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Author: admin, 13.05.2016. Category: Buzzing In Ears

In any other profession - apart from maybe construction or being Oliver Reed - this level of functional alcoholism would be seen as a serious hindrance to your work, but for DJs the opposite is true: your debauched lifestyle is one of your selling points.
With this in mind, Snorkel sets of for his first gig of the year with the noble intention of remaining stone cold sober for the entirety, of treating his job as just that: a job. DJs are concerned with connecting with people, but by the very nature of their job they must do this without words.
But the unavoidable conclusion is that perhaps Rich would find it easier to get a bit of headspace if he could enjoy that mountain without obsessively spurting every thought that enters his perfectly coiffeured head into cyberspace.
An international jet-setting DJ sits alone in an airport eating a reasonably priced and well seasoned burger, checking his twitter mentions between bites using the free and speedy wifi. An entirely fictional DJ - let’s call him Snorkel - sits on his sofa stifling a panic attack while watching a dubbed version of Rock Of Ages. Fortunately for Snorkel this moment of clarity has arrived on the one day of the year when the entire developed world is resolving to live a better life, declaring which bad habits they are going to leave behind in the year just past. Along with millions of other well-meaners Snorkel pledges not to touch a drop of alcohol until February.
Alcohol is the lubricant that keeps the cogs of the music business so very slowly turning, and keeping up appearances means staying well and truly off the wagon. This will be the biggest test of his willpower yet, made doubly hard by the fact that the promoter will be doing everything in his power to make sure that Snorkel gets very drunk. That puppyish promoter enthusiasm, seven shot glasses and six pairs of expectant young eyes backstage are enough to break him.
We thought we would write an acerbic think-piece about one particular tweet, poking fun at the ungrateful no-marks that rung in your new year with a spinback of their half-arsed whubbuda-whubbuda Katy Perry remix then complained about the lack of power outlets backstage. After weeks of trying to find a night that’s not too expensive and not sold out, of trying coordinate friends and loved ones.
And a couple of years pass, and the bookings mount, and before you know it every weekend is spent in a strange yet familiar airport, tired and hungover, 800 euros in your pocket and a solemn pride in your loins. Perhaps he hires some kind of 3G chinook heli-router to follow him at all times from a safe distance, ensuring that he can tweet the moment inspiration strikes. More importantly though, why is Richie Hawtin tweeting from the side of a 10,000 ft mountain? Apart from the occasional bit of twaddle screamed into the ear of an eager fan, DJs rely on the medium of other-peoples-music to create these bonds. There is no one else around apart from an attractive young waitress who occasionally brings him a frosty bottle of locally brewed pale ale.
Our team have constructed this scenario by reverse engineering the reams of DJ airport tweets we receive every day. They are a place for nursing hangovers and solitary examination of self, and the sugar-freakout kids running around spilling slush puppy on your trainers and screaming about which jelly bean shop they’re going to next only exacerbate matters. Some might say that just because some breaks festival in the Benelux is paying for your plane ticket don’t mean you can swan about Stansted like you own the fucking place.

Parched mouth, throbbing eyeballs and a distant sense of dread will be his unwelcome but strangely comforting companions for the day, like old school friends that you essentially hate but whose presence can’t help but fill you with a warm nostalgia for simpler times. Twitter, then, is the ideal tool for connecting with devotees on a more human level, the perfect platform to show the world the real guy behind the guy behind the decks.
DJs professional lives are spent in large, loud rooms filled with strangers, and sometimes they just want a bit of peace.
For Joey, the spiritual vacuum left by the absence of beer can probably be filled by watching Gogglebox, or drilling a hole in a wall, or looking into the loving eyes of his child or some shit. Yeah, well, we gave Skream 3 bottles of vodka and a gram of cocaine and he shat himself then had to have his stomach pumped. And as we all know there is only one way to get through a day with friends like these: take them to the pub. In a week or two when Nathan peeks over his iPhone in the staff room to ask them how they spent the big night, they will be able to say that they were somewhere, surrounded by some people of a similar age, getting tweaked on balloons and doing the cupid shuffle; not sipping on a dissorano and watching Jools Holland and Suggs ring in the new year with an elaborate honky tonk rendition of Auld Lang Syne.
There are only so many ways you can write about being tired, or eating a burger, or being in an airport, or being tired, or being in a slightly different airport. He finally feels like a real adult human being, and the rest of his life, free from bullshit entrapments like booze and recreational drugs, stretches out productively in front of him.
They’ll get you enough mash that you can give mash to all of your mates backstage, leave mash all over the table and still have had enough mash that every time you burp for the next week it tastes of mash.
We remember the first European bookings, the excitement of being alone in an airport, never quite getting over the fact that someone else has paid for your flight.
Snorkel doesn’t want to be the guy that pours alcohol-free piss all over their chips.
We remember splashing out on a warm can of Heineken on the plane, quietly hoping the businessman sitting next to you will ask you what your travels are in aid of.
No, like any self respecting adult he drinks the drinks put in front of him, and It doesn’t take long for that familiar and reassuring contentedness to start flowing through the ventricles and firing through the synapses, dissolving Snorkels utopian vision of a sober life in its wake.
Looking around him at the handsome young foreign people full of life and joy and youth, drinking and laughing and kind-of-dancing, he understands that this is his place in the world.
And you will do it all again next weekend, or perhaps even tonight, like the goddamn professional that you are.
Bring a clean pair of undies, because you’re probably going to need them tomorrow morning when you wake up in Rhyl handcuffed to a pedalo.

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