The Rooster #16
On DJ-ing, people who stare and my monster making mind...
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Last weekend I played three Before Midnight shows in a row, one in Galway, two in Dublin, all in all constituting nine hours DJ-ing to roughly four and a half thousand people.
My job as a DJ is to keep people on the dance floor. I am there to please, to challenge, to serve, to enlighten, to enliven, through the music I choose and the way I sequence it together. Then there’s what I assume these people expect of me. I struggle, especially, when out of practise of DJ-ing, with the expectation for me to physically perform in some way. I’m not an especially good dancer. I mostly DJ sober now so I’m not throwing myself into crowds and inciting congas like I used to do back in the day. I’m more stiff. More self conscious. But also more comfortable in my skin than I was. The club itself is set up with me off stage but still raised up slightly so that I am visible from the back. The crowds and before midnight are excellent when it comes to phone use. They’re chilled. Mostly people like to come up and have a look at me and then they’ll head off to dance again. Sometimes they like to say hello. A little fist bump. A wave, I listen to your podcast! Or love your books! Sometimes they turn their backs to me and take a selfie with me a tiny dot in the background like I’m The shard or something. All of this is grand!
My issue is with the people who stand stock still and stare at me. Now don’t get me wrong, staring is fine when you’re moving, dancing with the music, there is intention there, to go along with what I’m doing, a sort of good will in the staring. But if a person stands right at the front, unmoving, and stares at me for a long time, that’s when I begin to spiral.
I can be in a room of thousands, the whole crowd as one, dancing wildly, and one lone person, if they stare long enough at me, has the power to sabotage any sense of connection I have with the rest of the room, any satisfaction I might presume to take from their enjoyment, and any iota of self assurance I might have in my capabilities as a DJ.
The first assumption I make is that the starer is bored and they have a problem and they are waiting to tell me about it. So I try my hardest to look every other which way and avoid eye contact. As the minutes roll by, and this person stays standing, staring, their presence looms larger and larger in my vision, eclipsing the crowd, and darkening my outlook increasingly until I’m convinced that they’re a psycho killer and desperate to murder me. ( The Bodyguard has a lot to answer for ). Every song selected becomes an attempt to make them move. I am doomed. Trapped inside the gaze of this malevolent person, weighed down by the burden of their morbid curiosity, a fake smile plastered on my face whilst inside, I am screaming, just fuck off will you you creepy fuck. fuck off and leave me alone.
On the night of St Patricks, I had a starer. She was resting her head in her hands on the front railing, right underneath me. I noticed her out of the corner of my eye. Avoided eye contact. But felt the dread creeping in slowly as she became more comfortable in her slump. She’s drunk I thought. She’s tired. I mixed into the next song. She didn’t move. God she must hate this so much, I began to think. She must think I’m the worst DJ in the world. It was getting late. I was growing tired and this woman, in her sedentariness was draining any energy and positivity I had left to give. Maybe it wasn’t about my DJing. maybe she hated ME. Something cracked in me. I turned down my booth monitor, leaned forward over the decks and shouted down at her,
- y’alright?
She looked at me through glazed eyes. I persisted.
- Are you tired?
She spoke really slow and slurred.
- I love you.
Lesson learned. I must stop making monsters out of people in my head. poor woman was shitfaced. Christ. All that unnecessary anguish!
In other news I have come away from the weekend bowled over by the warmth and kindness shown to me from the people I met and people I worked with. People who just can’t do enough for you. They are genuine; not sycophantic, just sound and kind in that unassuming way that Irish people can be.
I always feel changed after time working in Ireland. Not especially sad or happy, just opened up, a little bit melted inside. I go back to London and I have to harden up again. It’s bittersweet.
I’m off to Bristol tomorrow for an epic Before Midnight all-dayer at Prospect. The rest of the weekend will be spent either on the side of football pitches or on the pitch playing for my club. I will also be going away to write at the beginning of next week! It’s only for a few days but I’m so so excited.
And now for this weeks recommendations..including my take on Adolescence, a new podcast, my new favourite writer on Substack, an Irish jewelry designer and a deadly edit of Crystal Waters Gypsy Woman to help you dance into the weekend……