Monday, 31 January 2011

Now that's what I call music

I had the good fortune of attending a party hosted by Miss Charlotte Williams this past Friday. It was a wonderful occasion; the house was faux-Tudor and fo sho awesome, the supporting cast were all wonderful (several indeed resembled Mumford & Sons) and the whole affair was both peaceful and celebratory. Dancing was had, cigarettes were smoked and swords hung from the walls.

Now, the music set-up for this party (or at least for the room I spent most of my time in) was a laptop logged on to Spotify, handily without any of the awful adverts that hold it back. This meant a giant library of songs was available to be selected and tampered with by anyone who could work out how to use the program. Being the arch-fiends of party taste that we are, myself and Tim had a go at queuing up a strong selection of shindig smash-hits to get the juices flowing. All went well (apart from the lukewarm reception to Enter the Ninja) until one of the aforementioned Mumfordistas managed to get his grubby hands on the playlist...

                                              "I'm a motherfuckin' ninja!"

I first heard the alarm bells when reports of Abba being cut off mid-song filtered down into the kitchen. My shackles raised, I raced up to the highest point on the house to find that some mustachioed slink merchant had put on some indescribable dance/electro/gabba/whut? piece on. Gabba is probably a bit strong, but in any case he was the only person paying it any attention. After initiating conversation with the fellow I was met with the claim that the previous music had been "a bit Now! 46". Well.

The problem is, Mr. Mumford, that this is a party. Yes, I understand and fully acknowledge the importance of listening to new music of the sort that does not constantly barrage on the radios, in the shops and from passing cars. This, however, is a party. Yes, it is important to be able to listen to and appreciate music without an initial concern with who it is by, what it is called, what genre it belongs to and how much money it makes. This, however, is a party. Yes, Mr. Mumford, it is important to expose yourself to new ideas and art forms, lest your tastes become dead dogmas, they must be constantly revitalised as living truths through such experiments of living. I do believe though that it is equally important to state that this, however, is a party.

At a party and other celebratory occasions, people like to dance. Dancing is a fun activity and helps to increase the fun factor of said occasion. Music is a useful accompaniment to dancing, indeed rarely does the latter occur without the former. From personal experience, people are usually likely (unless they have acquired the title 'dance fiend') to only feel compelled to dance to songs that they are familiar with. They know what to expect and know what moves to make. An unknown song will stop a dancer in their tracks; they need to register the song and get to know it. Only songs that are extremely typical of a particular genre are able to maintain adequate dance levels despite being unknown. This is usually through a familiar drum-beat or other rhythmic factor. If these are not central (they were not in our dear friend Mumford's choices) then the song is doomed to dance failure. Even if they are, their brute typicality runs the risk of being boring.

As Eddie Argos once observed, "I only dance to songs I like, and so I was sat down for most of the night." Yes, in most situations this stubbornness is inhibiting, but in a situation where inhibitions are usually lowered it's not a problem. The task is for the DJ to meet the challenge and provide for the people that which they desire.

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