DJ Phatrick

Renewing Faith in Humanity Pt. 2

[preemptive hater prevention]

So a conversation with Bambu reminded me that some folks might read yesterday’s post and have all sorts of reactionary emotions and thoughts.

Yes, I do realize that, having white privilege, the process of exoneration well might have been easier for dude. No, I have not forgotten the countless others who are falsely imprisoned or denied due process, criminally and politically, and may never have their life restored; Mumia, SF8, Guantanamo, etc.. Yes, I do know that in the system that we live in, it’s easier for a jury, of any color or mix, to believe a brown or black person guilty regardless of hard evidence. And yes, I also realize that many black and brown young folks don’t even make it to the judicial process due to a pig’s (see pic above) own racial bias in taking justice in his/her own hands and murdering a suspect.

Having said all that, I am reminded of the documentary of Darryl Hunt which I aim to watch:


Self Hate

First one to guess who this guy is wins an Asian American Hip Hop for Dummies CD

So, I was substituting for fellow selector dj fflood at his Saturday weekly, Magic Milkcrates (fflood is an amazing selector and dj. There’s no other night in Oakland with better music), at Kingman’s Lucky Lounge this past weekend when I was reminded of something:

I hate djing for privileged/suburban-bred Asian Americans.
Yes, charge me with self hate. I plead the 5th.

I get there at 9pm to start djing. It’s gonna be a long night so I called on another amazing Bay Area selector and music tastemaker, Ms. Lovelee to come in and relieve me for an hour. When I get there, already there’s a group of yuppy business professionals getting hammered in the back. One hour into my set of downtempo soul & old school classics, one of them, an East Asian (the type is of Asian is important) woman, comes up to me and asks, not rudely, if I was going to play anything faster. Now, as 10-year veteran of djing, I’m used to requests, both rude or otherwise, and have been able to channel zen-like responses (on the outside) to such requests. Here’s a lesson for you beginner request takers: when most ignorant drunk muhfuckas ask for something “faster,” they mean something that’ll match their drunken energies more, not necessarily something with a higher tempo. So, anyway, I tell this woman, calmly with a smile, “Yea, later, the night’s just beginning…”

At 11pm, Lovelee comes just in time to give me a break and we switch at 11:30pm. At this time, I’m playing old school HITS like Yarbrough & Peoples “Don’t Stop the Music” and Eric B. & Rakim “Paid in Full” Coldcut remix: shit that slap. Lovelee gets on and drops the classic “Hypnotize” sample, Herb Albert’s “Rise.” Now, as a song, “Rise” is fire: that bassline is undeniable, and the horns build you up to the break perfectly. As the recognizable part of the song (cue the intro to “Hypnotize” in your head) drops, the same East Asian girl comes up to me, a little more drunk, and asks in an annoyed tone:

“Can you play something faster? Like reggae? We’re here to party.”
“You don’t like this music?” I ask playfully.
“No, this isn’t music…”

“THIS ISN’T MUSIC”?! fuck you. suck my choad, or as Erykah said to a hater: “Kiss my placenta.”

In my racial hierarchy of audiences-I’d-rather-not-dj-for, privileged/suburban Asian Americans rank first. They have the same bad musical tastes as privileged white people, BUT white people dance to anything and everything. These Asian Americans tend to sit there with their disgustingly-sweet fruit-based alcoholic beverage in front of them, talking shit about any music they don’t recognize; then scream and jump as they rush to the dance floor when you play “Ditty” or “Ain’t No Fun (If the Homies Can’t Have None)”; only to sit back down if you play something out of their paper thin range of musical knowledge. I could even play something they love like Jack Johnson, and they still wouldn’t dance, because it might not be “fast enough.”

Like I said, white folks dance, albeit without any sense of rhythm, to anything and everything. I’d rather laugh at bad dancing then withstand the hateful glares coming from my own peoples.

Laugh at this: