JUST ANOTHER DJ
The dream was always to be a big headlining DJ somewhere cool. But this is no such club, this is a restaurant.
He understood the concept of “paying your dues.” The hustle, the grind, putting in the work in hopes that one day it will all pay off. The dream was always to be a big headlining DJ somewhere. Some place, dark and obscure but thoughtfully designed. A place where those in the know would plan their weekends around, lineup on a Friday or Saturday night to dance the night away with friends, to music he selected.
But this is no such club. This is a restaurant downtown, one of those wannabe-fancy ones where thirty-something hedge fund bros have a boy’s night out and buy one too many bottles of vodka for the table; where rich oligarchs take their mistresses out for their anniversary; where nepo-babies wine and dine to celebrate their twenty-third birthday before heading to the upscale bar where someone’s dad is a silent partner so they get to have free champagne all night and dance on the bar before closing.
It’s a good gig. Antoni and Luis are two Portuguese brothers who run the place. Antoni is the brawn, the muscle who does all the ordering and makes sure the back-of-house is in tip-top shape. Luis is always in a crisp dark suit. Both he and Antoni spend a lot of time out front during opening hours either sitting at the bar to taste the new wines, or placing steady hands on broad shoulders of men who smoke cigars outside before a digestivo, talking to each guest as though they are family coming home for a visit.
With the gig he gets a free staff meal and gets paid in cash at the end of his shift, which starts at six for the early rush and ends at midnight. It’s not the DJ gig he hoped for on a Friday night but it’s hard to complain when you get free meal and money that helps pay the rent. The meals are good too. The restaurant is an upscale franchise, one of those lounge-type steak houses that feels chic in urban settings but also have locations by the airport near a convention hotel. Unlike, the waiters and other staff, he gets to choose his meal from the menu. Luis comes over to him around seven and gives him a firm handshake, thanking him for his services and asking how his week was. Some nights he’s touched by the gratitude but often he feels bashful.It’s partly imposter syndrome but mostly he still an’t believe he gets to do this for a living. “Try the salmon! And order a molten-lava cake for dessert.” He’s too embarrassed to tell the bosses that he’s not much of a drinker so he ends up sipping his glass of white throughout his set. Sometimes he remembers to ask Steve behind the bar to make him a Jack and coke instead. The sugary sweetness and caffeine mixed with booze keeps him upright and relaxed.
His dream is to play house sets, music that starts warm but then goes deep and dark as the evening progresses. The odd times he happens to DJ a party or rave he loves feeding off people’s energy, seeing how people are affected by what he plays. He’s enticed by the mystery of flow, always trying to piece together what works sonically and what doesn't, taking risks and trying to understand why some songs make people throw their hands up in elation while others make them rush to the bar for another drink or clear the dance floor for a bathroom break. Every Friday at the restaurant he gets to stand behind a table and DJ for six hours straight. Each week he gets to practice, to learn his craft, master his transitions while his feet cramp and his back starts to hurt. It’s a rare opportunity in an industry where longer sets are dying away.
The hardest thing for him is to let go of his ego. “Find a balance,” he tells himself. “Give them what they want and what they don’t know that they want.” He’s DJed long enough to know that this is an art that, when done with care, is an amalgamation of wants, desires and moods. And because he’s not a big superstar DJ, not now, not yet, where hundreds or thousands have come to truly listen to him and his creative expression through sound, he’s made peace with mostly playing what people want to hear. He learns to read a room, catching glimpses of people at their table, imagining what kind of music they might like while they dine. What’s the appropriate amount of bass for a six-thirty seating with a family with a teenage daughter and a son with an iPad on the table? He hears a couple speaking Spanish in the corner table so he puts on some Cesaria Evora and he’s happy to see the woman’s shoulders swaying while she picks at her lobster risotto. He’ll play anything, trying to weave in a few house tracks when he can. Some flamenco guitar to balearic beats to french house back to jazzy house, to St. Germain to Gilles Peterson to Michael Jackson to Faith Evans. Always looking, always searching, asking: who’s in the room? Gay? Straight? Young? Old? Lonely? Birthday party?What’s the one track that the Pro Hockey player at the bar sharing a beer with Antoni is going to like that makes him stay till closing? Little games he likes to play, to keep things interesting.
He needs the games to keep him present. For every superstar DJ there are thousands just like him, DJs making a living playing weddings and bars, bar mitzvahs and conferences. He knows he ‘s got a long way to go before he gets to be the DJ he wants to be. Sometimes he wonders if it will ever happen for him. Luis asks him if he can play a track for him. Why not? He’s the boss after all.
It’s not always fun. The weeks of repetition, anxious moments when you scramble to find a track that will fit the vibe but there’s only one minute left on the song that is playing. Sometimes, an hour seems to stretch into infinity. A body in pain can play tricks on the mind. When the back begins to ache he wonders, is this really what I want to do?
One day he will throw in the towel. He was lucky enough once to have a meeting with an agent. It seemed that that was what you needed if you wanted to grow bigger, become more successful and the the DJ that you read about in magazines. “I’ve heard your mixes, and you’re pretty good. It’s just that so much of DJing is about networking and making connections. In a way, you almost have to be like a politician.” The agent lit a cigarette. “If I’m being completely honest, I just don’t think you have that quality.”
One night he refused to play a hard techno track for a group of guys. Before they left one of them walked up to him. “Hey can I tell you something? You’re the worst fucking DJ I’ve ever heard.” That same night a couple came up to him to say that they loved his set. Some nights were just like that. He’d pack his shit and head home, near tears, heavy-hearted with a full belly.