Last night Tanya and I attended a dinner to raise money for the Weekend to End Breast Cancer 60 K walk coming up this September in Toronto. The evening consisted of a 5-course meal, some speeches by the guest of honour—a friend of ours and a breast cancer survivor—her husband and her teammates (for the walk). There was a silent auction, 50/50 draw, door-prizes, DJ, and—most importantly—an open bar.
By all accounts, the evening was a success. A lot of money was raised and everyone seemed to have a great time. The hot item in the silent auction was two house painters for a day. Tanya made me bid on that more than once.
It was a particularly significant evening for Tanya given her sister’s recent battle with the horrible disease. Lots of tears were shed and lots of drinks consumed—but not by me, of course.
It was a well-run event all-around. I did however, feel a little bad for the DJ. Throughout the evening, he battled with sound issues—actually, I wouldn’t say he battled, as much as he was oblivious to the crappy sound he was providing during the speeches. But his biggest problem was when the dancing finally began.
After one of those lame games to see who at our table would end up with the centerpiece— I thought that special kind of torture was relegated to weddings—the DJ proceeded to force everyone onto the dance floor and to form a conga line to the beat of some macarenian, over-played, bubble-gum dance beat. Needless to say, when the conga goodness ended, everyone made a beeline to either their table, or outside for a smoke.
For the next little while, the DJ struggled to find his audience, playing song, after song from his arsenal of can’t-miss party songs to little effect. He finally hit upon the crowd’s niche when he went back into his DJ bag-of-tricks and pulled on some “Shook Me” by ACDC.
Much to my horror, people sprang to their feet, made a mad dash to the dance floor, and proceeded to head-bang in their semi-formal attire to the hard-rock ravings of Angus Young and the rest of his Australian posse.
Immediately, my buddy John and I began to postulate what the DJ’s next song might be. John thought he’d shift it into a little “Taking Care of Business”, I put forth the suggestion that he might actually opt for a safer-yet-just-as-effective “Sweet Home Alabama”. Both of us agreed that regardless of which one he went with, the over/under on both songs would probably be within 5 songs, despite the danger that he may go with a little G’n’R and completely ruin any chance we might have of him coming back with the two catchy little riffs we picked.
Mercifully, “Shook Me” neared its climactic end, and John and I eagerly waited in anticipation to hear which one of us would be proven right. But the DJ did something we didn’t expect…something highly unconventional that must have gone against more than a few principles in DJ doctrine. He played another ACDC song! So while we sat and listened to “Thunderstruck” in awe of the DJ’s audacity, we decided that—perhaps—he wasn’t quite on the ball and he must have just let the CD run on to the next song. Surely he wouldn’t dare play another ACDC tune…not three in a row. So we went back to our original predictions, the over/under was still reasonably in tact.
We should have seen it coming though…we should have known that once you’ve peaked there was no way to go but down. The DJ must have known this and become slightly desperate to keep people going. That’s the only reason I can think of for the next song he played…desperation. Why else would he follow ACDC up with the mother of all DJ fallbacks, “Old Timer Rock’n’Roll”. You could tell that he was running scared now. Then when he slowed things down and tried to pass off some new country, John and I gave up trying to predict this DJ’s decision-making.
As the evening went on, things got a little dicey on the dance floor again. So the DJ proceeded to show signs of weakness. He pulled out the Celtic music in a feeble attempt to appease the large contingent of Maritimers in the crowd. But he played “Home for a Rest” waaay too early showing he was desperate. “HFAR” is usually an end of night song, one that elicits the remaining drunks in the crowd to gather on the dance floor with their arms around each other and their legs kicking high screaming, “You’ll have to excuse me, I’m not at my best…I’ve been drunk for a week I’ve been drunk since I left…” as the chorus builds to the climactic cry of, “TAKE ME HOME!”
You know that you’re fighting a losing battle as a DJ when…
…you’re working a dinner/dance to raise funds for Breast Cancer research and you can’t get more than a handful of women on the dance floor by playing the song “I Will Survive”. Not even the Breast Cancer Survivor got up to dance.
It was at that point that we knew that the DJ had completely lost the crowd.
In the end, it was a remarkable eveining, despite the fun we had at the DJ’s expense, and I would like to congratulate all those who had a hand in putting it together.
What are you thinking?