floor with his trousers and soiled baggies around his ankles(sorry, I've got to call it as i see it)

The lady....(a very tenuous link, I know) well she's riding Mr Soiled Baggy like he's the last train to Upminster.
She's built like a brick out-house and every time she came down on Mr Soiled Baggy, he screeched..Yaaay, Raaarrrgh, Yeeeeah, Yaaaayaaah...punctuated by her confirmation of how she was enjoying proceedings too.
Anyway I believe Brick House & Mr Soiled Baggy came before they were asked to skid mark out of there.



Case 2, if it pleases the Court?
We're actually quite queasy now, Deckspinner but please proceed.

This one is from waaay back in the day..to my roots(well, one of them)
Some of you may remember these crappy clubs that opened back then when the closest thing you got to r'n'b was R Kelly's Vibe or Luther Vandross' Never Too Much which is okay but when they cut them right down and you never heard them again for the rest of the night, you felt like you wanted to hurt someone so they could understand and feel your pain too..lol

Anyway, we'd got a weekly stint in this club(they'd given us Mondays, as the weekend was saved for drink all you can drink-fight someone-throw up your kebab-and get a cab home-nights) but this particular night was a Saturday.
We're hanging out, chatting up the ladies, tapping our feet to crap music and trying to stop yawning, when Skip tugs my arm.

''What is it?, I told you it was a waste of time coming here, we flaming work here, too''

''Yeah, but not tonight,the drinks and food is free and that brunette looks like she wants to eat you whole, ain't that right?'' Skip replied.

''Drink and food okay, fair enough, but that brunette looks like she ate her neighbours, I ain't riding shotgun with you on this one''

''Cool, no worries, I'll handle her and the friend''

We both burst out laughing and stopped at the same time as our eyes were drawn simultaneously to some movement behind one of the alcove drapes.
We snuck over, Skip pulled the drape back slightly and raised his eyebrows.
Meanwhile I'm trying to get a view of what he's seen.

Get ready.
The slurping noises were louder now as the bar girl was on her knees and introducing herself to someone we didn't recognise as her regular boyfriend.

The guy's eyes widened as he saw us and was about to pull the bar girl's head back to stop.
Skip made a warning finger and put it to his own lips.

The now distressed fella was now fighting the good fight from the eventual delivery of his cargo whilst the bar girl kept the tempo.

Skip ran to the DJ and they came back with a suitable crowd of eager viewers.

Bar girl was oblivious to what was going on behind her right up until Distressed fella could hold back no longer.
When the DJ started counting back from ten, it seemed like everyone had joined in.

Distressed Fella released his heavy load to the satisfaction of Bar girl who suddenly realised she had a non-paying audience.
By then it was too late.

Distressed fella ran from the club leaving a trail like a snail, while Bar girl didn't even hang around for her coat.

We never did see her again. Shame really, cause she could really pull a pint.

©2008 Dj Ed Nice

The names, places and drapes have been changed to protect the downright sticky-icky.

Adventures In the Land of Dj'ing - Silly Punter

So you've got the tunes, the style, the swerve, the panache, the connections, the gab - you're so fly! All you need is a crowd.
Yep, a crowd and not just any crowd, but a crowd that actually enjoys what you're doing and how you do it. All the pre-planning, networking and researching has been done and you're set for a fantastic time - blending and interchanging with music and folk.
So can someone please explain why, if the DJ has met his end of the bargain (everything in life is a sale - make no mistake, I'll deal with that at some other time) that you more often that not tend to get a knob, twat, idiot, prat, doughnut or all of the previous who insists on making your night and/or everyone else's an absolute nightmare??


Welcome to the world of the silly punter.

A silly punter- I hear you ask? Well let me break it down.
The definition of a silly punter is someone who decides after paying his/her money to enter an establishment such as a cinema, club or shop, decides/proceeds to make an absolute tit of them self/selves much to the annoyance of others.

It could be an action, a series of actions, a word or a set of dumb-ass words - in an attempt to air their own sense of importance dressed in stupidity.
I've always wondered about punters like that, I mean is it borne of a desire to really piss people off or do they really have no control.
Two ends of the scale...

Let us proceed...

Case 1.

A nice little club in the middle of Londinium.

It's around 10.00pm and I'm chatting to friends, you know just chilling out as one does.


I played an early set and wouldn't be back on till 11.00 or so, so I figured I'd take the time to catch up, network and obviously milk the approval for my early work (EVERY DJ does that.FACT!..lol) We're laughing, jesting and joshing- Stead is going through his routine and drops Horace Brown - One For the Money. The place is nice!

So along comes Strange Bollocks!

Woodcutter short sleeve shirt, are those Farah's?, square-toed shoes with the buckle(Dick Whittington stylee) and Studio Line greased hair - Strange Bollocks obviously had a strange mirror!

He opens up with ''I'm a DJ too, you know''

''Cool, where do you play?'' I enquire.

''Yeah, all kinds of music I've played'' he continues, ignoring the question.

Nice, so where do you normally play?'' I rephrase the question.

''Yeah, yeah all kinds of music'' he says.

I'm no detective, but I sense all is not well and seek to make my excuses.

If I had been a detective, I would have noticed that Mr Strange Bollocks was actually three sheets to the Siberian winds and not swaying to the music.

''Okay, well I'm off to get a drink, see you around, fella'' I say to round things up.

I make a move to the bar and Silly Bollocks grabs my arm.

''Oi, don't you f***king turn away from me when I'm talking to you'' he screams with his pint of lager swishing every way.

So now he's caused some alarm to the people within earshot.

''What do you think you're playing at?'' I ask, whilst removing his grip on my arm.

''Sor, sor, sorry mate, I was just having a laugh with you, can't you take a joke or something, for f**k's sake?'' offers Silly Bollocks.

''Whatever mate, let's just leave it, okay?'' I return.

''Fair enough, geezer'' SB mutters.

As I turn and make to move on, I hear the yelps from women before I feel the remains of SB's lager, sticking my T-shirt to my back.

''You silly tw*t'' I storm angrily.

''Yeah, what are you gonna do about it?'' SB retorts.

Okay people - let's slow this down and I'll explain...You see at this point a decision has to be made. Why?

Well, let's not forget, I'm being paid by the club to DJ, to work -and I am at work, albeit on a mini-break.

I'm an ambassador for my name, the club and all the folk I've invited, but a decision has to be made...

Do I retaliate or do I take the higher moral ground, walk away and put it down to experience ?

BLAAAM!! A swift back-handed slap from the belly of hell was distributed by me to the face of SB.

Like Whitney said, ''It's Not Right, But It's Okay''...the Silly Punter!

Case 2.

Location : A long standing venue in Camden - very nice, tarts, players and funky swayers, the good, the bad, the lovely and the downright oooogly!

It's a Funk night, one of mine...''doin' it after dark, oh yeah Rock Creek Park, oh yeah..'' The Blackbyrds boom from the bass bins, the crowd is hip (they know their stuff and won't settle for anything less) which is what made this case all the more surprising.

But then you can't judge a book by it's cover, can you?
And you never who may come waltzing through the doors.

I've segued into One Way - ''Let's Go Out Tonight'' (it's a superior chooon) and up she comes..

Blond highlighted hair, gold dress with squabbling tits, matching bag/purse thing, Manolo's and her very own fan-club tottering behind.

Here we go.

''Hi?''

''Hello''

''Are you the DJ?''

Uh oh, careful we've got Mastermind in the hu-hu-house!!

''Yep, what gave it away, the records?'' I offer.

''Hmm, well, haw-haw-haw''

You know that grating laugh that sends some men stupid and the rest, mad. Give me back my senses, Mastermind!

''How can I help you?'' I ask.

''It's my birthday and I've a list of musical tracks, you must play''

''No can do, this is my night and it's funk, all night!'' I replied.

''Speak to the manager about bookings, numbers on the flier, okay'' I continued.

''Do you know who I am?'' she asks.

''If you've forgotten who you are, your name's Coochie and you owe me money'' I laugh.

Coochie puts on her really stern expression face.It's okay we'll call her Coochie for now.

''I'm Blah Blah Smythe-Blah-Blah and I'm one hundred and blah in line to the throne''

''No sh*t!'' my eyes widen.

''That's correct'' she smiles smugly believing she has my full attention.

''One hundred and blah in line to the throne.....that's a really long time to wait for the toilets, even in this place.''

Some of the tottering fan base of Coochie are giggling, but try and stifle it when she glares at them.

''Have you NO MANNERS?'' Coochie shouts.

''What label did it come out on?''

More hooting from the fan base.

''Look here, my Daddy owns this building''

''That's lovely, but can you get him to fix cubicle number 3, cause it's leaking like a mother..''

I move to pick out some Zapp - More Bounce to the Ounce from the bag and that's when Coochie makes her move.

Then heard the sound...

The sound from hell, the sound that drives a nail through the heart of every real DJ....the sound of a needle being dragged across the grooves of one of your favourites records, this time the vinyl victim was the Cameo 12' - It's Serious..wwwzzzzzzzzrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrraaaaaaaaaauuuuuuuuuup!!

Coochie stormed off, but not before Security had caught up with her fake royal ass and thrown her and her scullery maids out.

Class means nothing when you're just another Silly Punter.





©2008 Dj Ed Nice

All names, places and stains have been etched off with Omo washing powder to protect the legless and feckless.

Adventures In The Land Of Dj'ing - Over Land and Sea

As most dj's will know, getting residencies, putting on shows or organising parties takes work - bloody hard work.
It can be thankless, wasteful and seem like you're scratching your nuts with no given satisfaction.
When you have a love for it, you stick at it, like a junkie on crack in the hope that the end result will be all that you wanted it to be.

So when you get booked to gig abroad (glorified jollies?...hell no..lol) with little or no pressure to run around like a blue-arsed fly, it all helps to make things worthwhile.

Here's a little adventure from the sunny and murky side of a place over land and sea.

Ray booked me for a two week stint in one of his clubs abroad.
Ray was a dj slash promoter slash a&r man and we used to dj together some years back in a well known night spot in London.

He was slick, smart and very good at everything he turned his hand to - including the ladies.
Not essentially a major looker, but a deep thinking philosopher and some of you ladies are suckers for a man who bares his soul before you bare your tits for him(admit it..lol).
Ray was successful, on his game and moving in all sorts of places - hobnobbing with celebs and such.


Anypoo, he belled me and laid it all out. How did I fancy 2 weeks paid djing in sunnier climes, accommodation paid for.
Now that's what I'm talking about!
Let's 'ave it.

I phoned my mate Olly and asked him if he fancied a jolly(err i mean a working tour of a beautiful place overseas..lol)

I think his bags were already packed in anticipation.

The plane journey was pleasant and the air- stewardess was very accommodating and interested in something other than my philosophies on world peace.
As you all know there is absolutely nothing wrong with networking : - )

Ray had laid on a cab outside the airport and after the usual baggage collection shenanigans we were away.

The first couple of days were spent lazying around and soaking up the atmosphere (I'll get on to that later)

By the time my first gig started, I was well and truly ready. Ray's place Sugar was nice enough and compared to some of the overseas hovels I've played in, it was positively Buckingham Palace.With a bar downstairs that was open from six till 1am and attached to a club that would open from 1am till whenever(apparently 'lock-ins' exist worldwide).

Olly & I made our way through the bevvied crowd after the cab had dropped us off a street away from the club.
The cabbie had not been willing to drive into the centre, so we had to walk the rest of the way.
Fair enough, I had two bags of records, but walking down the street wouldn't be a problem, at least that's what I thought at the time.

From ladies wearing next to nothing to ladies wearing practically nothing, we were accosted from every angle. Funny how people get brazen when their away, especially after all the cocktails, beers and spirits were flowing like the Zambezi.

Add in the fact that it seemed to be 'Happy Day' as opposed to 'Happy Hour' - we were definitely in the mixer.
Just about every inch of me was felt, pinched, tweaked and massaged with the obligatory ''Hello gorgeous'', ''Get your d*ck out''(because that's what would spring to any one's mind while carrying two bags of records..hmm) and ''I'm not gonna call a cab cos I wanna ride you home tonight''. That line was new to me but belonged to an American accent.

I'd lost sight of Olly right after he was stopped by a very tall Swedish looking girl. He could catch up later.
I got into the bar and saw a grinning Ray holding court with some very fit local girls - tanned, jet black hair and backsides that would run J-Lo out of town.
After the back slaps, pows, a few drinks and verbal jousting, I was soon dj'ing in the bar.

A little fella came up to me after a couple of tracks and said he would be the lookout.
''I beg your pardon?'' I asked.
''Ohh, I will be the lookout''
''Lookout for what exactly?'' I enquired further.
''The police...didn't Ray tell you?''
''Tell me what?''(Another one of those - 'Aaah yes by the way, I meant to tell you but didn't' moments)
''The local police have been very strict on licensing hours for alcohol and also for music being played in the bars after a certain time, 11pm!''
''You're kidding?'' - I replied.
''No, when the police start to patrol, we all start turning it off or we'll be shut down'' said little fella. ''So I will be your lookout, okay?''
''Cool, so how does this work?''

Little fella told me to watch where he went as he left the bar. He crossed over to the other side of the street that still thronged with the bevvied, unsteady, lookers and out and out shockers(I'll get on to that later) and climbed up a post which looked like a make-shift street lamp.

''You've got to be joking?'' I mused to myself.

Little fella pulled out an infra-red beam pen and shone it in my direction.
As he scampered back into the bar, I shook my head in amazement.

''So when you shine that thing, I turn off the music?'' I asked.
''And get out of the dj booth, if the police catch you in there, it will be a night in the cells for you''

I looked around for Ray to ask him what the deal this all was, but apparently he was taking horizontal lessons upstairs from one of the dark- haired local girls.

''Fair enough, but make sure you give me enough warning'' I said.

It wasn't too long before the warning came through - right after the second spin of Find My Way - ATCQ..the infra-red came shining through the bar with Little fella waving frantically.I managed to push my bags as far as they would go under the table so they were partially hidden. I killed the noise like a silent assassin, slipped the record under the deck and stepped out of the booth.

''Hey you?!''

It was the PO-lice.

''Who me?''

''Yes, you must be dj?''

''No.''

''So what you doing there?''

''I asked for a pen from the bar and they said there was normally one in the booth?'' I lied.

''And?''

''And what?''

''You find pen, there?''

''Nope''

''Hmm, you look dj to me''

''Every one's a dj these days'' I replied (we've dealt with this in an earlier blog, okay?..lol)

Mr PO-lice smiled, picked up my bottle of beer and took a couple of swigs.

''But not everyone is Police'' He laughed.

Too right! The cheeky git, I was enjoying that beer, too.

The PO-lice moved on to harass others and we got on with the nights proceedings.

By the time we were in the club the atmosphere was amazing, bodies bumping to garage, house, r'n'b, soul, funk and anything that made you sweat.

Nobody gave a sh*t about the celebs that were there and there were a few and as for their going-ons, well you'll have to read it in their adventures - these ones are mine.(okay maybe i'll deal with it another time)

Mariah was hanging around the dj booth for the most part of the evening. She was all woman just like in the Commodores track 'Brick House' She was 'mighty mighty and letting' it all hang out'.
After the club, we walked down towards the beach in search of food bars. I'd left the records bags in the club and Olly in the capable hands of the Swede or so I thought.

Mariah and I walked on the sand.
Picture the setting, its 5am, the temperature is cool, the vibe is nice, the lady is a beauty and you're struggling to control your standing ovations. All this was broken, nay smashed by the sight of four people grunting like baited pigs going for it in one of the ramshackle shelters.

Mariah stood open-mouthed and I, wide-eyed as the four wrestled, squirmed and shagged their way to arrivals.

Some of the press back home had reported of the island going to the dogs with alleged stories of folk having it away on the beaches.
I always presumed they were exaggerating...

''Oi what you looking at? Fancy some do ya?'' shouted on of the enthusiastic bunch.

''Get a room, knob-head'' I replied.

''I thought you'd be busy with it'' came the reply.

I knew that voice...no way..Olly???

''What the f***k, Olly?'' I asked.

''When in Rome Ed, when in Rome'' Olly laughed as he got to firmer grips with someone who was not the Swede.

Mariah by this time, shocked that I knew one of the party had already spun on her heels and made a hasty exit.
Marvellous!

I do all the work, get my beer drunk by the PO-lice, spin the tracks and it's Olly who gets to stick his needle in the groove..several grooves by the looks of it. Let's hope there's no unwanted fluff on the end of his Stanton.

©2008Dj Ed Nice

The names and places have been sandblasted off and replaced to protect the audacity and ultimate shame of all participants.

Adventures in the Land of Dj'ing - Early Years

We've all got to start somewhere when we have a passion or belief in something.
So I'd like to take you back to a time when I was a raw disciple to the wheels of steel.

I was an avid collector of music (still am to a certain point), predominantly soul music, but many other genres were included.
I got that bug from my father. His record collection was ridiculous and the fact that he never really liked anyone going through it unless he was there to supervise.
That's something I fully understand now at cost (I'll deal with that at some other stage).
Santana, The Beatles, James Brown, Otis Redding and so many other great artists were all introduced to me via his record collection.
Not content with just playing me the records, he would have either a background story on the artist, the track that was playing or both.
All valuable information for a boy developing a great interest in music in general.

From the house to the car, music filled the air, be it Sam Cooke or Henry Mancini..just great tracks everywhere.
In fact whether it was music on records or theme tunes from the television, Black Beauty to Hawaii Five-O...it didn't matter.
The first record i ever bought was 'Shake Your Body Down to the Ground by the Jacksons which was on a 45.
Although I loved it, I found it was a little too short and so began the process of taping and extending the track by pausing and re-recording until i had at least ten or so minutes worth of track on cassette tape(remember those, of course you do)
I couldn't afford the twelve inches back then.
In fact it was that successful, I started making cassettes for my school mates and as the tapes got better, for a small fee.

It was actually my cousin Sted, that introduced me to the wonderful world of the twelve inch record (that i couldn't afford)
He was a dj in the true sense of the word, the music, the knowledge and the look - short-sleeved shirt, baggy trousers and the quintessential funky belt( get in!!)
I so wanted to look like that, but more than that, I wanted the tunes he had.
I remember when he came round with the import 12'' of Mystic Merlin - Just Can't Give You Up. Subliminal.
And then there was Lipps Inc - Funky Town and Crown Heights Affair with You Gave Me Love.

I knew what i wanted to be.
I wanted to be a dj!!

I still wanted to be a footballer, an artist and some other things I forget, even if some teachers thought I would end up a little sh*t.

Fast forward to a bar tending job I had in a Midlands nightclub and my first dj opportunity.
Slick Street was uber-cool. 3floors, two dj booths that only allowed serious djs.
The music was serious and the night owls were serious about their music.
I worked the weekends - Fridays and Saturdays to be precise, but occasional Mondays too.
This particular Saturday was strangely busy. I say 'strangely' because the weather was atrocious. Sleet, snow and a temperatue to free the nuts off a polar bear.
Yet, folk still slipped and slided their way to the club.

I was busy mixing drinks and being my usual effervescent self(hmm..)

''Hey Ed?'' That was Mark the club owner.''We've got a bit of a problem''
''What's that then?'' I asked.
''Pete can't get here due to the weather conditions, how do you fancy spinning some tunes?'' (Pete was the dj for the second floor)

You know when your hands go clammy, throat gets dry and body switches between hot and cold- almost like when you're sitting on a train and hear the immortal words 'Tickets please' and it suddenly dawns on you that you (a) forgot to buy a ticket(yeah,right) or (b) didn't bother(bingo) or (c) were so broke you couldn't afford it(some of us have been there)

I mean don't get me wrong, I wanted to dj or at least try, but due to my position at that time of World Procastination trophy holder, I was suddenly unsure.
''I don't have any records, here'' I replied.
''No matter, we've got a couple of boxes in the office''

Mark used to dj too, but having become manager he never bothered with it any more.
''Well, do you fancy it or not?'' he continued.
''Sure, why not'' I said.
I mean what's the worst that could happen? Exactly! Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

The crowd had been restless and had been drifting from floor to floor.
Floor 2 was where the really serious music usually was, floor 2 was where the walls normally dripped with sweat, with bodies bumping. The night owls saw me headed for floor 2 and followed.
Floor 2 expected.

I opened up with Maze featuring Frankie Beverley with Twilight.
A stormer at the time.(still is, in my book)

Mixing was an unknown quantity to me at the time, but hey ho - trial and error.
I faded in and out of the tracks...one club banger to the next.
Wally Baderou - Chief Inspector...James Cobbin, Kleeer, Kashif, Melba Moore...brilliant music.

I felt good, really good.
The night owls were very appreciative.

A pretty little red-head hanging around the booth(I will talk about booth-hangers at some stage, but not now) who was obviously new to the place asked me if I dj'd there, every week.
Yes I said, wondering where the hell that answer came from.
Redhead bought me a drink, rum and blackcurrant I recall...I was sailing by now.

The vibe was nice, the people were nice, I was Nice (no pun intended).
Loose Ends - Hanging On A String got another rewind and I was in my element now, getting brave, pushing my elementary mixing schools to new boundaries they had no passport to cross...and then came officially my first dj faux pas and it was a corker...

I lined up Mantronix - Got To Have Your Love and let go.
I'm now shuffling to and fro in the booth in an almost Carlton-esque way like a Fresh Prince of Mad Air, but the problem was I had actually taken off the record that was playing live and continued to bop to what I could hear in the headphones, having not pushed up the fader to the track or moved the mixer slider across.
Stunning!

I was rummaging through the boxes for what would be my piece-de -resistance, still dancing in the booth.
I turned round to a round of applause from the crowd as they were all stood waiting for me to realise that there was no music playing in, only in my head.lol

Wonderful.
Ground, swallow, hole, big..you can do the mathematics.

Wiping away the beads of sweat, I perspired some more and perserved.
Redhead couldn't stop laughing as she placed a note in my top pocket and went over to join her friends.
As I sat in the cab home thinking of the evening's proceedings, I reached for my top pocket and unfolded Redhead's note which had her number on.

I could really get used to this Dj lark, oh yes indeed.

Adventures in the Land of Dj'ing - Get Ups & Set Ups

It's 6pm on a warm Summer's day in July and Halle and Salma are giving me a back massage from the heavens themselves. After a thorough rub down, they proceed to feed me a light Caesar salad served with the finest Chianti.
Nothing heavy, there's a long night ahead before the limousine picks me up for the fourth date of my sell-out dj tour.
I mean, they've already picked out the colours of my M&M's that aren't to my taste.
The stylists picks out my favourite dark brown Oswald Boateng suit, dandy Boss scarf and some Sweeney zip-ups for my feet.
I like to be a bit dapper when I head to a gig, as i can always get changed before I go on.
That's what I pay Vida and Leonora for, you know to make sure my gig wear is on point.
One look in the mirror tells me I'm a bad muthafu... (shut your mouth) like Shaft.
Larry brings the limo to the front of the pile, Halle and Salma get in first and make room for me in the middle.
I lean back, close my ears and gently nod off to the dulcet tones of 'You Don't Know My Name' by Alicia Keys, only to be woken by the screeching wails of the girlfriend, all in the wrong key..''If you don't get your arse in gear, you're going to be late, dreamer''
I fall from the couch and in one swift SAS move, I bound up the stairs and head for the showers..this one will need to be cold.
Many dj's do live the dream I was having (if a little..ahem, exaggerated) but the reality for many other dj's is somewhat harsher.
Most dj's will go all out to prepare for their gig, days if not weeks in advance, especially if they don't have a weekly slot and don't know when the next gig will rear its head.
They take great pride in their work knowing full well that they live and die by their experience and ability to entertain the crowd.
From sourcing great music, handing out fliers (freezing your baps off in Leicester Square is no picnic), schmoozing folk (with next to nothing in your pockets apart from holes) and whatever else that maybe required, it is a thankless task...unless the night goes according to plan.
By going 'according to plan' I mean, the place is busy, all the ladies are waving their tats at you(sorry, just slipped back into the dream sequence), the mixing is seamless (remember when dj's used to mix records - I will deal with this another time), people are enjoying what you do and more importantly enjoying themselves.
Now, can someone tell me why the f***k do some promoters/owners/twats/bar managers (insert tool where applicable) seem to do all they can to scupper your evening?
What is that all about?
Surely, it's beneficial to all if a good night is had by all, especially the customers.
Not to some of the rats I've had the misfortune to break cheese with.
I'll give you a couple of examples.
A few years ago, I was promoting a night as part of a team. I mean in the early days we were a force to be reckoned with. On our game and we knew what the crowd loved.
We decided to book a very prominent 2 floor venue back then and we were all looking forward to the night.
We'd done all the press work(papers and flesh), the fliers were beautiful, the word was on the street and if I recall it well, it was a Bank Holiday.
Anyway, we were all geared up for the night and being the professionals we were, we turned up at the venue early, just to run through a few things with the owner who had taken our deposit for the booking.
It's a good job we did.
Why? Well Mr Owner decided this was a good time to piss off on holiday and double book us with another team of dj's unbeknown to any of us.
Okay, so there was 6 of us and we all normally dj'd when we put on nights (depending on the size of the venue) and in roll the Sweetcorn Posse or whatever they were called, threatening to bring down Galactacus(I didn't get his name) and his 'Shoot Dem' army if they didn't get their way.
Fair enough, the owner's obviously stitched up both parties for a nice little get away to Mustique or wherever the f***k he disappeared to.
He would be back and so would we.
Now being the negotiator that I was, I managed to calm the situation down when all the talk was getting a little medieval and Tony Montana-ish(Pulp Fiction & Scarface are just films, people)
I reminded everyone that we all had people coming down so each group should take one floor each and make the best of it.
We eventually managed to salvage something out of what could have been disastrous.
Example 2
This one was one of nights where I was flying solo and promoting my own thing.
Everything was done, my end.
Meticulously planned it was (or so i thought) music (I had four record bags of sheer quality) fliers, press, guest list, word of mouth, the lot.
Anyhoo, to cut a big piece of meat in half, I arrive at the venue early as I would normally.
I'll tell you this and at some stage I'll probably repeat it...there's no price you can put on turning up early, trust me on this!
The guy who I did all the booking business with is not there (surprise, surprise), but the bar manager is.
I'll call him Phil.
Now, Phil was okay and very helpful and in the midst of what was going on, he deserved a Sainthood.
I start to carry my bags round to the dj booth (where are Halle & Salma with my M&M's..lol) which has now been changed since the last meeting a few days ago.
Phil opens up with ''You're early, most dj's tend to swan in rather late''
''I like to get in early, you never know what you might...''
I happened to be looking at the turntables and was momentarily stuck for words (those that know me will know that this is an often rare occasion).
The scenario...the turntables looked like they had been salvaged from war torn Basra and as for the mixer, the faders were actually missing, the indicators had long retired and ohh back to the turntables..no needles!
The dirt and grime encased around the unit would have had even Kim & Agee booking the quickest cab out of there.
'You see Phil, this is why I normally turn up early, because whilst I'm quite capable of f***ing up my day, I know there's always someone else willing to have a go too!''
''Ohhh yes, the decks..mmmm..errr...did Mike not tell you about those?''
''No, he didn't, mate''
''Yeah, we took the other ones out for another set up and we haven't got them back yet''
''No shit, are they actually coming back at all?''
''Yeah don't know when though, errr..okay, do you have any needles?'' he asked.
I always carried spares so that was covered.
This was going to be a case of damage limitation, if I could breathe life into Johnny No 5...sorry the sad excuse for a mixer.
After the total re haul, I then went to plug in the decks only to find the plugs missing.
Houston, we're about to lift off!!!
How I kept a lid on it only Cape Canaveral knows.
Absolutely amazing, a renowned venue masquerading as a shit-hole or whatever.
Phil shows me to the kitchen in the quest for plugs..I kid you not.
The sandwich toaster and kettle didn't know what hit 'em!
I ask Phil if they actually, really, truly served food here.
''Yes, but I don't eat it''
''You don't say?'', I retort.
And that kitchen..jeez! Even the rats wore safety boots to get around.
One hour later, the 'grime unit' is working (some of you youngsters have probably started calling yourselves that now..never mind), I'm covered in what smells like Morley's chicken with a sell -by date of 2001 and Phil's telling me it should be a good night.
Yep it most certainly will be especially if you're a stay away promoter/owner/twat/bar manager(not you, Phil) or a rat with comfortable safety boots.

©2008
Dj Ed Nice

All names have been camouflaged to protect the shameless.

Adventures in the Land of Dj'ing - Radio Ga-Ga

Part and parcel of being a club DJ are the radio shows (be they pirate or other) that you may do if you can squeeze it into your life.Aspiring and existing DJ's who are also nine to five hamsters will know what I mean.Time management really comes into play, especially if you're in a relationship where your partner thinks all you do is have a laugh, chase skirt, smoke, snort, inhale (whatever your fancy) all to the music of your choosing.(I'll deal with that DJ & partner thing later on).

Brian and I had a regular radio show situated on the outskirts of Londinium.We started off on a Sunday from 2 - 4 PM and then would sometimes get shunted to a late Friday graveyard slot.Sometimes we'd just pre-record the show on Thursday afternoon, if we could both make it.Occasionally one of us would not be able to make it due to other commitments (see above) and the other would take up the helm and just get on with it.

I liked Brian, he was a funny fella and had more records than HMV Europe. I would always listen to his shows when he was running solo.Mainly because I knew that not only would I get a solid blend of funky house and some golden soul classics (rare groove to whoever), but more often than not, he would take the piss out of me.
Now, I've no truck with that , because I am probably one of the biggest piss-takers on the face of this gracious earth (or so I'm often told).Anyhoo, on one his shows he absolutely battered me with alot of things that I couldn't possibly repeat here...not because this is a family blog, but because I'm too embarrassed to repeat them (the bar steward..lol)
Fair play to him, he had his moment and earned it, but me being me..well, it's all about the payback, isn't it?
Put that belt on and I'll drive you to the revenge story.

We were booked to DJ on the radio station on the following Sunday...it was an absolutely beautiful day, the sun shone non-stop, my journey was pleasant and the girl coming out of the store was easy on the eye.The store was for stocking up on those DJ essentials, you know..such as beer, cigarettes, rizlas and maybe a pen for the phone requests(of course).On this particular day, I was a little early about 10 mins to 2.00PM show time and Brian was nowhere to be seen.(I promised last time that I would deal with the topic of time - keeping and i will, but not now)I kicked off the show with some Gene Page - To The Bone, as I recall.(That track would be our radio show theme tune in time).

The phone lines were open but fairly quiet. Time ticked on as I cued up Stevie Wonder's Too High on the deck.It was now 3.00pm and still no sign of Brian. I'd already made an excuse over the airwaves that Brian would not be turning up today.I had a bit of fun with that and asked listeners to ring in if they had any ideas where he might be.

Sandra called in first ''Mr Nice, I think I saw Brian getting his face waxed in a salon near me, ha-ha''
Ben rang next.
''Ed, yeah loving the show, I saw Brian looking for business down the High Street last night, could be he's picking up the money off the side table, mate''
''Ha-ha, nice one Ben, cheers Sandra, Have a great day. Please call in listeners if you see Brian on your travels, we miss him..haha''
On and on the banter went as the listeners called in, claiming to have spotted Brian.
This revenge was good but not quite adequate.
Little did I know what would transpire.

Remmy , the DJ usually on-air before us was getting ready to go home and asked if I knew where Brian actually was.
Right at that moment, the door flung open and Brian lurched in with record bag in one hand and a can of Red Stripe in the other.Remmy and I exchanged shocked looks, as Brian staggered in buried himself in the sofa with a belch and a sound very akin to that of Chi-Chi the panda letting off Saturday's dinner.
Remmy laughed, said his goodbyes and bounded out the door.

I cued up Lonnie Liston Smith's 'Expansions' on the deck, said a few brief words in regards to Brian's appearance (not his state) and turned to the man in question.
''What's the deal, fella..are you fit to play?''
''Yeah, yeah, I'm all good'' he replied in mid-belch.He mumbled something about it being a lovely day, going to a nice barbecue and totally forgetting about the show.
Judging by his state, it was a very very nice barbecue.
''Okay B, well the Lonnie's probably got a couple of minutes left, so you've got time to cue up something nice for the people''
Brian fought his way out of the chair and rummaged through his bag of vinyl.
I moved my bags from the console to give him room.
He moved one of the console chairs out of the way and started cueing up the very popular track 'Never Gonna Let You Go' by Tina Moore whilst reaching for the mic to say a few words to the listeners.

Somehow things don't always go according to plan, especially when alcohol is involved.
I could sense things were about to go pear-shaped for Brian and the revenge book balanced in my favour.
Brian managed to unhook the mic from the desk and switch the channels to 'on' as he released the dulcet tunes of Tina, simultaneously. Fine.The real problem he had was leaning back to sit in the console chair that he had previously moved out of the way.

It was as if time stood still.

Brian clawed thin air with one hand, still holding onto the switched on mic with the other as he crashed to the floor!''Never gonna let you go, cause you're my baby'' -BANG!
The needle screeched off the track and back onto the Instrumental version further on in the record only beaten by the speed of Brian's trip to the mat.

That was what the listeners heard, that and the groans and incoherent blubbering like a baby from Brian as he lay writhing on the floor, still clutching the mic like it was his one true love.
Laugh, I nearly pissed myself.This was all going out over the airwaves to the masses.

How unprofessional, how f***ing hilarious.

The moral of the story?

Sometimes fate takes a hand and whips up a better revenge dish than you ever could. Oh and not trying to dj three sheets to the wind helps too.



©2008
Dj Ed Nice

All the names have been changed to protect the completely guilty.

Adventures in the Land of Dj'ing - Everyone's A Dj

The one thing about dj'ing is that it never seems like hard work, especially to everyone else.
I mean, how difficult can it be to put a record on, slap a cd in, fiddle with an ipod/laptop(don't get me started on the ipod/laptop thing)?
I'm old school, no quibbles with that and love the vinyl. I digress.
Anyhoo, many people believe that to spin tunes that will keep a discerning crowd enthralled for several hours is and to coin a phrase used by one non-dj, ''a piece of piss''
Fairplay, if that's what one thinks, but the reality is a real dj, a bona fide deck- spinning guru will research the music, the venue, the people and the vibe before the night's even begun.
All these well researched pointers can't be taught just like that, it takes dedication to the craft.
It's not impossible, but like most areas of work that you actually enjoy(nine to five hamsters included), you enjoy every part of it..from conception to creation.
Having said all that, it never ceases to amaze me how some folk who think it is easy to dj actually purport themselves to be dj's too.
A particular example of this happened one Saturday night in a London nightspot i used to dj in on a regular basis.
The club had three floors and this allowed for company bookings in certain areas.
P and myself were dj'ing on the top floor for a well known phone company.
It was their Christmas do and as dj's will know, these bookings often come with their own headaches and silly stipulations.
''Can we have a mic to make some announcements..it will only be for an hour or so''
''Will it be possible to close down that bit and open up that bit?'' ''Can we have these drapes?''
What normally follows is the last minute on-the -night request, ''Ohh, we've got a dj friend of ours that we'd like to use, is that okay??'' ''He/She(delete where applicable) is really good, apparently''
Now don't get me wrong, it's a company event and as long as they're paying then most things go, even the bringing or booking of their own dj...no problem.
It was cool with me as i got to chill with folk, play a few tunes and get paid.
As mentioned, P and I were spinning tracks, jockeying for position and having a laugh.
We were told to expect their own dj to turn up at 10pm, it was 9.45pm at the time(I will deal with time-keeping another time)
The phone company crowd were with us all the way...P spun the back in the day tracks, you know, Lisa Lisa - Let the Beat Hit 'Em and some early Mary J Blige - Real Love and I was playing the upfront sounds of the time, Brian McKnight/Mase - You Should Be Mine, Q-Tip - Vivrant Thing.
The place is buzzing, sweaty and everyone is in good festive spirit..vivrant!!
The time is 11.15pm.
I'm just spinning back Biggie's One More Chance on the third rewind when P tells me the phone company co-ordinator of the evening has informed him that their dj is here and ready to play.
Bah humbug, I thought..lol...I was really enjoying myself.
Never mind, we knew he was coming, so were cool.It was their night and that was that.
What transpired next will live long in the memory...
P tapped me on the arm to look at the dj coming through and as I looked up I don't know what caught me first...was it the bleached blonde hair of one of the two girls carrying his record bag, the winding and grinding of the other around the dj(pimp?) or indeed was it the fact that the dj was wearing black shades(never understood that in a nightclub), a sleeveless fur waistcoat(no shit) and baggy pants that MC Hammer would've killed for.
By now, P had lost it and was doubled over in the booth, shaking like a tree in high winds and I was struggling to keep a straight face as the fur waistcoated dj made eye contact.
He got to the booth as his blonde sidekicks(Ren and Stimpy?) stood gyrating in front of him.
P extended his hand to shake Mr Fur Waistcoat's hand and was met with a gruff ''I'm playing now'' from Mr Fur Waistcoat.
P played it cool and said ''Cool, sure, no problem'' He tried to explain what tracks we'd just played, so the crowd wouldn't feel short-changed, but Mr Fur Waistcoat wasn't interested in listening.
I interjected and asked Mr FW where he normally dj'd.
''Here, there and all over'' came the reply. ''Okay, well we'll get out of the booth and leave you to it'' I said.
P left first and just as I was about to leave, Mr FW asked me ''What does this do?''
Mr FW was referring to the slider on the mixer.
By now P had lost all control of his body and was laughing his way to the bar.
As for me, I stayed in the booth and explained the technical concept of the mixer, turntables and headphones to Mr FW.
I joined P at the bar and stood through one of the most tortuous dj(hmm) sets ever!
Needless to say the crowd got restless and the phone company co-ordinator asked P and I to rescue the situation and take over from the dj(fur wearing pimpster).
We laughed and said sure, but that she would have to go and tell him and call time on his dj career(at least in that club)
P asked her where they had booked him from to which she said ''Ohh he works at our place and is always talking about being a dj, he asked if he could dj tonight but I can clearly hear and see that he can't dj at all, let alone tonight''
Mr Fur Waistcoat's dj set lasted 35 mins!!
So you see people, even when things are made to seem easy, it may be because the person making it seem easy has done the research and has the craft required.
Not everyone is a dj..believe!!

©2008
Dj Ed Nice

All names have been changed to protect the absolutely guilty.

Adventures in the Land of Dj'ing - Get Down Friday Night

''Get down, Saturday night, Saturday night....the sweet tones of Oliver Cheatham pumped through the Bose speakers as i struggled with my record bags to make my way downstairs in the club.
It wasn't even Saturday, it was another Friday night in the busy soon to be sweat box of Covent Garden.
Dj P had 'em jumping, he had 'em soul shuffling and if there was any room, he'd have 'em back-flipping...but he had them..no question.
He loved to start off the evening on a Friday, spinning old classics like the aforementioned Oliver Cheatham track or maybe a Sister Sledge joint. He knew what the crowd liked..we all did. After his set i'd then go on and do my thing...who am i?
My name is Nice...Dj Ed Nice to be precise.
From 7pm till 1am, every Friday & Saturday, this was the place to be as far as we were concerned.
Good music, good people(mostly) and sweet vibes.
Sometimes early on, the night would be a little slow, you know...a few people at the bar talking the talk, new lovers being impressed by their new players...''Oh yes i always come here, me and the manager are like this'' they would lie.
We'd be in the dj booth, P, Shakes, Stone(sometimes depending on rotation..i worked most weekends) & me laughing at last week's shenanigans or an outfit that wasn't cross-checked in the mirror before the villain came into the venue.
Sipping a JD & Coke and mentally mixing my tunes...i was getting into the zone.
We'd throw down the dj gauntlet when the night was slow...the challenge was to get a few people dancing on the floor and see who managed to keep them.
Or we'd play 2 tracks each in rotation, big tracks that would simply dismantle the previous dj's choice...just to let them know they were NOT READY!
Mostly floor-fillers, but never crap fillers!
Hahaha, we were dj's , ya hear? Full of life, full of music, full of ourselves..lol
The time would drift and more night people would arrive, thirsty for music, drink and anything else that complemented their evening.
P would signal me to go on and take over.
Fingers shuffled quickly through the bags...one track, just one track to open my set with..just one..now which bag? aaah yes, here we go.
From the sleeve to the deck...no need to look at the markings on the record, they were ingrained in the brain.
The vinyl was to be caressed, stroked lovingly on spinbacks, cued in anticipation and released to to the orgasmic satisfaction of the horde...''My man, that's a tune''...''Good Lord. where you get dat''...''Homeboy, beg you a mix tape, man'' ''Mr Dj, yah killin' me''
Aaaah yes, the track...Atmosfear - Dancing Into Outer Space. Subliminal boogie!
And on it went, track after track, tune after tune..the crowd appreciating the work, the ladies in particular wanting to show more appreciation when your shift was done.
You felt it too and you wanted to show your male attention to that female appreciation right back, right there and right then...but what about the music? Once you were in your zone, you couldn't leave, why? Because you could play all night long, all the way through the morning, all flaming week as long as the crowd were feeling you. Getting paid didn't mean sh*t at that moment...
The pushed up chest in your face, the whispered sweet nothings in your ear, the brazen attempts on your manhood, the fit latina with the cuban heels, the doe-eyed brown girl in the mini, the blue-eyed blonde tossing her hair in your direction, the brunette friend of the blue-eyed blonde dancing strictly for you...of course it was all for you and that was what you believed..whether it was true or otherwise.Why? because you were the big cheese, the big kahuna, the Don Sqahib, the icing, the guv'nor..THE DJ!!!
The music, the music, the music could never ever stop, not whilst i was on this adventure.

©2008
Dj Ed Nice.

Some names have been changed to protect the absolutely guilty.