Winter Music Conference
I starting to write my journal entry and realized that I wouldn’t even read it. It’s been too long since I’ve written here so I’m gonna take it slow and give you the abbreviated version of my trip to Miami. That’s a funny word, trip. By definition it means; journey for pleasure; stumble; switch; hallucinatory experience caused by a drug; (cause to) make false step; skip; dance. That’s the Winter Music Conference. A trip. A place where losing your mind is celebrated by the masses. A place where falling down and barfing in public is the norm. I have renamed South Beach “Biffs” as in Back to the Future II. However there is one distinction. South Beach doesn’t allow gambling, unless you count trying to cross Collins at 2am in high heels after 6 adios muther f#@ckers. What is it about huge muscles anyway? Is that really attractive? It is really necessary? Well maybe a hundred years ago when you had to man handle a ranch or a farm. But what the hell do you need 24 inch guns to lift a cell phone for?
On another note, I love that the people who go to Miami during the week of debauchery hidden under the mask of a “work thing” enjoy dance music. But can we stop with all the f#@king labels? I’m not talking about record companies, which pretty much seem obsolete in this scene anyway, but I’m talking about the idiots who ask you every five minutes “what kind of music do you spin man?” As if they sound intelligent because they can rattle off 3 or 4 genre buzz words. Listen up. It’s all just music. Some of it is good. And some is bad and that all depends on what you like to listen to. So listen and make up your own mind. Enough with the labels. If the crowd is dancing, it’s dance music period.
I had to briefly stop writing and review my photos because I couldn’t think of anything else to write about. Oh yeah, Miami 2005 Winter Music Conference. This was the first year I spun at any parties if you can call it that. I played off a laptop and I suppose the hard drive is spinning, so it qualifies. There are a lot of people who resist the progress towards technology. I especially don’t understand in dance music because almost all the music is made using a computer. We used to call it Techno (my guess is it was short for technology) music. I can carry about 8000 records to a gig. I probably won’t play any Mel Torme in Miami, but with me you never know. I played Blue Velvet by Bobby Vinton at the Shelley Hotel. One old guy was like, “you rock man, I love this song.” It’s not like I killed the party. At the time he was the only one on the dance floor. That’s another story. I’ll briefly say that Chicago house fans rule! Period. They rocked the spot. I was supposed to get on about 6pm for a pre-club open bar free Red Bull bash. However when I arrived an hour prior to set up there was a Chi town party rockin that my promoter friend said he knew nothing about. Louie Louie was smashing his percussion set while the DJ was banging the greatest remix to the O’Jays I love Music. Man I was worried I’d have to follow that. But I sucked it and said “Timbo you are just as talented as these guys and they are gonna love you.” The only problem was, Louie Louie was in no rush to break down his kit so I could set up my gear. By the time he finally wrapped most everyone had left. Then AJ went on and killed every last bit of quality hearing left in my head. I don’t get it. Louder is not better. The fucking bar was empty and he’s playing the music so loud it was uncomfortable to even dance. I digress. It’s just a different world when I play for a private party (that’s code for Bar-mitzvah). I get paid thousands of dollars for a night’s performance. Hot meals, air conditioned dressing rooms, set-up and tear down crews and here I am playing Blue Velvet for one old guy 3000 miles away from home for free Red Bull Vodkas. Gotta make you laugh, huh? I guess I just love dance music. I’ve been wondering whether or not I should really pursue the club scene. I spoke to Dave Aude before I left. He said “who cares, as long as your name’s on the flier. Nobody cares.” I wished I would have seen him at the Clevelander. More on that in a few.
Ok so it’s not so abbreviated.
So the next night is the club awards. Thom and I are presenting. I get a call around noon. The location had been changed last minute. Typical. The new address was 66 So. West 6th St. Fitting for the show. The Scumfrog hosted the show. He was pretty funny. As the evening progressed I realized that I had not eaten since my Tuna sandwhich on the beach at 10am. I’m now a few cocktails deep and our award is second to last. I’m losing confidence in my ability to present. Thom reassures me he’ll stick with our planned lines. When they called our named I stumble on stage and begin the bit. Thom changes it up and I’m too slow to improv. If they don’t ask us back next year I’ll understand. We did meet Kelly Osborne. What the hell she was doing is anyone’s guess. She says she’s grown up and found dance music. I say bullshit. It’s a last ditch effort to sell the 40 thousand units sitting in her garage. I bet she couldn’t give that crap away. Funny enough, we did however include a DVD of our movie in the VIP gift bags. I also scored a dope pair of new kicks. These fat Reeboks their trying to push on DJ culture. There is a little pair of headphones on them that justifies their existence at the WMC. They are fat though. I ain’t doggin corporate sponsorship. As long as the shit I keep getting for free is good. The moment I start wearing some Izod or Polo shirts cause they’re given me coin, please pull the plug on my turntables during a set. I would deserve it. Reeboks happen to be my most favorite shoe and I’m just razzin em. Every year I always meet new reps who “understand” dance music. Then next year it’s someone brand new. Event marketing is a very wishy washy thing. Speaking of which I noticed that My Space.com was all over the place this year. It’s crazy to think that just 15 years ago the internet was a completely untapped promoting vehicle. It’s changed the way we interact with the promoters. In the beginning of the house scene it was brick and mortar fliers and once in while posters for big shows like New Years. People would say “wow they printed four-color-fliers for this party. That’s huge!” Now you can’t go to a party without an advertisement for some alcohol or a video game. It’s really grown, I’m just not sure if it’s continuing to grow. There seemed like a lot more parties going on this year. But it was almost too much. No I take that back. It was too much. When you see an eighty year old perv driving down Washington in a Rolls bumping Sandstorm, its time to change the scene. You know, remix it.
Skip to my next gig. Ok so I’m at the Clevelander hotel right. I’m playing hot brunch set right. You see? I knew that fake enthusiasm wouldn’t work. Who the hell needs a DJ with a cheese sandwich? So I’m like fuck it. “You gotta enjoy yourself.” So I played some classics and some new stuff. I played some cracked out tracks that turned some heads but that’s about it. I never even met Tim Ortiz, the promoter. He supported our summer tour. We played for him in San Diego. It was a bit of a nightmare since he got fired like two weeks before the date and our contract was with the venue. So we ended up with two half ass crowds. Everyone was wondering which club we playing. It was a mess. Anyhow, it’s playing shows like this that makes think “do I really have what it takes to make it big in the club scene?” You know what I’m talking about right? A strong liver. How and hell can anyone work in, better yet, make a living in an environment when people are constantly pushing booze in your face. I know, become an alcoholic. Well I’m not sure I care that much about the art of clubbing. Week in week out, crazy schedules, hotels, how does DJ Dan manage? Oh yeah, you hire a manager. The only road managers I’ve ever met have all been lushes themselves. Watch any episode of behind the music on VH1. It’s all the same script. “They became the most success band at the time, then (insert artist’s name here) hit rock bottom and it all went down hill with the drugs and alcohol. That’s the business. The companies that truly profit are the booze companies. I may be boning myself out of a sponsorship deal for my next tour so I’ll stop here. You get the idea.
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