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.
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