Club Chonicles pt7

Lucky number seven. Shimmy. 

When entering the clubesphere, there are roles, jobs, positions and rules governing them all. DJs are not generally promoters, promoters are not photographers, etc. This is a very general 'Stay In Your Lane' warning. Stop grabbing for the mic when you're a no name with a back pocket full of flyers. Stop draping the photographer by his camera strap to delete pics you don't like. If it's not your job don't do it. People are designated into their roles for a reason. Basically.... chill the fuck out. 

Hood niggaz that come to the club only on special occasions or random outings are the single most entertaining group of people I have ever witnessed. Oh my days, they are so funny. They're one of two types. There's the quiet in a corner, schemin' with a bottle in their hand and way too much jewelry on with a blunt in their other hand type. Then, my personal favourite, the rowdy, too drunk, YOLO lookin' ass nigga. This dude is always fucked all the way up, probably still has a bottle in his hand, slapping the walls, jumping on couches, scream-rapping all the songs and roughly grabbing at hot girls in tight dresses. There is no controlling this guy. He almost always starts an argument or full on fight, pisses somewhere he shouldn't and pukes the memory of the night somewhere he'll have to clean it up from before court in the morning. 

I spend a fair amount of my party time in DJ booths getting hype, and it never fails, there's always someone bothering the DJ or bothering the emcee for something. With  the DJ it's usually some prick who thinks this is the perfect time to request a song. DJs have SETS. They have a list and order of songs they intend on playing. Generally if an artist happens to walk into the venue, the DJ will play one of their songs, but rarely do DJs stray from their set to play anything unplanned. This ain't the request line, we partying right now. Call Flow for that shit. Then there are those niggaz who poke and prod the emcee to say some shit on the mic. Listen, we came to hear music, we don't even really wanna hear the emcee chat too much. So stop askin' him to plug your wack party, or to shout out your hood. The only acceptable exception is birthday shout outs. That is all. 

Oh, and for the record: the cranberry fiasco was corrected last Wednesday. I stumbled home quite contently. 

The Articulate Bitch