Dude with the record collection at the bedford artist's flea market: he's playing a typically bizarre selection of music. Typical for this neighborhood of brooklyn let's say. I remember that there were a few irish folk tunes in there. But no matter, his record collection is great, way better than the last guy's, and I find a bunch of stuff, including CSNY's Deja Vu.
I ask him if he's taking requests. I can tell he's in his "I'm the DJ here" mode and that he's not immediately too pleased with my request. Maybe I look like I don't have good taste or something. He asks me which one, and I hold up the record and point to "Almost Cut My Hair" (this one goes out to you Drew). "That's a good song," he concedes, "but I've got this next one all queued up and..." I say "that's fine man, I'm gonna be digging around here a while anyway, so whenever you get to it."
After another song he puts it on. And it changes everything. We all have long hair now, we're all playing guitar in our heads, blissed out. People are humming along, tapping their feet. This was definitely not occurring during Irish folk tune happy hour. A guy even comes up later and asks him "what was that?!" and demands to see the record--which is so, so mine, the original UK import in perfect condition.
The song finishes and the DJ guy throws on the David Crosby solo album. We have a joke about those "back-to-back" programming segments on mainstream radio where they play, like, two Metallica songs, and then like two Pink Floyd songs. And they always have some dumb name for this little gimmick. I compliment him on his taste and collection as I pay for my three records.
Somehow at this point he throws in one of those f*ck corporate-america statements--it's really quite disconnected from the conversation when I think about it, but you know this is always on certain people's minds. "And I'm just the little guy," he says. "We're all just the little guy," I say. "But things are changing man, the huge corporation will soon be a thing of the past. Although they'll do a lot of kicking and screaming on their way out the door. Like you hear now out of the music industry."
"Yeah," he says, but this "yeah" is a total dismissal--he takes me for a wacko. I probably sounded like one. He goes off to pet some girl's albino chihuahua. Cute girls with albino chihuahuas are infinitely preferrable to political discussions, so I can't really blame him.
Posted by Alan at October 15, 2006 10:32 PM