22 June 2010

“Next up is Jerusalem” he says.

Got a phone call off Succulent a few days before the ‘little event’; which contained the smaller event ‘Slobs Can’t Dance sound system on the beach’ or .


“Can you bring down a few things, to supplement the Slobs Can’t Dance rig?”


“Yeah, sure. What do you need?”


“Erm, can you bring your subs?”


“Yeah.”


“Your two top boxes?”


“Yeah.”


“Amp rack? Mixer? Decks? Cartridges?”


“Yeah.”


“Oh, DJ’s?”


“Yeah.”


"Headphones?"


“Yeah.”


Anyway, we get there and, like last year Prat Bay is sandy and magnificent; the Red Arrows doing their thang above us in the skies. A little old lady sits hunched on a chair in front of the speakers drinking a cup of tea out a polystyrene cup, eating a sandwich from a little blue plastic box. She watches the planes roar above her head. Despite the wind and the occasional light rain shower all looks good. She is not our usual customer it has to be said. Nor are the myriad of jet skiers with their 4x4’s and their expensive jet skis and wet suits.


During one rain storm, I sat in my car. I googled a few of the models and they were priced at £6K, £7K, even £9.5K. The coastguard came down in his 4x4 and told the skiers they couldn’t go out as the surf was too choppy. They weren’t too happy. “I paid £600 for this wetsuit, I’m not gonna get it wet!” we joked. Ten seconds later one them was out on the sea riding them thar waves like the pro he was.




By the time Succulent and Brummy had set up the tVC rig and turned it up – “for the sound check” – the cafe we were at was deserted. It wasn’t deserted before it was turned up; only after. The little old lady had shat her pants and fucked off with the rest of the customers. “The trouble with this party” says Si, “is there’s too many straight people here.”


A few brave deep house souls ventured down but after complaints from the cafe owner, who wanted some more “commercial” music played Si threw his toys out the pram muttering something like “philistines” under his breath. Succulent turned the ear splitting volume down and stuck a CD on of poppy pappy trance and dance from the late 90’s;


“Next up is Jerusalem” he says.


“But Jerusalem is not here” I venture.


“Oh, it’s a CD he recorded. It’s poppy and will keep the cafe owner happy. We can play some deep house later”.


“But there’s DJ’s here with bags full of tunes and they want to play and you want to put on a CD?”


“Yes”.




We fucked off to the pub up the hill - Britannia Inn - to catch the second half of the World Cup USA match and have a beer and shelter from the now incessant driving freezing cold rain and blustery wintery vertical blowing wind. What nice pub. Luckily we had Dantix with us as local guide. It was empty. The landlord offers to turn on the big screen so we can watch the match. He couldn’t get it to work so we watched in the bar on a tiny 50 inch plasma. It rained outside. It planed outside.




Getting back we finally procured our sets; Si, Dantix then, finally, myself. Ploughing on through the wind and showers for a couple of hours I noticed a dwindling crowd on the dancefloor as the few hardy souls who braved it out finally giving up the ghost as it got dark.


“Who’s on next?” I ask Succulent .


“Thinking of breaking it down mate”, he says.


“Let’s do it”


Back in Whitstable, cars full of equipment left outside on the pavement, me and Brummy have a consolation couple of pints before calling it a day.

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