I’ve told you I DJ.
Last time out I did a pretty good electronica set.
The time before that I was with my good friend David. And we were a total shambles. In fact, I didn’t even know we’d made a recording of the night until two weeks ago. Finally, it’s time to destroy any street cred I ever had.
Listen to the sounds of intermittent silence broken by the terrifying sounds of Tiger Feet.
Shelter from a sudden blast of The Ballroom Blitz.
That silence is the sound of us searching to intialise the sound card, frantically plugging and unplugging cables like mad boppingboffin scientists wondering which connection is correct.
Say, “Eh up! What the fuck!” As I decide I don’t wanna hear T-Rex, reblast a second of Queen and then settle into a Rolling Stones grooving on a Rollator sixties’ set.
Follow the bell curve of the evening as we become progressively more disinterested and the curve falls off the chart and starts digging us a hole we happily wallow in as we play with shite.
Be amazed as disco starts to play cos the night was advertised as a rock disco and some punters think that means we should be playing D.I.S.C.O.
Cup your ears or cover your ears and think, “Why the fuck did they bother?” as the evening descends into Smokie darkness as Bad Boys Blue play.
Marvel as Teenage Fanclub suddenly start to play cos the bloke getting ready for his paper round requests it. Be stunned to find that I actually do have Kula Shaker in the library.
Ponder whether or not we are trolling the crowd by playing Gerry Rafferty album tracks. (Rafferty is big in the Waterloo – we kid ye not.)
Feel for the men who are prepared to put aside their pride for a couple of pints of Guinness and cos the owner’s a mate.
This post won’t be here long. Get it while it’s still beating; before it rots into digital decay.
The eardrum torture starts at 3 mins in. You have been warned.