From: steph99 (beleza@speakeasy.net)
Date: Tue Aug 27 2002 - 16:10:37 CEST
at a house party, kind of late, things were going well, people were enjoying
broken beat, afrobeat and stuff. A girl comes up and yells at me quite
fiercely, "Play funk!" I looked at her funny but to oblige the kind folks who
had let me play told her I'd see what I could do. Played Afronaught to appease,
no idea if it worked.
The party continues and another girl comes up, smiles like saccharin, and says
sweetly, "You know, when the other dj was playing reggae, my boyfriend was
dancing for the first time ever!" I swallowed hard and said that I didn't have
any reggae, but that if she talked to the owner of the house I'm sure he could
arrange to have that dj go back on. She looked at me sadly and a little
pityingly and said, "You were offended by that. =(" well gee, how perceptive, ya
damn hippy! "No, I'm not offended it's just that I don't have it to play for
you." Meanwhile, the reggae dj was totally digging what I was playing.
Later, while the floor was still grooving but some people had gone home (it was
at least 3am), a friend of the party-thrower asked me how long I'd been playing,
which threw me off. A mix or 2 had been less than mathematically pefect but
overall I thought it sounded damn good, so my ego deflated like a flaccid
balloon, little fart noise and all. He said, "Why don't I put on a couple and
see what happens?" As he was a friend of the owner of the house and I felt
about an inch tall by that point, I let him go on, figuring he might throw on
some soulful house or something. He turned off my record and started playing
trance. Trance!!!!!! Well, the floor emptied and he didn't seem to care, as
his previously-digested pill was apparently company enough. To be fair, he was
technically perfect.
Well, that finally ended, and by the end of the night I was in fact vindicated
when the guy throwing the party went on for a while and we tag teamed uplifting
jungle for a while, the idiots had passed out, the trance dj was off petting a
stuffed animal or something, the reggae dj was breaking drunken master/capoeira
style, and one of the remaining dancers, who thanked me for playing something
syncopated, was a middle-aged English guy, a dancer and costume maker who also
lived in the house, wearing a black frock and huge headdress painted with stars
and planets and flowers and fruit in day-glo colors with black lights, such that
he looked like a glowing, cosmic Carmen Miranda, and a good time was had by all.
Finally.
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