// June 2009
One of my favourite nightclubs is the one held every Saturday at Alter Ego in Manchester, entitled “Poptastic!”
As you might tell from the name it’s one which caters for pop-lovers of all ages, split into a more serious indie room and a more unashamedly chart/cheese sound in the other.
So, guess which room I spent most of my Saturday night in this weekend, huh?
All was marvellous. The set was a bit toothless to start but from the moment friend Helen demanded the Pet Shop Boys’ Go West things improved enormously.
Admittedly there was a wobbly section when a sequence of 2 Unlimited, Scatman John and Cotton Eyed Joe arrived (and I suddenly realised that dance music of that era was precisely why Britpop arose) but on the whole it was a fantastic night.
Aside from… well, the DJ himself. I’ve not encountered this phenomenon before in clubs – perhaps you have – but he did seem to love the sound of his own voice. Every now and then he’d talk over the music just when we were enjoying it the most and tell us the most unnecessary things.
Things like “This is Poptastic on a Saturday night” (we knew), “lots of pop classics still to come” (we had hoped) and “if you’ve got a request come over to the DJ booth” (well, there’s a relief: my psychic projection is a little rusty) and “if I’ve got it, I’ll play it” (well, that’s just excuses).
Basically I do think DJs shouldn’t talk to their audience by microphone. It’s invariably vapid stuff at best and just gets in the way of the tunes. I suppose he, like many of us who’ve done it, suffers from the vague awareness that he’s not really a DJ but more of a glorified CD changer and feels the need to build up his part.
But frankly the urge to dash over there and ask if he could give us “Shut the Fuck Up” by “the Poptastic DJ” was somewhat overwhelming. But since he was otherwise rather good (aside from three, count em three, Britney tracks in an hour and the Steps version of “Better the Devil You Know”) maybe that would have been a little bit churlish.
All good fun, anyhow. I can heartily recommend it as a night out if you’re up that way, and it certainly provided the kind of abs workout I haven’t had in a long while.
I really need to club more often.
So, the screenwriter of the recent hit film “Milk”, Dustin Lance Black, is suffering from a minor scandal at present as a result of the odious gossipmonger Perez Hilton.
A tape has apparently been leaked of Dustin having sex with his boyfriend and Perez dutifully posted it on his webshite.
Now my reaction was pretty much “oh, damnit those are hot pics”. I’d thought DLB was a bit cute before, it now turns out that he’s not only really rather buff but also has hot sex too.
But it seems that some of his fellow campaigners for gay equality are having a pop because the fact that he’s having unprotected sex with his boyfriend is not helpful to the cause.
I’ll be honest. I’m not sure that a cause which says two grown men can’t make their own decisions as to what they do in a long term relationship is a cause worth following, really.
So, we have a tube strike in full swing.
What I’m finding most amusing is the fact that despite the strike, the Northern Line is operating at optimum levels – a complete contrast to its usual lacklustre service.
Amazing that it takes the entire shut-down of the rest of the network to make the Northern Line look good, isn’t it?