“Good evening.
Do not attempt to adjust your radio, there is nothing wrong.
We have taken control as to bring you this special show.
We will return it to you as soon as you are grooving.”
Parliament – P-Funk (Want to Get Funked Up)
So, the revitalisation of Sucker Punch begins. If you scroll down the right-hand column, at some point you’ll get to a section called Funk Fiction, and a red box full of the platters that matter I been listening to for the last week on Last FM. Just cracking my head open for y’all to take a peek at the funk in my trunk. I believe that the box is refreshed on a weekly basis listing the noises in my head.
Why Funk Fiction? Well, a long time ago, I can’t remember exactly when, but I’m guessing about twelve years ago, I used to D.J. And I D.J.ed under the name Funk Fiction. We had these beautiful flyers with the words Funk Fiction emblazoned across the top, over that iconic image of Jules and Vincent with their gunarms outstretched and unloading. You know the one.
Underneath that were the words: “Big Funk. Small Funk. All Kinds of Funk. Get Blown Away at…” and the date and location of wherever we were playing.
I didn’t D.J. for long, partly because I already had a day job, partly because we were always getting ripped off and underpaid, but I loved it. I was shameless in my promise of “All Kinds of Funk”. The Red Hot Chilli Peppers would be followed by Miles Davis, and Public Enemy butted up against Earth, Wind and Fire. In the words of James Brown: “Whatsever I play, it’s got to be funky.” And we certainly delivered.
I always used to start the set with a really exclamatory chunk o’ funk, something like Ice Cube’s Bop Gun or the New Power Generation’s The Exodus Has Begun. And the nights always, always ended the same way. With the Staples Singers and Let’s Do It Again, followed by a soundbite from Pulp Fiction where Jules and Vincent unload their guns. Loudly. As the gunshots echoed, the lights would come up and it would all be over. It Was Great.
I would go to bed those nights (mornings?), with white noise and static thrumming in my ears as I tried to decompress, the smell of cigarette smoke in my hair, and a salty stew of alcohol and exhilaration sweat slowly cooling on my skin.
“Sweet love in the midnight
Good sleep, come mornin' light
No worries 'bout nothin'
Just gettin' good, just gettin' good
Just gettin' good love”
Staples Singers – Let’s Do It Again
6 comments:
You used to DJ under the name Funk Fiction???
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
Yeah, 'cos THAT's the most important piece of information in that blog posting...
And, for the sake of clarity, I should say that the *event* would be under the banner of FUNK FICTION. I did not use it as my name. I used my own name.
And remember, if you can't say anything nice...
It sounds like one heck of a club night.
I had a mate at uni who was a funk DJ (back when a new band called Jamiroquai signed to Acid Jazz, young 'uns) and we'd always show at his gigs, bouncing about like harbour buoys and grinning ear-to-ear at the happiness pouring out of the speakers. So I reckon I'd've dug Funk Fiction.
During my one set as a student DJ, using what I could find from the accumulated collection amassed over the years by the college, I unearthed the 7" of Ivor Biggun's "The W*nker Song", and made the bold decision to play the B-side, which I - and probably everybody else in the world - had never heard before.
It was called "Readers' Wives". It cleared the floor. I was never invited back.
So, using the original definition of the word which is "fetid, yeasty and offensively malodorous", I can definitely say that I brought the funk that night.
Well, B, as the Great Scion of Funk George Clinton used to say: "Funk not only moves, it can remove, dig?"
I must have been DJing at around the same time as your friend, too, when Jamiroquai were still relative-unknowns on Acid Jazz. I used to play the 12"s of EMERGENCY ON PLANET EARTH and WHEN YOU GONNA LEARN to death.
That's almost the best part of the night, when you fall into bed, exhausted and happy, with the smell of the club clinging to you. And when you're laying there drifting off, parts of the night keep replaying in your mind and all you can do is smile.
I wish I could have caught a performance, it sounds great.
Saeri,
Aw, thanks. I often wish I had the opportunity to do it again sometimes...maybe make it a frequent return to the decks...but nothing ever comes of it. One day.
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