November 13, 2004


Scene Report: Biz3/Puma party at the faux-euro bar by my house. 10 pm-midnight. Mssrs. Butter-Wolf and Producto DJing.

The dance floor is actually just some stairs. I danced with Hunter and Vanessa. I told Hunter his outfit made him look like David Crosby before the coke burn. White Seersucker suit, sleevesless tie dye shirt, a serious beard, some gold chains and a rope belt. "Awesome, thanks." Inexplicably -- He was yelling "E-BAY!" like you yell "Westsiiide" during the breaks of songs, and then whiffing hits of VCR headcleaner from a little bottle. I asked him if inhalants are his drug of choice. He stopped dancing and thought about it. "Yes, yes they are," and went back to dancing. Some guy with a camera was trying to take pictures of the ugliest most uncordinated white people in the place, and was in our dance zone. Hunter and I sandwiched him agressively and Hunter, now down to the sleeveless shirt did a move which can only be described as "giving him the armpit." Once the guy relented Hunter says "Cameras are just so... stupid," pauses, puts his hands to his head, kind of sits in an invisble chair, quickly stands back up, raises his hands in the air and scream "WHOA!" and goes back to dancing.

Mr. Producto ceeded the decks to Mr. Butter-Wolf after a decent string of old school surefire. Mr. Producto's skill with the mixer left a little to be desired, his touch with the fader could adequately be described as "violent". Upon exiting the booth, he stood with myself and Kathryn, and mocked his own lack of technique. Humility is a great quality in a rapper. He played Public Enemy five times in an hour, which was admirable as well.

Mr. Butter-Wolf then made two turn tables seem like four he was cutting and mixing with the deft finesse for which he is know. Slick Rick into Walk on the Wildside into I Shot The Sheriff into Deee-Lite theme into It Takes Two into Message to You Rudy into Tide is High into EPMD into Jay-Z. If you ask me to tell you my fantasy, it was that.

Ultimately, it made me ashamed. I am not, nor ever have been a DJ, I am simply someone who plays records outside my house sometimes, like the rest of the assholes. Mr. Butter-Wolf is, irrefutably, flagrantly, and quite delightfully -- a DJ.

Then Mr. Producto was back on and he played some shit from back when all rap songs were 8 or 11 minutes long, then after realizing that was a fatal move, threw on a string of what are known as cheater tracks (the easy gaurantees after you kill the floor, better know as " the Missy Elliott/The Rapture hattrick"). In this case it was"Run's House" and more PE. And Large Professor. Which can be excused due to Mr. Producto's admitted lack of professional DJ experience. He was having fun, and that's really what matters.

Meanwhile, I spent this time standing by the bar, waiting for my water with ice and a straw, talking about my new haircut with acquaintances and admiring all the fancy Puma shoes in saturated matte colors that were posited between the Baileys and the Icey Hot bottles. I though about how much it must suck to be a girl bartender, because your dress code is the slim, leather n' denim median of "eight grade slut"/ "every drunk business mans rub fantasy". I decided that I will never have a job where I cannot wear my new bonnet to work.

By this point, 5700-gazillion people were packed in and bouncing like they used to read Word Up magazine, so I ate my ice & called it a night.

Overall rating: 7.5 out of a possible 10.

Posted by Jessica at November 13, 2004 01:44 AM | TrackBack