I was freezing my nuts off in the DJ booth at the Ding Dong last night. Hugh, the guy who books me, came in and said, "Hey, what happened to the soul?"
I thought he was chastizing me for the brief soul set I had just played, which I think ended with "I Second That Emotion." So I hemmed and hawed and apologized and cued up Ding Dong Lounge-style punk rock and played it. When I made a trip to the bar for a glass of water, he asked me again, "So where's the soul?" I was like, "Huh?" and he was like, "Yeah, I bill Monday night as soul night. That's why I booked you for a Monday."
Ran back to the booth. Played Bettye Swann, the Drifters, Sam Cooke.
Well, there weren't a lot of folks in the bar last night, so the misunderstanding was water under the bridge. Furthermore, I'm totally flattered that anyone thinks I can/will do soul Mondays in the future. Soul records sound great late at night, and they magically sound good on any sound system, and people often start dancing around to them.
This realization -- that I know enough about soul music to host a soul night at a bar -- gives me a happiness akin to the one I felt when I went to a place and realized they were going to let me hook the equipment up myself, possibly because I was the only person in the room who knew how.
Now I should probably go back to Good Records and buy Peggy Lee's version of "The Dock of the Bay" which I have been obsessed with since I almost bought it there over the weekend. NOBODY GO BUY IT TO SPITE ME NOW THAT YOU HAVE READ THIS.
I hope this talk about DJing is not dull. If it is, I apologize.
This book, I like it. It is dirty and sad and maudlin in good ways.