Thoughts Internal: Opus III

I guess I'm not sleepy yet. This is going to be one of those "why aint everybody into deep house like me" conversations. It comes up every time I'm preparing to dj. It's hard to indulge your hobby when there's a little bit of PAIN involved.

In an ideal world, the club that I dj at would draw a crowd that's into many different kinds of music. They'd be adept at keeping their feet moving to the beat no matter the BPM. They'd want to here some Talib Kweli and some Blaze. They'd be good with 4Hero and Jill Scott. I could drop "Pick Up The Pieces" and "Floetic."

Yes, this would truly be nice. Having Serato Scratch Live at my beck and call makes painting my sonic canvas a true joy. What sucks is that with all these vibrant colors, there are only a few patterns that are appreciated. I can't do some impressionist and a little cubist. Nope, that will never do. (you'd think I was an art major, right) It seems that the "sheep" (as I call them) will only follow a shepherd feeding them the same bullshit they've been eating for years. That meal has to be served up 24/7 from a Viacom media source or some other conglomerate. Thank God for my iPod and my thirst for aural pleasures beyond the soundscape of FM. I'd even thank God for satellite radio. At least, for a price, they're venturing out and embracing the "give the customer what they want" adage.

I am often tempted to go in one night and just ignore the floor and the constant flow of flirty girls who want to hear the latest-greatest radio crap or video song (those are songs that would most likely get NO ATTENTION if it were not for the HOT VIDEO accompaniment). Yes, I would play some Stevie Wonder and Chaka Khan. I'd drop some jazzy house goodness from Kevin Yost with a nice acapella from Monique Bingham. I would flood the club with some Jean Grae goodness and some Talib Kweli creativity. MC's who know how to EMCEE would be the flavor of the day. I'd take them to Jamaica (although I've never been) and let them wine dem bottee for hours. Let the walls drip with sweat after a little reggaeton and follow it up with some baby-making music courtesy of a REAL vocalist: Prince, Maxwell, or the late great Luther.

What would make this all so very perfect is that I'd play GOOD MUSIC and the people would love it. They'd dance to it or just nod their heads. They'd enjoy themselves and wouldn't complain. If something played that they had never heard before, they'd LISTEN and LEARN. They would revolt at the mere playing of the ludicrously mundane radio-friendly set. They would thirst for the NEW and hunger for a little of the OLD. They would cast off the shackles of sonic mediocrity and embrace the possibilities of true artistry. There would never be a request for Lil This or Young That. The night would never find itself wrapped in words like "bitch" or "shawty" or "rims" or any other colorful southern (sorry to say it) dialectal garbage.

I live in this fantasy land with others. I'm not the only one who feels that the club should be a place where folks can let loose and be free. In this Utopian vision of the club, folks would get a little of what the radio plays, but they'd be open to so much more! They'd want, expect, and demand SO MUCH MORE! Perhaps we're just a bunch of old heads clinging onto a past time. Perhaps we need to move aside and let the commercial media machine do its job of creating mindless music automatons clamoring for what amounts to aural abuse.

Maybe I'm just a bit too dramatic! Hell, folks are still wondering why these blogs don't have any poetry in them! LOL.

Peace...4 Now!