Music Mondays: Fuck the Shortstop's DJs

If you live LA and are either a hipster, friends with a hipster, or get off on watching hipsters dance like the pasty fucks most of them are, you've probably spent your fair share of time at the Shortstop in Echo Park. When I first moved to LA, I spent a ton of time at this place. I wouldn't really put myself in any of the three categories exactly, but I figured that most hipster girls are easy and I could probably find some companionship. Didn't work out so well. But that's fine. I'm happily STD-free as a result!

Now this may seem like I'm here to bash the bar. Definitely not. It's a lovely place. There's a disco ball, which always entertains me for at least 30 minutes. There's a picture of Curtis on one of the walls. The jukebox is mostly great. There's a photobooth, and a Ms. Pacman and Golden Tee. Cheap drinks. Overall pretty good. Plus, in the past, Thurs-Saturday nights were always great for dancing. Solid DJs playing a predictable but funky nonetheless mix of tracks. Well...Not so much anymore...

Perhaps it's different on Thursday and Friday, but the DJs this past Saturday were a complete and utter embarrassment to the act of DJing, music in general and of course the whole concept of "fun." The problem wasn't in the tune selection. These guys actually played some great numbers. But they had no idea how to transition anything. One song wouldn't mesh with the next, at times you could loudly hear the needle dropping, a song would play for about a minute before going to a new song. There's a reason disco versions of songs are 10 minutes long. When you get in a groove, you want to stay in a groove. If you actually know how to DJ, you can mix from one groove to another so it's as if it's all one long amazing medley. Apparently this never occurred to these guys. Maybe part of the problem was that there were at least two DJs in the booth, plus another three or four guys offering their moral support.

Hey, I'm glad everyone in the booth was having fun, but on the dance floor- a place where I slowly arrive, but when I begin to move I can stay fluid for quite some time- it was like driving a Mack truck through a pot-holed Philly street. I'd look over to the DJs to see if they at least acknowledged how awful they were. But no. Definitely not. These guys were having an incredible time. They were bopping their heads like they were Grandmaster Flash or something. It made the whole experience at least eight times worse, probably nine.

The only thing I can think is that the Shortstop is cheap. It's one of the few places in LA you can dance for free, with no cover. In general a cover is often charged because the club has to pay a DJ money (or they're greedy, or a bit of both). So perhaps the Shortstop pays nothing to these guys. They just take such pleasure in themselves so much, that no additional fee is needed. This DJing isn't a job to them, it's masturbation. The end result? We have to sit here watching these motherfuckers jerking their turntables in ways that may pleasure them, but leave us with what? Yes that's right, we're basically these fucks' soiled cummy tissues. It's very degrading being covered by DJ semen, let me tell you. From now on, I'll pay the 10 bucks to get in a place. It's worth it.