I know this is gonna sound real kid-ish, but when I started DJing, the thing that really stuck with me was when my people, like my pops, pals and other peeps made the time to see me do my thing. Makes you feel like you can't cut yourself any slack, and that they wanna see you do it up big time, like my dad did. I told you earlier that he would let me spin at one of his personal events, if I stepped my DJ game up, right? Turns out that wasn't no empty motivational promise he laid down.
The day he came in on one of my practice DJ sessions, I had my cans unplugged, which I didn't realize until he tapped me on the shoulder, and said, "That sounds super solid, Vinyl." I was shook into making a mad awful scratch that instant, more so when he added, "Almost makes me think you're ready to step up, and put some real records to work" Later that weekend, I heard them reminisce over how they met watching the Drift King of Japonica leave some buster in the dust on a mountain road track, with my mom doing, presumably, the funky little dance on the sidelines that first caught his attention. It was kinda sweet in a way, but when they started talking about their anniversary dinner, my dad made a proposal I couldn't believe:
"How would you feel about Vinyl DJing it?"
Never mind the fact that this was a wedding gig, this was to be my first gig ever. After my mom officially gave me the offer, I still couldn't believe it, and worked double time to cover up her how shook I was at the notion of playing in public. I knew I had the DJ thing on lock in practice, but in a live setting, where anything could go wrong? Whole different ball game. If I'mma be straight with you, I gotta tell you that I didn't think I could do it. I could hear the voices in my head telling me it would be too hard, that the crowd could care less about a little punk like me trying to spin a set, that I was gonna faceplant hard if I tried it, so I should have turned her down on the spot.
After my dad helped me sort out a set, we took the crate of vinyls to his DJ friend's pad, and let me at a real deal, vinyl playing wheels of steel. Seeing that glorious machine brought back the promise my dad made the first day I trained my skills, that as soon as I had my turntable fundamentals on lockdown, I was ready to start scratching with a real record. I listened to the set on the way to the spot, and felt everything I learned about DJing come rushing at me, from how to determine a song's BPM by ear, to how to transition from one song to the other, and using the tools of the turntable to completely transform the mood(s) of a song. My dad probably thought I knew them like it was 1+1, 'cause as we stepped towards the spot, he told me I also had to make at least one original turntable routine to debut during the dinner. I knew then and there my dad wanted more than just some human shuffle playlist on the deck, he wanted a show, one I felt I wasn't ready to put on.
That whole practice session, my body was shaking like a leaf in the wind, something soon apparent to my dad's turntablist friend. He was keeping tabs on me while I got my feet under me, and had no doubts about how shook I was about everything, taking me aside for a quick pep talk.
"Last time I saw you at Stacks, you were scratching and crossfading like you were a pro. What's up, Vinyl?"
"Stacks? You mean you're Ice Cold, that slim looking dude in the black tracksuit I was learning turntablism from?"
"The same. With a bit more muscle, and soul patch, though. For real, though, why so shook?"
"Well this is my first time spinning for a crowd, and-"
"You think you ain't ready, right? I'll let you in on an industry secret: ain't nobody ready for that live hype. You can practice all you want, but when it's go time, you can't control if your gear decides to break down, or if the crowd don't dig you, or if mix up your records, and pop the wrong one on. What you can control, though, is how you react"
"Then how do I know what to do when things go belly up?"
"That's what practice is for, baby. Get them skills down solid, and do it as many different ways as you can. That way, if something gets funked up beyond your control, it ain't a showstopper, just a sign that it's time to get funky with it, and give the crowd something fresh, you dig?" At that point, I knew the only thing left to do was hit the decks, and work on getting those skills down solid.
I can't begin to describe the rush I got from putting the needle on the record, and feeling those ridges move beneath my fingers, working until I wasn't just flipping from one song to the next, but making it feel like those songs belonged together, and melded into each other. Part of that was from how much pressure I put on myself, but the way Ice Cold demanded that every movement I made was with utmost purpose let me know it was go time.
His wife saw that, too, when she came in on one of my practice sessions, and brought us iced coffee and glazed cinnamon rolls. After hours of drilling scratches and crossfading techniques, that piping hot sweetness steaming off the rolls told me both of them were fresh from the kitchen, and made both of us salivate like a dog hearing the dinner bell. When I looked up from the decks, I totally saw her stand there in nothing but the golden curls on her head and an apron around her sensitive spots, and say, "I think it's time for a break. You've certainly worked hard enough to earn one, haven't you?"
We jibber jabbered about my parents' reception at the dining table, when his wife...Quiet Storm, I think her name was? Asked me how my original routine was coming along. Since most of my time was spent sharpening my skills, the only thing I could say was "I don't got a shred of an idea on where to begin"
"Well, when your mom called earlier, and she talked a ton about how her family was flying in from Japonica just for the dinner. Why don't you try out some of the Japonican records she popped in the crate, and hit 'em with a new view on that traditional flair? I heard enough of your practice session to know you got everything you need to make it hot"
With that encouragement and a full stomach I went back to the decks, and worked those Japonican grooves until something started to click. Under Ice Cold's guidance, I ended up hammering out a little something like this wild number before I headed home for the day. As I rode home with my mom, the only thing I could think of was how much I didn't wanna disappoint her or her folks. I mean, it's one thing to let down someone like my folks, who I can mend fences with, if it goes belly up, but to do that to in front of people who flew across an ocean to see their little girl? Not so easy to patch things up.
I still remember you telling me to calm down the day before the big dinner, telling me I'd do fine, and that even though you'd be stuck at a school recital that day, you'd totally be cheering me on. Hearing you say meant a lot to me as me and Ice Cold worked out a few last kinks in the set up at the event. As the guests started filing into that fancy dining hall, Ice Cold handed me a pair of funky looking sunglasses his wife got for me at the local bodega, and said, "Don't even trip. You got this wrapped up, PON-3"
The moment I put those sunglasses, I felt a vibe come over I never knew before. I wasn't some punk kid who wanted to do good to people, I was a performer dressed in a sleeveless white shirt, kinda tore up blue jeans and and some mad nice black and white Chucks there to give people a show, and give them a party they'd never forget. The social skills that Ice Cold had me learn came in real handy, too, especially when people started making requests and started hitting on me as the party wore on, and folks got drunker and drunker. I knew for sure he had my back when someone in the crowd yelled "Play Freebird!" and right in the crate was Lynyrd Skynyrd's vinyl with a note on top saying "Because there's always one at every party asking for it"
When my mom came to the mic on the stage beside me, I knew the time had come for me to break out the set of records I chose for my routine, the one I spent hours and hours creating, drilling, and polishing until it shined like the sun. By the time my mom was through announcing my routine, the records and the needles were in position, and it was time to show them the results of my time in the lab. The more I scratched the records and worked the knobs and sliders of my mixer, the more the groove came over me-and pretty soon over the crowd, too! People were getting out of their seats, off the wall, and moving with it, with one of the kids in the back even yelling "Saikou!" which I later learned meant something like "That was sick!" The buzz I felt throughout my body was incredible, the energy I got from the crowd was something I never knew before that day- and something I wanted more of. That day was the day I knew I wanted to be a DJ, that day was the day I finally got my cutie mark, that day was the day I finally felt alive, and like my life had a purpose beyond eat, sleep, study. I was thinking that somehow, some way, you'd get to that party and share my joy in what was the best day of my life, but every time I looked at the crowd, the thing that stuck out most was that you weren't ever in it.
I totally understood why. There's no way I'd ask you to do your orchestra mates raw just to come see me play some wedding party, and I wanted you to do what you had to be a better musician, just like I was. That's why you never saw me get worked up over it, even after you apologized for not making it, and directly asked if I was mad. I knew you had a solid reason, I knew that your orchestra came first, and I knew it'd help you become a better musician, but for a long time, I never forgot how empty I felt inside knowing the person I respected most as a musician, the person who grew to be one of my best friends, the person who gave me the courage I needed the day before the bucking event was the one person I wanted to see there most, the one person who never showed up. Ice Cold probably knew that on instinct, because after my performance, he immediately came up and
offered to spin for the rest of the event, while his wife and I went off for chat away from the party.
After we got to their car, she checked that no one else was around, and said, "If you're upset about anything, just go ahead and let it out." I took off the glasses, and handed them to her as I let out one of the longest strings of curses I ever had up to that point. My eyes were hot with tears, my voice was hoarse from all the screaming, and I was about to punch through the car window, when Quiet Storm took my balled up fist by the hand, and gave me that half closed gaze that told me, "I know how you feel, honey. It's gonna be alright," holding me close and letting me cry into the shoulder of that nice white dress she chose just for this dinner. She didn't say anything the whole time I bawled my eyes out, and didn't have to. She knew I needed to know that someone cared more than anything else in that moment, that someone was willing to be there for me. When I was ready to back to the party, she handed me my glasses, and said, "Remember that when people see you in these, they don't see Vinyl Scratch, the girl with a tender heart and a strong desire to do right by the folks she loves. The person they see is DJ PON-3, the DJ who how to get the party poppin'. Only folks you know will do you right are the folks who should get to see the person behind the shades"
