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Article from the Gaurdian UK Newspaper 2002
only just "re-found this"...have a read
(Bear in mind this article was written in june or july 2002)
Once upon a time,God was a dj,but now hes driving a minicab in Rotherham.The era of superstar djs is over:Gatecrasher has closed its weekly night and gone monthly ;Cream is empty,bar a couple of mashed students,peering around the podiums likew a Japanese tourists is Madame Tussaauds.
Ministry Of Sound is moving heavily into radio and plans to sell off its superclub. At Pacha the dancefloor is so deserted that Gypsies have parked their caravans there and built campfires. What went wrong? Just six months ago,Pacha was launched under a deluge of press hype.The truth of its that the writting was on the wall for the
superclubs,and therefore superstar djs,a long time ago,and here a few of my serving suggestions as to why:
Numero Uno:
They were a victim of their own success.The whole demise of the superstar dj was that seemingly ordinary mortals were actually supremely talented alchemists from another dimension - kind of galdalf in a john richmond linen shirt - each one,uniquely & sublimely capable of creating what Russ Abbott once called a party atmosphere by playing two lupms of plastic back to back. Superstar Djs,most notably the uber-miserable Paul Oakenfold,cultivated an air of mystery around this process,peering down at their decks,refusing to smile,generally promoting the idea - not unreasonable from their point of view - that is was really rather difficult to dj. This was fine until every electrician,plumber and journalist in the land wanted to become a superstar too.Very soon they all had a pair of Technics and were badgering the manager of the local Top Shop to play deep tribal house to young teenage girls searching for £9.99 halter-neck tops.Within six seconds,we all realised that it wasnt very hard to dj after all. Not only that,but it was far more of a laugh to play record badly in the pub to a few mated(as the Chemical Brothers started off doing)than work out,Nick Hornby dream stylist,a pompous/portentous/prickisly dull "set" for that never to happen 4am Ministry debut.
Two:The USP of the superstar dj was access to the most upfront tunes.So when
people stopped caring about upfront tunes,indeed started going up to morose Djs in their booths and demanding to know why they werent playing the single edit of Kylie rather than the 48 minute Masters at Work dub,Djs knew their number was up.
Its intresting that the demise of superstar Djs coincided with the risk of tounge in cheek cheesy karakoke-style outfits like 6ft Stereo,where punters are encouraged to turn up with a copy of a deliberatly bad song like Eye OF The Tiger and demand that it be played.Inevitably,inventive ways of playing crap records has become as feircely competitive as white-label snobbery
between djs once was. Clubs like Renegade Pop Party and Uncle Bobs Wedding Reception have oushed the concept of deliberate crapness further,going out of their way to book rubbish djs like Pat Sharpe of Heart 106.2FM.Thing is Pat knows how to work a crowd and he could do anything a "cool" dj could do-plus he had The Gang in his box.Of course,the children of this anti-superstar dj reveloution became the new superstar djs.The chemical brothers graduated from a smelly pub to a stadium rock in a matter of months and became the big beat Smashie n Nicey they once despised,even making a semi ironc record (Hey boy,Hey Girl superstar djs,here we go!)eulogising their sorry new found superstar status.Such are the small ironies of life.
Three:The whole superstar dj thing totally dissapeared up its own arse.Just as superstar models were made obsolete by grunge,superstar djs became irrelevant without even realising it.A turning point came when Junior Vasquez,then the doyen of New Yorks superstar jocks,was booked to play london arena for three consecutive nights in 1997. Weeks of sycopantic radio and press coverage paved the way for his triumphant arrival .London had seen nothing like it since,er,Little Louie Vega two weeks earlier.How were the police going to hold back the tide of Vasque-mad club cattle? With days to go before the gigs,however,it became apparent that only a handful of tickets were sold.Tongy and Oakey may have been wetting their pants at the tought of seeing Junior Vasques,but the nation was more intrested in watching Laurence Llewelyn-Bowen making a tit of himself in Changing Rooms. The tide had turned on the inflated egos and wage packets of our superstar djs,who started striking out across the globe to regain the adulation and status they`d once enjoyed in Blighty. From Copenhagen to Capetown,British djs jetted off to play seamless nine hour sets if interminalbly dull apoco trance, depressing pomp house reverberating round mega arenas once reserved for U2(Paul Oakenfold hammered home the message by supporting U2 on tour).
Four:
In New York,DJ deity Sasha allegedly turned up for a gig at Twilo carring only three records in a carrier bag.Such was Sashas sense of
world historic importance,he`d honed his set down with Zen like percision to just three tunes(all of which happened to be by him) Alternatively he may have been just taking the piss.
FIVE:The warning bell for anything creative is when it starts getting inspiration form prog rock.Or boxing. With Chris Eubanks pre fight entrance to Simply the Best as inspiration,Fatboy Slim and Armand Van Helden held an ego-clash in a specifically constructed boxing ring.For neutrals the temptationto send in fighting dogs must have been strong. Rampant Dj ego mania took many entertaining forms:Carl Cox arriving by helicopter,Noel Edmonds style,Norman Cook walking on stage in Rick Wakeman style Bacofoil capes:Ferry Corsten playing The Land Of Hope and Glory(The ferry corsten mix) The platonic template for this style was laid down by sasha,who mixmag first put him on its cover in 1992 declaring him the "son of God".Sasha was a neutral pin up-he was good looking.He had that requisite air of mystery about him(a foreign-ish name).His eyes seemed fixed always on some distant unnatainable goal.His shirts billowed immpecably in the Mediterannean breeze.Most importantly,he owned trance records so wildly new and innovative,they could kill sheep with a single airing. Apocryhpal stories of Sasha screwing groupies on a stained backstage mattrress a la Tom Jones.It seemed impossible to chin stroking dad house veterans that this new generation of djs could have so defiled the memory of Larry Levan and his impeccable mid-70s musodom:his annomitity,his descrition.But whats fame if you cant poke a few girls into the bargain?
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http://www.myspace.com/mygigs
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