The monitor sits forlornly. Drooping downwards, devoid of power. The booth is two feet deep ... barely enough to entertain my generous waist. Bending down requires surgical elbow-retraction, and yet still this funny little venue has decided that the place for said booth should be a good 8 feet up in the air. A battered DJM-600, once the go-to mixer of choice occupies the centre ground ... most of it's knobs are MIA, sheared off at the tip, years since the 'effects' functioned properly. The CDJ-800s are basic, unruly with trademark sticky cue buttons.
In short it's a job & a half to make any sense of the situation with the muffled soundfug that's circling around the booth, but I'm faced with a crowd of Motorstorm programmers who are here to unwind, let go, breathe a massive, collective & drunken sigh of relief as their PS3 game is finally on the shelves. I'd been 'warned' beforehand with a wry sense of resignation that 'they are geeks ... and they don't dance'. I love a challenge ...
... fast forward two hours and I switch it up with a dubstep drop. There's a sweaty, pogo'ing throng. There's whooping, hollering, frugging. A roomful of drunken, smiley faces and I'm transported back to the halcyon days of Fused & Bruised residencies at the Dogstar in Brixton where I cut my teeth behind the decks.
All is good with the world.
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