a letter to the invitees, which was not sent
First off, thank you for your rvsp. It’s an important gauge for me, and helps quell the feeling that this show will put me several hundred dollars in the hole.
This is also to remind you that there was a change of date for my “débutante” since the event was originally posted – it will now be held on Monday, August 2.
I remember listening to an interview with “Friendly Fires” some time back. They spoke about their first show, a dj set, and how it was a failure. Only a dozen or so people were on the dance floor. They believe that, invariably, this is the way it occurs for “budding electro rock stars.”
I’m not sure about this. It’s consoling to think about the night when, peeking into the babylon nightclub through the curtains, I saw only five people dancing there. The music was synthetic, melodic build ups, climaxes, build up, climaxes, intertwined with electronic pops, woops, stops and the ubiquitous screeching fog horn. This kind of music is awful… but what geniuses are behind this lame exploitation!
And it hits a funny spot in my stomach, thinking about being some kind of “centrepiece” of the show… like a minister giving a feverish musical sermon to drunken twenty-somethings.
On second thought, it’s only thinking about being observed by a crowd of friends and acquaintances which incites this feeling. What kind of perception will they have after ward? Certainly it will be strange, for what does a dj even do with all those knobs and sliders?
Who’s supposed to know? It looks stupid on the surface, and often looks worse when you dive in. Because it can be so simple, so stupid. A club in this city called Zaphod’s is notorious in my mind in that there are two men in the dj booth, and the mixing comes down to dropping a needle and the occasional fade in/out.
In this way, my show is reactionary. Thinking: I’m sure this can be fun… this should be fun! But I’ve never been to a club and had fun; they actually repulse me several ways. This is to fix what repulses me, and to add what should be.
But in the end this show is nothing but a summer project, a distraction. My passion for playing, creating and listening to music has hardened into habit and technical curiosity. In a word, it’s dead. Sound is a smorgasbord too large to actually hold my interest. The more I delve into it, the more complex and infinite the possibilities become.
What really holds one’s passion, (and this I’ve known for some time,) are the limitations. Pen and paper; ski and snow; igneous, sedimentary, metamorphic and your display case; your tongue and a foreign language.
Your solitary life, and the delphic fourth dimension keeping it as such.