A LETTER TO A DJ
Dance clubs are now concert spaces where we point our tiny screens at the artist. But there was a moment when clubs barely featured the DJ at all. We just danced with each other.
Mon cher DJ célèbre, I’m so sorry that your gig, where everyone was pointing their phone at you, recording your set, really bummed you out. I can only imagine what that must feel like to be a famous, wealthy DJ at this stage in your career and see what the dance floor has become. We must look like a bunch of zombies to you. (I mean, those zombies who can afford to be in your presence at these exclusive club spaces, on an exclusive island, where the most elite can party.) How disheartening. You have to admit that it is slightly ironic that your pouty rant that is now viral on social media, is also recorded (I imagine) on a laptop or from that very same pesky device that us zombies use to record every moment that you stand behind the decks and play your fantastic music. And it truly is fantastic music. Once upon a time, not long ago, the DJ was a God, you were a God, and your music moved us, and together we created moments. Now you must feel like a monkey at a zoo: observed, analyzed, something to be pointed at, gawked. From where you stand, we must seem so weak, us zombies. Addicts I suppose. How can we pay so much money and then just stand there recording? Once, I watched a person record the entire concert of Cigarettes After Sex I wondered as I watched the live show through their tiny screen, Will they really watch this again? We did this to ourselves, no? We created a device to hold our memories. We created a device that tells us we’re special. We created a device that makes us feel seen. Us zombies are just a symptom, pointing to a larger problem.
Let me ask you this monsieur DJ: Are we the problem because we’re recording? Or are we the problem because we’re not the right people recording at the right time for the right production team? And this pesky device we’ve bought with our own money with this incredible feature of a camera: are we not allowed to enjoy it? Is it maddening saddening to know that we are controlled by a machine? That’s what you think right? About us zombies, the zombies, that consume, consume as opposed to listen, consume as opposed to dance? We’re still quite malleable, us zombies. We like rules. If you don’t want us on our fucking (pardon me) phones just make a rule about it. Create policies. Believe it or not, there are still dance floors that don’t have people recording on their phones (I know this because someone, the right someone, has been paid to record it on their phone and put it on social media.) Before we were zombies there was a time when we were people. People who didn’t dance facing the DJ because sometimes, we didn’t even know where you were. Before we were zombies, we felt the music because we had no focal point other than each other. We danced alone. We danced with each other. We danced to get to know each other. If you’re going to be nostalgic about how people used to party, and how people used to listen to music, why stop at a ‘no phone on the dance floor’ policy? There once was a moment when clubs barely featured, you, the DJ at all. There used to be something called a DJ booth. There, you could play what you wanted and watch the dance floor from the side while we took center stage. You followed our rhythms; you took inspiration from us. We told stories, sonically, together. On behalf of all zombies, I am sorry. We could do better. We do not need to film everything. It’s true that we are addicted at capturing a moment. We need to find a balance. But on the flipside, if you don’t want us to point our screens at you, then create different parties, DJ different gigs. I’m sorry you blame us for your depression. It must feel awful to be paid so much and just stare out from on high at our lifeless, upright bodies. Maybe have a Michelin star meal after your set or a nice massage at the spa at your luxury hotel (if you have time) before you climb into your jet to the next soul-sucking party. Perhaps that might make you feel less depressed at the state of things.