18 January 2017

Hmmm, reflections of the aging DJ.



Hmmm, reflections of the ageing DJ. Does one just sit fading away to invisible non entity as one has been on-going since birth or does one embrace the bull by the mixed metaphoric throat and throttle till one’s eyes pop and lips turn blue. I just want you to know it helps me forget the past. By constantly and enthusiastically craving the future present one’s moves forward lives and changes in adaptation and remains relevant.

So, anyway, the meatballs have been fried off till they were brown and are now cooking in the tomato sauce. A sauce enhanced with a lick of red wine and other secret ingredients others would be repulsed to hear goes into such a wonderful concoction. But a chefs secrets are like a DJ’s secrets and must remain a part of that individuals armoury and not divulged under pain of any wanton duress. Spaghetti is on anyway and the Red Dragon mustard and ale cheese grated ready for the purpose so designated. A decent bottle of red is already open and the first glass swigged by yours truly as if the elixir contained therein would offer some addition superpower yet unseen in sober circles. Embers blown in existence by a lifelong loathing of the red stuff and various vain attempts to cultivate a differing viewpoint towards the devils juice recently nurtured further by an unhealthy obsession with the Vivino app that fuel compulsive photos of wine labels and bell endy and meaningless comments received with nary a “hmm, three point five stars…” This engenders hours of perusal in the local wine shop as I photograph wine bottles in ever increasingly desperate attempts to find a bloody good bottle of wine that everyone has missed. Alas to no avail so far. Since I discovered my inner wine bore I now snatch menus out of friends hands and photograph and upload the wine list to get the highest rated bottle on it then quiz my hapless friends and the wine waiter on their findings much to their bored and disillusioned chagrin.

A knock at the door brings me out of my self satisfied wine reverie and indicates the start of the "session two" radio recording evening. These evening are designated a Wednesday slot and myself, Simon Bounds and Jon Priddy assemble for the fatuous purpose of recording another Ramsgate Music Hall Radio show. Main purpose; “the bants”.

By the time we’re all assembled at, ahem, 6.30pm and have cooked, served, eaten some food, drunk a couple of bottles of wine / cocktails / beers (delete as applicable) and had a bit of a chat (I use that phrase loosely as geeing everyone up into the studio may take upwards of 20 addition minutes of persuasion) the land grab begins. There are only two “proper” chairs or chairs with wheels that can spin around. The third is a directors camping chair designated to the one who is not the engineer or the DJ preparing and delivering links. It is a way away from the microphone and any bantery contributions tend to sound like they were delivered just before the deliverer left the room. This is usually Simon. For the first hour anyway (wink).

The first ever effort the week before didn’t come off too well, sorry, badly. I’d arrived at Jon’s place. Everything was set up and ready to go. I thought great. “Nice chicken curry ready in the pot” says J through a cold so heavy I thought he was taking the piss by putting on a really stuffy nose accent. “Dice dicken durry ready in da pot” it sounded like. 

Phone rings. It’s Si. Calling in sick. “Terrible cold mate”, he says. Or "derrible dold made". Luckily I’d prepared an hour set and had an hour mix already in the bag. By the time we’d eaten etc. etc. time was cracking on. Heavy work duties that day and a fabulous prospect of work again in the morning helped the urgency of the recording session crack along at a nice rate. Unfortunately Jon's daughter had a improv visit to the off license around 10 so we managed to get alcoholed up pretty, pretty late in the evening for us. Hey, we're 50. It was 10pm. It was bed time. 

The show was produced by recording the voice overs then editing them on top the recorded music. This seemed to work OKish but as expected the bants free nature of the interaction with each other (Jon cold, Simon absent) proved too much to bear and it ended up sounding like a work weary Geordie ploughing through something that he had to endure rather than endear.

A few weeks after the third one was recorded the first show has still not been “mastered” and broadcast yet so we now have a few in the pipe. Like a puppy pissing on the carpet I have 6 or so sets already recorded and researched and am just waiting to get back in the studio with the boys to finish it all off. More on this soon.


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