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.