Archive for the 'How Not To Request a Song' Category

last thursday at madame x, this woman couldn’t get near the dj booth at first and started the conversation from 10 feet away. i was playing the Loop Professor’s uptempo mash up of Gilberto Gil’s “Maracatu Atomico” and the drums from Q-Tip’s “Breathe And Stop”:

her: i have a request
me: (unenthused) yeah
her: it’s bad
me: you might want to stop now
her: (pushing her way closer) madonna!
me: (i make the cutthroat gesture a couple times quickly, meaning it’s not gonna happen)
her: well, my friend wants outkast but i don’t care about that, how about michael jackson??
me: i don’t really do requests
her: well, something 80′s, something dance
me: this is a lounge
her: well, this music isn’t any good (with an “it’s so obvious” shrug)
me: i’m glad you have an opinion
her: uh yeah, it’s why there aren’t that many people here (with a “i shouldn’t have to explain this” look on her face)

last thursday at madame x:

him: hey man, i’m (insert name)!
me: hey. jon.
him: we’re a little drunk (smiling).
me: huh?
him: we’re a little tipsy! can you play the gypsy kings?
me: don’t have them.
him: oh man – you need to get their greatest hits. the last song…track 18, you could just put in on…you wouldn’t even have to do anything…you could just have a drink…it’s mixed…all of their hits…mixed. you got a little [starts singing one of these songs at full volume, turning heads within 20 feet] and then you got a little [same volume -- different song].
me: (staring)
him: how about a little latin?
me: i’ll see what i can do for you.
him: be flexible!
me: o…k…

he goes away. i play “steppin’ out” by joe jackson before i play anything latin and his group of friends all react – he yells “jazzy j!” to/at me from across the bar. i follow it with a latin song to which there is no response. five minutes later as i’m scribbling down what he said on a guest check at the bar, his friend comes over:

her: hey – he’s the only one dancing. do you have any gypsy kings?
me: you’re friend already asked, i don’t.
(she pauses and stares at what i was writing, after a second i realize what she’s looking at and put my hand over it – oops!)
her: do you have anything else?
me: (staring)
her: (staring)
me: (raising my eyebrow then tilting my head a little)
her: (slightly smiling in akwardness)
(ten seconds total passes)
her: …like…them?
me: (shrug)
her: should i come back with better requests?
me: (shrug)
her: ok, i’ll come back with better requests.

saturday night at soho house:

him: hey – you got “day & night” and “infinity”?

me: who’s the artist?
him: oh come “day & night”…?
me: (staring blankly)
him: look it up!
me: (shaking my head)
him: (singing one his requests for me)
me: (rolling my eyes)
him: hey it’s my birthday!
me: happy birthday
him: i’m 35 and i never kissed a guy.
me: …um, no time like the present? (assuming he wasn’t referring to me)
him: huh? oh, i’m into girls. in two hours time i’ll be 35…and i never kissed a guy (throws his hands up as if it’s still strangely unexplainable)
me: (would have loved to see the uninviting look on my face)
him: (starts dancing in a slight night-at-the-roxbury style, no irony intended, to the song he’s still singing in his head and then walks away)

some women had a 30th birthday party upstairs at madame x last night. apparently, they budgeted for strippers but didn’t budget for their own dj and had my music sent upstairs. it was slow downstairs so i tried to meet them halfway. this conversation, the fourth in a series, happened while i was playing “i can” by nas.

she: my friends want to know if you can play better music.
me: better?
she: yeah.
me: can you be more specific?
she: um (scratching her head)…i went to a britney spears concert recently.
me: britney spears?
she: yeah, um, nelly fertado? not this, what the hell is this!?
me: nas.
she: nas? yeah, not nas. um, pussycat dolls? we want to shake our a$$es.
me: i don’t have that stuff. sorry, i don’t know what to tell you.
she: i don’t know what to tell you.
me: you don’t need to tell me anything.
she: (staring off into space)…i like this song (yes, she’s referring the nas song)…i don’t know, if the music doesn’t get better i’ll…i’ll just leave early.
me: ok.
she: i have that laptop, i can do that same sh#t!
me: it’s time for you to go back upstairs now.
she: ok.

at madame x:

her: can you play keyshia cole?
me: i don’t have it
her: the roots?
me: yes
her:…with erykah badu?
me: no…too slow.
(she asks for about four other things i don’t have)
me: hold on (i turn away to pick my next song)
her: look at me
me: ignoring her (in a small amount of disbelief)
(i selected and mixed the next song…she’s still standing there)
me: what did you say?
her: can’t you play a song i like?
me: i don’t know you
her: but i just gave you like 6 songs
me: and i told you those songs are not going to happen
her: (staring at me)
me: how about you let me do my thing?
her: oh ok, so it’s no requests?
me: right, it’s not just you
her: ok, i’ll go over there and not talk
me: oh yeah, that’s exactly what i said (said sarcastically)
her: well, is this a democratic dj table or a…(you can the brake lights coming on in her mind but not fast enough)…a…republican dj table?!
me: well…it’s not a jukebox
her: oh! (showing no signs of walking away)
me: pretty much, they pay me for my opinion and that’s about it.
(she walks away)

i think she was going for “dictatorship” or something like that but she couldn’t move beyond the news cycle…

at madame x last week:

her: can i put my ipod in?
me: in what?
her: in…to the speakers
me: no
her: no?
me: no
her: i was here before and the guy let me put my ipod in
me: ok
her: so…why not?
me: i’m djing right now…so…i’ma just do that instead…
her: (puzzled look…then walked away)

this happened at sip last weekend (during the ice/snow storm)…there were about 12 people there and i was playing some pretty low-key hip hop.

him: yo play that gnarls barkley
me: “crazy”?
him: i know it seems played out, just see what happens. that’s a hot album.
me: didn’t really like it, a couple cuts
him: what?! but you weren’t in atlanta is 2006!
me: no i was…here
him: cause that’s the home of outkast
me: i’m well aware
him: so you can play that weird s#%t and still get low! just play it…as an experiment
me: as an experiment? no
him: see what happens! it’s three minutes (with a “what do you have to lose?” shrug)
me: (staring at him)
him: how about that “transformer”? just as an experiment – see what happens
me: no
him: how about prince?
me: um
him: play “kiss.” let me groove to “kiss” and then eat my sandwich
me: how about i’ll be in charge of the music and you be in charge of the sandwich?
him: the sandwich is under control!

this was at thor last week…a nice young lady came up to me while i was playing “the second time around” by shalamar which is a really happy sounding uptempo disco song:

her: about time to change up the music, right?
me: i don’t know is it?
her: yeah
me: to what?
her: something a little more fun.
me: wow…that’s so subjective, is there something in particular that you want to hear?
her: well…no. come on, you don’t like this.
me: actually, i do.
her: oh….sorry.
me: it’s cool.
her: well…you’re a dj, your opinion doesn’t…matter so much.
me: …i think that’s a jukebox.

this was around 10:30 last week at madame x. it was decently crowded; this woman walks up and pushes the shelf that the turntables sit on (which is a little shaky):

me: please don’t touch this, it’s not that sturdy
w.w.w.h….: oh ok, any music that black people would like but for us white girls?
me: …excuse me ?
w.w.w.h…: there’s a twenty in it for you
me: they pay me not you
w.w.w.h…: huh?
me: the bar pays me
w.w.w.h…: i can’t tip you?
me: you can’t bribe me…if i play something you like and you want to give me some $, ok.

20 minutes later
w.w.w.h…: $20 for some “sexy back”? i won’t touch your stuff [then she drops a twenty dollar bill on the playing turntable, i grab it quickly before it hits the needle and throw it back in her face]
me: not touch my stuff? if that made it around the turntable it would have cut the music off.
w.w.w.h…: i respect your integrity, i actually do but can you just take the money?
me: i’m not playing “sexy back.”
w.w.w.h…: well, can you just take it to make me happy?
me : no
w.w.w.h…: as they say in italy “(insert italian phrase)”
me: and as was your intention, i have no idea what that means
w.w.w.h…: just take it! [at which point she puts the money on the mixer and walks away. i then move it to a ledge that reaches in front of the turntables where she could retrieve it at any time.]

1 hour later:
w.w.w.h…: i love your music. i know i’m an a$$ but i can make you some money. my friend has a loft downtown and he has djs and they don’t do it nearly as well as you do it.
me: thank you — do you want your $20 back? (as i point to it on the ledge)
w.w.w.h…: no, give it to the girls

???

w.w.w.h… = white woman who had no business calling herself a girl