The Night My DJ Skills Bombed
One Thursday evening, I DJed with Spank, Nigel and Rhett. Before I started mixing music, Nigel and Spank both DJed past events I hosted.
I was allowed to play music first. From classic funk I drifted to house music. As soon as Spank took over, people began to dance, an early warning I ignored.
When Nigel’s time came, people still danced.
Then my time came again. At first, I had the floor dancing to classic funk and soul. Even one of Orlando’s most respected DJs danced, a woman named Becky.
Somewhere along the line, I decided to be a smart-ass. Don’t ask why this happened. I guess I just wanted to be self-destructive. As I had the people dancing, I decide to play Gloria Gaynor’s “I Will Survive”, a disco song that cleared the damned floor.
Spank came to save me.
Disgusted I walked outside and began telling folks what happened.
“Oh, don’t worry about it,” said my friend Todd. “They don’t appreciate good music. They’re just some artsy-fartsy types that like to talk all night.”
True enough, our event was an art after-party. Still, Todd’s words did not sooth my bruised ego.
Then, I started dancing with women.
“You guys spin,” I told Spank. “I’ll just pimp.”
Later on, wanting to play again, I forgot I said those words. But Nigel and Spank didn’t forget. So, I didn’t spin again that night. (Months later, Spank reminded me of what I said.)
Rhett showed up later. For about thirty minutes, he spun electro/house music and then left.
Nigel and Spank spun the rest of the night as folks continued dancing.
Days later, I read my “bomb” may have been a good thing. Because a bar relies on drink sales, my “bomb” may have been the perfect time for dancers to buy more booze, adding more sales to the bar.
In a book about DJing, I read one of the worst things is having everyone dance all night. The more time people spend on the dance floor, the less time they are buying drinks, an irritant for bar owners.
As he handed out money at the end of the night, Spank did mention it was the most money he has ever made during a gig. Who knows, my “bomb” may have been a good thing.
Still, good thing or not, folks leaving the dance floor during my set continues fucking with me.