1 Month in Tahiti Pt2: DJ Who?

Something for the weekend?

I inadvertently strolled passed the Mango bar/ club on my first night and heard some non-commercial house and techno getting pumped out. Feeling a little twitch of the old DJ nerve I thought - I gotta get a shot of that.

So I fessed up the next day, "eh..ave won competitions and that*" and the manager was like great "sat night warm up good for you? What's your DJ name?". I hadn't prepared for being asked that and couldn't get the words DJ Cheezer out of my mouth. I said "eh...it's just Michael".


The sweaty palms of the first night never spread further as thankfully there was an industrial size fan pointed directly up the back of my shirt. I hadn't mixed for over two years. I was from a world where records had pictures/artwork, I don't know the name of any of my records back home but their pictures paint a thousand beats. Here I was faced with some little LCD screen and only the name of the track displayed. Too much of my time was wasted selecting tunes and not enough spent flickin fader so the most contrived naming convention was born for the following week. The finest example must have been '3HPLRDSF' which stands for;



What does this button do?

3 = the rating out of three

H = House

P = Progressive

L = Loop

R = Rhythm

D = Deep

SF = Slow or Fast, in this case both? 

Thanks to the right hon James Kidd who's tracks were all pretty minimal, I sort of fumbled my way through. And when two sat nicely over the top of each other I went to work on choppin fader. 

Highlights we're for starters the manager's change of tone on the first night from 'cheap beer' at the start, to once the place was bouncing him coming up with a big grin, arms open and saying "drink what you want". Remember I'm on a budget here and a bottled beer in places like this was costing £9 and cocktails £20! Jackpot.

The other highlight worthy of note was the night where it was just me on the decks, the chick magnet Troy Walton and about 20 ladies on a hen** night. The main DJ then arrives, starts his set with some real girls cheese, the hens move up a gear into euphoria and before we know what's happening Troy and I are having out shirts ripped off. The casual Auzi easily done as he's wearing a t-shirt, but my Jermyn St. London slim-fit is being unbuttoned whilst my arms are restrained. Then one of those men in bras*** finishes off the last button with a rip and the next moment I'm on my hands and knees on the dance floor of this club I'd just been Djing at searching for my freekin button! 

I suppose what goes up must come down.

Too many buttons but only one knob

* All hail any of you that may have witnessed the Monday night - pound a pint DJ comp carnage.

** Otherwise known as a 'batchelor-ette' party.

*** See '1 Month in Tahiti Pt3: Men in Bras'