DJs: WHY ARE YOU PLAYING A TRACK TWICE?
DJs sometimes play tracks twice in their sets. But is it intentional and if so, why? Do people on the dance floor even notice or care?
I started to question the vibe of the night once the DJ started playing ABBA’s ‘Gimme, Gimme, Gimme’ for the second time in an hour. The party was branded as a queer event highlighting disco deeps cuts and hidden house gems (I assumed wrongly that this meant a kind of homage to Horse Meat Disco) in a basement club just east of the gay strip in Montreal. Evan was friends with B, one of the DJ/promoters of the event. I use the term “friend” loosely since friendships made in dark boxes tend to be of a slippery sort: all smiles and deflated hugs without risk of intimacy. Seasonal acquaintances that wash away with the rain but potentially bloom again a year later.
The monthly party was a relatively new venture and the small crowd at midnight was making B a bit worried and almost apologetic. I smiled and gave him a little shrug. It felt like a lifetime ago when I used to DJ a weekly residency just down the street from where we were. I can remember the flop sweats I’d get playing remixes of Britney Spears to an empty club at midnight only for the venue to be packed an hour later. Unlike Amsterdam (where I’m living now) where people often party hard early and stay at high intensity till the end, Montrealers tend to start late. There was still hope that the party would pick up though the clock was ticking.
In any case, the venue was perfect for a smaller crowd. With its speak easy décor of red velvet couches and accents of gold in the chandeliers above the roomy bar, even the fifty shifting bodies of various sizes, styles, (and odours) made the basement box feel full. Still, that didn’t mean the night would be profitable. Without enough drink sales who knows if the owners would even give the party another shot the following month. Since we’d done some edibles at Evan’s before the twenty-minute bike ride to the club, Evan and I weren’t so much in a drinking mood. In any case, I thought it best to do our part and bought two Jamieson shots and a water.
My critique of the party has nothing to do with the song choice per se. I’m a fan of the Swedish pop band and I think their music never fails to get a party going depending on the context. House parties, corporate events, small bars, weddings: absolutely a resounding yes, go for it. What gave me cause for concern was the fact that it was played twice. Now I hear you, most people could give two shits about tracks being repeated over the course of a night. Two weeks after my visit home to Montreal, I was at a reputable club in Amsterdam, I noticed that the opening DJs (a young duo act playing back-to-back) happened to play a track twice. Whether that was on purpose I can’t say. (There is a time and a place where something like that can actually be effective but that’s for another think piece.)
When we heard the lyrics “gimme, gimme, gimme a man after midnight” we looked at each other with a nod and thought “okay, cute.” We were looking for men (and indeed it was after midnight) so this cheeky song seemed to show some self-awareness albeit slightly on the nose. While there were a few promising hotties, the crowd seemed more like a smattering of colourful characters from a club scene in an indie queer film from the 90’s. In my usual fare I kept to myself while Evan socialized with the few that knew him and others that wanted to get to know him. In the decades we have partied together I have often let myself recede into the shadows while my friends took the spotlight. In hindsight, there’s a part of me that wishes I made more of an impression but since I don’t live in Montreal anymore and would most likely never see these people again, I figured it would be fine to let go and let live and let Evan do his thing.
But going back to ABBA. While the song was … fine (for the occasion), it already set off some warning bells in my head, partly because, while fun on its own, it was an odd choice for the context of the party. Yes, it’s a camp classic and like a moth to a flame, gays, queers and everything in-between would be hard pressed not to dance to it. But it felt like a cheap ploy, a trump card a DJ would use if they felt like they needed to bolster the dance floor. The thing with ABBA is that that their music is so recognizable. Hearing a tune once is fun(ny). To hear the song played twice over felt almost desperate.
Were that the only offense I think Evan and I could’ve overlooked it, but the night ended prematurely for us on several reasons. The tinniness excreting from the speakers made it piercing to the ear and made me thankful that I had remembered to bring my earplugs. It sometimes cannot be helped in a smaller venue, but promoters and DJs should double check the speaker sound quality, in case there are issues that can be addressed beforehand. But a repeated song or bad soundsystem are not really deal breakers. It was the transition choices behind the decks that were starting to get…odd.
Where there are often organic moments in a song for a DJ to blend one track into a new track, this particular DJ’s (not B) transitions were abrupt; clashing with vocals, percussive instruments and basslines, creating an unpleasant dissonance. The DJ’s desire to forcibly create transitions between songs felt counterintuitive to the tracks themselves that it started to feel like these were actual artistic choices he was making.
Once the music took a hard left to some kind of industrial electro-clash (perhaps to add a punk element to the festivities?) it was hard to contain my furrowed brow. There were just too many questions that were floating in my head that took me out of any possibility of getting lost in the music. For instance, what kind of fantasy was the music trying to evoke? Was the music a representation of the event or even in dialogue with the dancing bodies that were there? And why was there a continuous eq delay filtering through many of the tracks, causing a slight throb to form at my temples? Was the permanent delay effect on purpose or did the DJ simply forget to turn it off? (I mean, I’ve been there so I get it.)
Half past one and it seemed like the club was not going to fill up much more. In a last attempt to create a moment on the dancefloor the DJ took a risk, deciding to play Donna Summer’s ‘I Feel Love’, to which Evan turned to me with a scowl and said definitively, “I don’t. I don’t feel love.”
That was our cue. Ten minutes later we exited up the stairs and onto the desolate street. “I’m a bit disappointed,” Evan said. We took a leisurely stroll back to the bixi station where Evan got me a bike before unlocking his own just behind Papineau metro station. “I was hoping B would play more. That other DJ was unhinged.”
“What was the vibe of that party anyway?” I wondered aloud. We’d mounted our bikes and were heading north. The warm night air on my bare arms made me thankful that I got to experience some of the Montreal humidity before heading home to Amsterdam.
“I think they were hoping for something more vogue and this was giving… rogue.”
I laughed as I peddled behind him. I was still fixated on ABBA on repeat that no one seemed to notice except us. I mean, why play ‘Gimme, Gimme, Gimme’ twice? Why not just play ‘Hung up’ the second time around? That might’ve made for a more interesting choice and taken the night in different directions.
Evan picked up speed as we headed towards a hilly road. “Sorry it wasn’t a better night.”
In all honesty I didn’t care if it was a “bad” night. I was just so happy spending time with my friend. We now live in a world where every night out seems so curated and thoroughly researched for high probability of euphoric moments, picture ready for maximum impact on social media. I miss the nights where, good or bad, you simply allowed yourself the pleasure of being surprised, taking a risk on a parties that were nothing more than a promise of something. It made me think of all the nights Evan and I had gone out in the past, hoping for something fabulous to happen, only to end up eating greasy pizza on a sidewalk at two in the morning. Sometimes a good night out is not about the party but the about company. Certainly, the best part of this night was talking with one of my closest friends, cycling our way to our beds through the darkened city.