SwampLog 3.0

We Will Rock You In Da Club

Curtis Jackson? Meet Freddie Mercury.

The Silence Experiment took some of 50 Cent's best tracks, and mashed 'em up good with Queen's finest. The result is Q-Unit, a scarily good mash-up project.

The scariest thing of all, though, is giving Fitty a Freddie moustache.

VERY Last Minute Gig Notice

Working a karaoke shift tonight at Broncos Sports Bar in Hurst. Apparently, John can't get his pantyhose off in time to show up for work, so they call in the Pro from Dover.

To clarify, this is a NIGHTTIME gig, from 10:00 pm - 2:00 am. Your boss already knows they aren't going to get anything useful out of you until January 3rd, so get your ass on out.

Mark Yer Calendars

When I quit deejay work back in August, I said then that I wouldn't mind doing the occasional fill-in gig for extra cash, and to get the bug out of my system.

One of those instances is on the way.  I would advise you to come take advantage of it.

I'm working at Bronco's Sports Bar & Grill on Wednesday, December 14, from 10:00 pm until close.  It's an AES karaoke gig, and all that implies.  If you've been a naughty little girl or boy, I may have a copy of the 2005 year-end CD, 'Buy The Ticket, Take The Ride' for you to take home.  So, come one out.

Greedy Earwig

I've tried a lot of the streaming "radio" services, such as Launch, ShoutCast, and the like. They've always left me wanting more -- more control, better selection, just more.

I think I've found "more."

A startup called Pandora aims to make customizable streaming stations based on what you like, and suggesting music you may or may not have heard before. As you listen to each new song, you rate the song with a thumb up or down. (And if you really really like the song, you can purchase it from the iTunes Music Store or Amazon. Sweetness.) The first ten hours are free, with a wholly reasonable subscription fee for either six months or a year coming next.

Pandora is an offshoot of the Music Genome Project, which breaks down music based on beat, instrumentation, lyrical content, and a lot more metrics than music should have but does anyway.

So, when I gave it a starting point of James Brown, Pandora then went on to suggest the O-Jays, Buddy Miles and Betty Wright. All right up my alley.

Then, I tried to throw Pandora a curve, with Warren Zevon. It gave me Phish, which I liked. Then, early Toto (a song called "Live for Today") which I wasn't keen on. As soon as you give it a downward pointing thumb, the song is eaten by lions and the next track is set running. New Pornographers' "Jackie, Dressed In Cobras" came up, and I was in love.

I have a ridiculous amount of music, but I'm always on the lookout for more. Pandora fills my music jones, and I've already plunked down my year's subscription fee. Now, I'm listening to Graham Coxon after Elton John, and I'm chuffed.

Profanity Leprechauns

All told, my weekend was good personally, but rather rocky professionally.  Where I get very few complaints to management on the whole, I had four over the weekend.  The first one was the best.

It's Friday night, around 10:45 or so.  I'm working in Atlantis, which is a 70s and 80s room -- disco, retro, party rock -- with a decent-sized dance floor.  I'm looking over the room, which is still trying to figure out if they want to dance or not even after I've tossed a couple of A-List sets (three - five songs that should guarantee at least a half-filled floor) out there.  That's when I see a woman in her late 40s / early 50s waving her arms trying to get my attention.  I motion her over to the booth.

She walks up, then holds a dollar bill between her hands and snaps it a few times.  "This is a dollar bill!  Play 'Pussy Control' by Prince!"

Now, I actually discarded the first three responses that came to mind.  They were:

"Lady, unless a coin slot was installed in my ass when I wasn't looking, I'm not a fucking jukebox!"
"What would you know about pussy control, bag?"
"Oh, goody!  A dollar!  Now I can have that surgery done!"

Instead, I said, "You can keep your dollar.  I'll play your Prince."

Apparently, the Profanity Leprechaun popped up behind me, because when she complained about me to the manager on deck, I said "Keep your fucking dollar, lady."

No matter how pissed off at a guest, I will never use profanity toards them unless they know me and understand that it's not meant in a harmful way (whether they recognize it or not).  That said, there's no way I'm playing "Pussy Control" that early, with that few people dancing.  It's a wasted song, and I despise repeating music.  There's over two decades of stuff I can play, and there's no need to repeat anything. 

You missed your song?  Sorry.  Should have been here when I played it.  Get here sooner next time.

You can't stay around that long?  Then you're not spending any more money at my bar, which means you're useless to me.  One of my first nightclub managers taught me something I've always tried to adhere to: "there's no bar on the dance floor."

The other three complaints weren't nearly as interesting -- a bachlorette didn't like the brusque treatment, meaning she didn't get priority over the other 200 people in the room, or the three other bachlorette parties already there; a girl couldn't understand how telling me the music I was playing sucked would make me want to ignore her; a guy who wanted to hear "Under The Bridge" by the Red Hot Chili Peppers at 12:15 am couldn't understand why I didn't want to slow the room down just for him.

There are times when I purely love my job -- the room is firing on all cylinders, the guests are having a good time, the bartenders and waitstaff are making great money, and management's happy because no one's up in anyone's grill.  It seems like those times are fewer and further between for me.