#63 – DJ Splatter March 2010 Mixtape (CD063M)
This is a re-post of one of my monthly mixtapes. Most of my recent ones (2011) are unfinished, but I’d like to re-upload all my old mixes. It’s a series of compilations of tracks I’ve been getting into, a compilation of moods, atmospheres, snaps of lyrics or the picture fragment of a moment in time, and just good tracks I’ve been DJing and discovering/rediscovering, all compiled monthly. A cross-section of punk, lounge, vintage, postpunk, and “DEATH DISCO” electropunk and dancerock to fit any locale I DJ at, from cafe to danceclub. Also available at gigs as a handout in Berlin or whatever city I’m in at the moment as a DJ calling card.
Download: Mix (MP3.zip) | COVER ART (.JPG)
1. Bailando (English Version) / Alaska y Los Pegamoides (5:23)
2. Bailando (Version Single) / Alaska y Los Pegamoides (3:47)
3. The Fatal Day / De Press (3:35)
4. At Home He’s A Tourist / Gang Of Four (3:40)
5. Here’s To The Losers / Frank Sinatra (3:07)
6. Blew My Cool / Oblivians (1:55)
7. White Attraction / Joy Disaster (4:54)
8. Strange Little Girl / The Stranglers (2:41)
9. Violet Eyes / My Gold Mask (4:59)
10. Won’t Be Long / The Hives (3:46)
11. Season Of Samhain / Legowelt (4:03)
12. Man Overboard / Blondie (3:20)
13. Hands Around My Throat / Death In Vegas (5:10)
14. She’s Gone / Schleimer K (3:22)
15. La Femme Accident / Orchestral Manouvers In The Dark (6:18)
16. Sliwowitz / Rummelsnuff (3:22)
17. Loneliness / Minimal Man (3:45)
18. No Feelings / Sex Pistols (2:51)
19. Lipstick on the Glass / Maanam (3:04)
Bailando. At this time, I was DJing a few times a week in Berlin and had also gone to Milan and Bucharest for gigs. I was playing mostly indie disco and 80s wave, Like Client and the Knife hit with Siouxsie and New Order. I was making people dance at the Bang Bang Club and the White Trash, and enjoying finding European dance hits from the 80s, from countries like France, Spain, Germany and Italy to name a few. ‘Bailando’ (in two versions nonetheless!) from Alaska y Los Pegamoides being a huge hot across Spain. Spanish tourists and Germans with impeccable taste would always freak out and dance to this track. Just listen to that bass breakdown! Watch the video and it looks like The Lords of the New Church or The Sisters of Mercy looking their black leather lagoon coolest.
Sounds like fun times, but in fact, if it were not for these DJ gigs, I would not have left my bed at all. I was in a deep dark funk, that was anything but groovy. Winter time in Berlin was always cold and grey, but I had started a sort of withdrawl from people after having returned to Berlin after a six month tour, and missing places like Paris, Toronto, Lisbon and Vienna. The room I was living in was full of catpiss, stark and white and far from feeling like my own, after my previous solitary little hole in the wall the year before. Perhaps I had started to feel that Berlin wasnt cutting it for me anymore, stagnant and i ndire need of soemthing new. Some new inspiration. And there was nothing. Every day was a ‘Fatal Day’. This song kept my dancefloors company whenever there was a crowd of black swathed grufftis meandering over the floor. That cold postpunk sound blended right in with a lot of the contemporary “new” wave of postpunk, helping balance out the juxtaposition in time frames, while sticking to my mood like wet toilet paper to a boot heel.
‘At Home He’s A Tourist’ I lifted from the Fall to prop up my position of alienation from home and friends… (where were they?) as well as to punch up the rhythm at the clubs. Getting sick, from too much absorption of reading and movies, and no human interaction. My Anxiety wouldnt let me have any of it. Two steps forwards, six steps back. Small Step for him, big jump for me. Berlin, paradise and party town to millions of tourists, had become a regression. I must have totally “Blew My Cool”.
I knew that somehow, I had to exscape the bright lights, big city, and I couldnt stick around in this town. “It Wont Be Long”. I cant go on and I gotta get gone. Hating what I’d become. With so many songs like this to support a continual feeling of negativity, every lyric became a motto and a battlcry. Particularly when, lacking any support from friends I refused to seek out, these became my advisors.
Having ‘No Feelings’ for anyone, Id already exhausted hope of finding love in Berlin after so many years of the same old thing, anyone I really liked usually repelled me. So I’d turned inwards and had no one to console but myself and these songs a, constant stream of downloaded movies, not to mention Star Trek franchises like Enterprise and a glitchy copy of Sim City.
My Gold Mask was a new discovery that month, a new band from Chicago that had been passed along to me from some DJ friend or another over the net. Although it’s a bit slow song, at the darker, wavier nights it would work well and I got a few inquiries on who this band was, a sort of Black Ice meets Cocteau Twins with a Bats For Lashes treatment.
‘She’s Gone’… She’s always gone. Around then there was no she, anymore. Id fallen out of admiration with everyone. There was no woman. Instead there were ghosts. Ghosts of lovers I’d lost or affairs that never went anywhere, neither could, nor would, underscoring the alienation and lonelieness I was going through. Was I that difficult to get along with? Was I that distasteful? Probably not, but I had convinced myself I was a social leper. Lonelieness was the theme, and I enforced it methodically. By chance, this Minimal Man track came back my way. Every word was another pile of bricks in my wall.
Finally, an instrumental track that didnt give me bad advice. Still, the creeping doom of this slice of John Carpenter worthy minimal chilled me to the bone in the wintery streets of Berlin coming home alone every night in the daybreak. The party over, and me left dutifly behind with my record bag, hood pulled low, the scarf I’d nabbed from the corner of the Bang Bang club one night that still smelt with the perfume of some unknown girl who I imaginend would be just as lonely as I was, a girl who knew how to make herself pretty, but not a glamour doll. She was German, probably a student, with a pale face and short blond hair. If I ever smelled that perfume again, I’d recall that imaginary girl fondly.
There was just me in the subway, in the dark and the cold. Getting increasingly bitter and antisocial… Hands around my throat, or yours?
But little did I know, there was a Strange Little Girl, approaching in the distance. If the inclusion of this track was merely wishful thinking or a premonition, or an afterthought while compiling the entire mix, with that sad, Strange Little thing already in my mind, illuminating me in the inspiration and revelation of her Starlight, that blinding White Attraction. I mustve met her already, because La Femme Accident said some things to me of her. I was still overboard, struggling in a sea of dissatisfaction and apathy.
Lipstick on the Glass was the Bailando of Poland, a European new wave hit that scored extra points with the occasional east-bloc music collectors or poles in the audience, particularly my DJ partner in crime, Jemek Jemovit. Often cometitive about who could get away with playing this track first, although I seem to recall he had the single in his box of 45’s.
Speaking of Polish imports, Sliwowitz was a track from one of Berlin’s local talents at the time, Rummelsnuff. His childlike face, built like a mound of raw granite, sung songs of life the sea, angst and despair with a sort of acceptant somberness, usually fuelled by a heavy dose of this Polish Plum Brandy. Id learned with that to drink primarily whiskey or brandy, straight and neat. Or vodka, in a pickle. But always pure, with interludes of Lime tonic and Mineral Water. How I miss the lime soda that was standard at all the bars in Berlin. I was drinking a lot. I was rarely drunk. and I never paid. I was being paid to drink.
So a toast, by the toastmaster general, old blue eyes. Frank Sinatra, who could make a suicide note into a comedy act. Because at the end of the day, you have to be able to laugh, even when youve been counting curses all night long. Laugh at yourself. Because this misery wont last. Til then , drink your dinner and know, that Frank is smiling down on you.