Friday Night Music Club

Well, folks, we made it: not just to another Friday, but to the final part of my six hour long(ish) Friday Night Mix.

This week, though, I’m not going to wang on with anecdotes about why I’ve picked certain tunes or what they remind me of. I’m simply going to slip my usual disclaimer in – any skips and jumps in the mix are down to the mixing software; any mis-timed mixes are down to me; all record choices are mine – and then add to it. A bit.

For there is one technical thing I would like to point out: all of the mixing on all of the playlists has been done without the aid of a set of headphones. And whilst that’s fine if you’re just fading from one song to the next (as I did on the predominantly Indie mix last time out), when you’re trying to beat match – as you have to with dance tunes as featured exclusively this week – that makes it really difficult.

See, the headphones are not just there so you can line up the beats, they’re also there so you can monitor the transition from one track to the next, make it as seamless as possible.

Not using headphones is not me deliberately trying to make things hard for myself, and I do own a pretty decent pair; if there’s a way that I could use headphones on the software I use I would. But as the mixes are done on my laptop as opposed to actual decks, and I haven’t managed to work out how to use headphones with the software I have, sans headphones it is.

Which also means I’m reliant on the cursor/mouse to cue, play and mix each track, as opposed to in real life where I would undoubtedly use both my hands rather than just one.

See, I’ve listened to this mix God knows how many times, and every time I have, I’ve heard one or two mixes where I think “Hmmm…I could have done that better”, have gone back and redone the whole thing, only to encounter a similar disappointment somewhere else in the mix.

I even dropped one tune from the mix entirely last night, substituting it for a different one, despite having listened to it a good three or four times in the week and deciding it all sounded, not perfect, but fine.

And I already know there’s one mix in this that I make a right hash of. You’ll spot it too, there’s no need to tell me about it.

What I’m trying to say is: be gentle with me. I don’t need to know if you think my mixing is dreadful. I’d love to know if you think it’s even…y’know…just alright.

But enough of my First World Problems: what have we got for you this week? An 80 minute mix of what we used to call ‘City Hall Classics’ back in the day, along with some Cool House End-of-Nighters (frequenters of the Cardiff clubbing scene from around twenty years ago should get both references) by way of a track which sounds like it samples voice of Shaggy from the Scooby Doo cartoons, host of American Top 40 (which used to air in the UK TVs at around 3am), and walking advert for fake tan and Just For Men hair dye, Casey Kellem, culminating in my attempt to mix “the hardest song to mix in or out of” that I mentioned last week, via one of the filthiest songs I own.

Which reminds me, I’d better slap one of these on it:

Here you go then, for the last time Volume 6 (although, as previously mentioned, I will be back next week with Volume 7):

Friday Night Music Club Vol 6.6

  • Donna Summer – I Feel Love
  • Drive Red 5 – Yours Sincerely, Lionel (Dirty Dream)
  • Dirty – Dirty (E-Dancer Remix)
  • Samantha Fu – Theme From Discotheque (Soulwax Remix)
  • Mylo – Destroy Rock & Roll
  • U.S.U.R.A. – Open Your Mind (Classic Mix)
  • Moby – Go (Vitalic Remix)
  • Underworld – Rez
  • Roger Sanchez – Another Chance
  • Daft Punk – Around The World [Radio Edit]
  • The Chemical Brothers – Star Guitar
  • Laurent Garnier – Man with the Red Face (original)
  • Felix da Housecat – Silver Screen Shower Scene (Thin White Duke Mix by Jacques Lu Cont)

More soon.

Saturday Night Coming Up

I don’t really know how this story came to be.

There’s a back story which may shed some light.

When I lived and worked in Cardiff, a select few (blokes) were invited to a Tequila Night.

The venue for this was the upstairs VIP area in the Cuba bar, which was fairly close to our office.

Here’s what I remember happening there: we did a lot of tequila slammers.

Here’s the next thing I remember: me, and two others (who shall remain nameless for legal reasons) decided to go Evolution down at Cardiff Bay.

Evolution was a glossy, shiny club, the sort of place I would normally avoid.

Drunk and swaying from the tequila intake, we somehow managed to gain access, at which point one of my colleagues and I headed to the Gents, partly because we needed to do what one does in there, but partly because that was where we knew the deals went on.

And sure enough, we scored some pills, which we quickly scoffed and went out to try and find our third brethren member.

But our search was cut short, as my old buddy suddenly announced he needed to return to the gents.

And right here is where I place my usual disclaimer: yes, these stories involve the taking of drugs, but no: I would neither recommend nor condone anyone else doing it.

Because here’s the thing: if you’re stupid enough to buy drugs from a random stranger in the toilets of a nightclub – as I did on many occasions – you have no idea what you’re buying, or what it has been cut with. This is not a situation I would recommend to any one.

You see, as well as all of the touchy-feely, loved up euphoric feelings you get when taking ecstacy, there’s also a loosening up of your body that takes place, a relaxation of your muscles, if you will.

So when you neck a pill which has been cut with a laxative, as we did unwittingly that night, the rush to the toilets can suddenly becomes the most important rush you ever had.

And so my buddy suddenly disappeared from my side, heading for a cubicle he hoped wouldn’t resemble the one in Trainspotting.

I’ve subsequently referred to this as The Come Up Shits. My friend denies it’s a thing, because it happened to him. But I’ve been in many a club toilet where someone has run in, already unbuttoning, hand pressed outside of jeans but between cheeks, desperate in the hope that there’s a vacant cubicle for them to vacate in.

As I waited – it seemed like for hours – I found our third compadre. He was laying down on the edge of the dancefloor, having a tequila-enduced snooze. Like you do.

And as I waited, this record was played. And in my head now, whenever I hear this record, three words pop into my head: Come Up Shits.

Which should not detract from the fact that it’s a quite wonderful record:


Roger Sanchez – Another Chance

I managed to clench, thanks for asking.

More soon. Less lavatorial, hopefully.