PoddyPeople

Non-whack DJ, Premier

Time was - in the mid to late 90’s - you couldn’t walk down Broadway without shoulder checking some feeble raver-kid hauling a messenger bag full of trip-hop records. Everyone, it seemed, had traded in their Japanese Stratocasters for a set of Technics. The Saturday thing to do was head over to the Salvation Army and dig through some dusty old crates looking for that rare Last Poets or Funky Headhunters L.P. Shit, man, vinyl made the ladies hornier than cocaine. It used to piss me off. Here I was, bad-ass drummer #1 (so I thought), getting no love, and I was an actual musician, not some twerp biting other people’s shit for a little dap. I hated on my friends who bought into this. Everyone except for my boy, Dave (a.k.a.Urizen), he was nice on the 1’s and 2’s. He could beat match, juggle, scratch, and he had impeccable musical taste, always dropping cuts that would make people dance. But he was a musician about it, treated those tables like an instrument, not like these other suckers. Eventually shit got played. People got real into the 80’s, started wearing trucker hats, blowing up trade centers, playing Buck Hunter, and posers started picking up their guitars again. Hell, even Dave got married and had some kids.

Thing is, I miss the D.J. Now it’s like every bartender with an iPod thinks they can be a selector. There’s nothing worse than trying to drink a vodka tonic to Van Halen’s “Dreams”. That wasn’t a good song in 1986, and it’s still crapola, no matter how much irony you pour on it. It’s getting to a point of critical mass. I’m not gonna take this rigamarole anymore. Starting New Years Eve, I am bringing back the era of the shitty D.J. with a set of my own at the first annual Poddymouth New Years Eve bash. I can’t be bothered with vinyl though, I’m going to be using a mix of iPhone, Powerbook, and Vestax mixer. I will incorporate my vast knowledge of human bio-rhythms, evil basslines, and proper equalization, to ensure that freshness is made, and you, dear old enemy, dance with a pretty girl.

Problem is I don’t have a proper D.J. moniker, and I’m not trying to be all mature and use my actual name on the flyer. What fun is that? My roommate tried to dub me Special K on the e-vite. I am still furious with him - the audacity, the gall, THE NERVE. I’m currently leaning towards either D.J. Apple Sack, or just simply, Jailbait. Tell me, what do you think? I’d like to hear your opinion, really I would. Please leave your ideas for my D.J. name, and any music selections you think I should play in the comments section. Remember, the worst thing you can do to a music blogger is ignore him.