mr. zilla goes to town

Tuesday, July 05, 2005

high crimes and misdemeanours

Played a fill in spot for a friend at one of the bigger clubs in the centre of oxford here last night. It’s got a fairly monstrous capacity and yet having seen the doormen’s clickers on the bar after close I know that literally under a hundred people walked through the door in 5 hours. Great sound system but I could have almost pulled out some cards and played solitaire in the booth instead of playing tunes without anyone noticing. But only almost: big ups to the guy who wanted (more) James Brown and the girls who came and asked for anything by The Who or The Clash. Your wish is my command!

Since I’m now into the twelfth year of pay negotiations with Liverpool FC and still holding out for a better offer than “get lost pal, stop calling us” before starting my £50,000 a week football career, plonking down the required crap tunes to a near empty room is as close to money for nothing as I can imagine. (Indeed it’s a very nothing experience.) The tasteful tunes I play on weekends and around the other traps pay quite reasonably but at the end of the day it doesn’t have the earning potential in this town compared to devoting yourself to dishing out dross. It’s a dangerous temptation – putting up with crap nights like these pays for (or more honestly, pays off) a bunch of new records, gizmos, CDs…

The downside is the mental reverberations in my head today at work after about 3 hours sleep. The mental defences get a bit shonky and the internal monologue seems to be occasionally slipping out: how do you apologise to your female co-workers after sitting at your desk singing along with the high decibel Jay-Z jammed in your head: “If you’re having girl problems I feel bad for you son, I’ve got 99 problems but a bitch ain’t one, hit me!” I’m very lucky they’re quite nice people and don’t, and are also readily placated with M&S morning tea snacks.

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