Dr. Philebrity: DJ Me, DJ You
Dr. Philebrity:
I’ve got a question for you. How does one get back into spinning vinyl in this town? I haven’t done it in quite some time, and I really don’t know how/where to start. I have a ridiculous collection of goods, and want to share it with my fellow, music-loving brothers and sisters. Do you have a prescription for what ails me?Keep it real!
All the best,
DJ NotYetaDJ
The funky doctor waxes and milks after the jump.
Dear Mr. DJ,
This question, whether intended or not, had myself and all the orderlies here at Philebrity General scratching our heads. None of us knew quite what to do, so we just washed our hands extra long and made sure that all of our tools were, like, sterilized.
See, the quandary we’re in is not one you made, and certainly please take no offense with what we are about to say. But there’s really no nice way to say it: This city has too many fucking DJs. There’s a glut. It’s the weirdest thing Ôø? go ahead and take a look at this clusterfuck if you don’t believe us. And it’s a curious mixture of a few ever-repeating types: the “progressive house” chumps that currently clog Old City and related jarhead territories; the ironical 80s hack; the ironical old-school hip-hop dood; the “experimental” clove-cigarette smokers; and of course, the garden variety hipster DJ who really, really wants nothing more than for art school chicks to dance to his Can records. It’s kind of like a comic book convention that you can dance to. Or not.
In the interest of full disclosure, we should also note that Philebrity staff have collectively been every one of these kinds of DJs, once or twice even all in the same night.
But I digress: My point was that with a market so utterly crowded with virtually every kind of DJ under the sun (although we have yet to see someone bust out a night of Boston Pops and Vivaldi, which could be kind of cool, like if you had a special on Campari or something), how does one enter the scene, do good work AND make a name for oneself?
The answer, dear friend, is the same it’s always been: Hard work and ingenuity. Do you think Dave P just woke up one morning raving about cocainesexjams? Did Diplo’s bailecrunk simply issue itself from the sky? Fuck no, trick! These dudes did two big things: One, to really, really hone in on the music they wanted to expose people to Ôø? and in both cases that turned out to be as much an aesthetic as it was an actual sound. And two, they boldly went where no one had gone before. Whosoever in the Philebrity readership, for instance, set foot into the Ukie Hall before Hollertronix got there? The idea is this: Get your shit together, know what kind of party you want to throw, and then find a place, and claim it. There’s plenty of bars out there, and most of them are utterly clueless when it comes to tunes. (See the endless string of jukeboxes in this town with Pixies/Modest Mouse/Fugazi if you don’t believe. When the Doctor sees shit like this, it makes him want to hang himself with a rope made from cut-up khakis over a river of shitty microbrews.) Anyway, it’s simple: Find a cool place with a balance of being off-the-beaten path but in a place in which you could conceivably see people going to and having fun, convince the owner you can bring people in, and then promote the living hell out of it. Do a mix tape. Get that shit around. And in no time, tender patient, your acidrainbow will reveal its pot of ever-lovin’ gold. Let us know how it goes.
[If you've got a question about Philadelphia, or partying, or sex, or anything else under the sun, throw it our way at tips@philebrity.com. As always, your anonymity will be fiercely protected.]
Related: Dr. Philebrity On Jersey Trash
Related: Dr. Philebrity On Dancin’
Related: Dr. Philebrity On Dissin’
Related: Dr. Philebrity On Belchin’
