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

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

i was starting to think that word of my “how not to request a song” series was getting around and that people stopped belligerently requesting songs in order to stay out of my emails…needless to say, my delusions of grandeur were due to be debunked at some point…that point was last thursday. after several un-funny exchanges (”i don’t really take requests” — “you gotta cater to the people, you’re a business man right?!” — “yes, enough of a business man to know that you are not paying me at the end of the night”) 2:00 am rolled around and i started to pack up.

so………i’m packing up (my records, slipmats and needles are off of the turntables, rca cables in hand, computer closed) and a young woman comes up to me.

her: are you gonna play some hip hop?
me: am i or did i?
her: are you?
me: i did, i’m done for the night
her: well you didn’t really play hip hop
me: i didn’t?
her: you played…”hip hop mix,” you know, it wasn’t really hip hop
me: i hear you…it was fake right?
her: yeah, NO..um, you know what i mean, can you just play one hip hop song?
me: i’m done for the night
her: really? can’t you just play one more?
me: do you see the audio cables in my hand?
her: can you plug them back in? come on, it’s my birthday, i’m 21, i can drink!
me: happy birthday and no
her: why not?
me: when you wake up with a headache you’ll understand why not

(then her friend comes over)
friend: come on, can’t you play some hip hop? it’s her 21st bday!
me to 1st girl: tell your friend what’s up
(she says something to her friend)
friend: come on, just play one song!
me to 1st girl: explain to her about the cables
friend: come on, were from india!
me: india!? oh i’m totally doing it now!
1st girl: ok, now you’re being mean
friend: come on it’s her 21st bday!
me: it’s her birthday?! i can’t believe it…oh yes i can, because you just said that
1st girl: i know enough to know when you’re making fun of us
me: i hope so

Apparently, it wasn’t ok to play Jeru between the two R&B songs she requested (at least they were decent requests).

this installment makes me sad…so, this woman walks in off the street with her friends, walks up to the bar, stands there for about 5 seconds then walks straight over to me and says the following (this whole episode happens during one song).

b: can you play some reggaeton?
me: no
b: reggae?
me: no
b: hip hop?
me: i’ve been playing hip hop
b: what do you play?
me: why don’t you listen for a while then make a specific request
b: my friends and i are going to have to leave because there’s no reggae - no one plays reggae anymore! you used to play reggae
me: i used to play reggae?
b: i’m 34 years old - am i getting old? i used to come here 5 years ago and hear really good music
me: when you were young?
b: and look at your location(!)
me: what?
b: i’m drunk - so what!
me: clearly
b: so what do you guys play now?
me: us guys?
b: hip hop? i hate hip hop
me: didn’t you just ask me to play hip hop?
b: no…this sucks
me: yeah?
b: you suck
me: i suck?
b: yeah - you suck! you suck! you suck!
me: oh that hurts…
b: …and i’m going to talk to your manager because I’m…uh…the client!

she then harangued jason the manager about how no one plays public enemy anymore and walked out literally yelling about how everything sucks. it was so sad that i couldn’t even be mad at her.

this is from moe’s on friday around 1:00 am, i was switching off between some current funk, classic funk and a few live-sounding hip hop cuts. the dude in question has been walking around the spot offering people lollipops out of two brown paper bags for like…2 hours. my friend todd was prompted to ask me if he worked for moe’s…i of course had to let him that it was as sketchy as it looked, and that he was, let’s say, “self-employed.”

dude: want some candy?
me: no thanks
dude yo! can you play “drop it like its hot”?
me: yeeah, probably not
dude: yo! you gotta hit him with “drop it like its hot”
me: …
dude: you gotta hit ‘em!
me: right…um, i have instructions to not play commercial music
dude: yo! you gotttta hit ‘em!
me: um…i’m happy i have those instructions, you know what i mean?
dude: you gotta hit ‘em…yo, trust me!
me: trust you?
dude: TRUST ME…trust me
me: ….
dude: wanna come to my superbowl party?
me: um, thanks but no
dude: want some candy?
me : you offered earlier and i graciously declined
dude: you gonna hit ‘em?
me: no
dude: TRUST ME
me: thanks for coming by
dude: trust me
me: thanks for coming by
dude: (nodding, smiling and starting to walk away)…you’re gonna hit ‘em
me: i’ma…talk to my man now…thanks…for coming…by(e)
(”my man” was kareem who was standing next to me and is on this email list. he promptly shouted “installment 4!”)

(it was about 15 degrees out and little slow and i’m was playing “little ghetto boy” by dr. dre)
her: what album is that on?
me: the chronic
her: i just lost a bet…
her: are you the type of dj that doesn’t like requests? you’ll like this one though!
me: go ahead
her: “twisted” by mobb deep
me: umm, probably not
her: what?!? that’s the shit!
me: …ok
her: there’s like ten people in here and you won’t play it?!
me: it was on the radio a ton and i usually don’t play tracks like that
her: i’m from the west coast!! they didn’t play it on the west coast!!
me: …we’re on the….east coast..right now
her: (looking at me as if i must not have really understood that she is from the west coast) ok, but that david byrne and esthero you played was tight!
[it was the talking heads following by res]
me: thanks, but i didn’t play esthero
her: yes_you_did
me: what was the song title?
her: you_played_esthero!
(then she turns to some people how happened to be my friends at the bar and said…)
her: do you know this fool!?!?

how not to request a song (installment #2):

her: can you play the “my hump” song?
me: i don’t have it
(5 minutes later:)
her: do you have the “gold digger” song?!
me: no
her: (earnest and confused) how come you don’t have songs? (and it sounded like the emphasis was on ’songs’ not on ‘don’t have’)
me: (blood starting to boil) how come i don’t have songs?(!)
(but before i brought the full sarcastic wrath, i realized that there was a more basic misunderstanding going on and i stumbled through the following…)
me: um…there are…different kinds of djs…i play music from other time periods…and…stuff that people don’t hear that much…uh, on purpose …a lot of other djs play stuff you know.
her: oh ok! (and she walked away immediately with a smile)
me: (braced for more and a little confused at how well it went)