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.
Thursday, 28 February 2008
Monday, 25 February 2008
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.
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.
Friday, 22 February 2008
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.
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.
Thursday, 21 February 2008
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.
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.
Tuesday, 19 February 2008
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.
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.
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