The crowd in Philadelphia was ideal: hungry and alluringly naive (like the mythical "farmer's daughter"), but somehow in possession of a disco instinct (her father is a gay farmer who came out when she was three and grows only opium poppies). Such a crowd is rare and usually cultivated, like opium poppies, by a few optimistic, trendy/cool kids doing something new in their city. Sure, the crowd will soon grow jaded and the kids will turn into various variations of me, but let's try to enjoy the now.
Speaking of the now, I'm going to be playing in Munich and Plock (that's Poland) this week. I may or may not report back on that. My recent blogular silence confirms an inner conflict, since I've come to the conclusion that I can't really report on anything truly scandalous (or pick apart in detail the doltish promoters, agents and clubbers I'm forced to deal with in this "profession") without implicating the hands that feed. After all, I make my living from promoters, agents and clubbers.
I suppose I'll struggle with this issue a bit and eventually resolve it one way or the other.
- One Way: It's OK to be a douche and I hate the music business. I'm naming names.
- The Other: I should be thankful. Plus, I'll stop getting gigs if the wrong people read what I write about them.
- The Third Path: No one reads this except my dad. I'll just send him private emails.
- The Fourth Dimension: I'll become the Perez Hilton of "DJing" (but somehow less hated - maybe more like a mix of Hilton and a waiter at Ed Debevic's) and people will book me at parties just to get trashed in my blog afterward. Even though this is a long shot, it's the reality I wish for the most.