When I first started dj'ing out-of-town, some friends decided to road trip to
Denver for a party. One friend tried to book me, Jeremy Reese,
and Jajo to play at a Friday night pre-party. After a twenty-some-odd hour drive,
we settled into a hotel and headed for the pre-party. At first, whoever was in
charge didn't want to let us play at all. After some cajoling, he agreed to let
us play for half an hour each. When Jeremy and I got the news, we instantly agreed to
let Jajo take the full hour and a half, since he was a much more accomplished dj than we
were. I don't remember the rest, I think we all ended up playing some sort of set anyway.
What remember most clearly was that initial panicked disappointment.
The next night at the big party we drove up north of Boulder to a mountain valley.
The party was fantastic - a huge sweaty affair in a barn that was full of energy
all night long. Finally, at around 7 A.M. my moment arrived. I played exactly three
records in a small and completely empty tent that was stationed at the side of the barn.
Then someone came in the tent and turned off the sound and started tearing the system
down. By that time, I was kind of glad it was over. Well, we still had a twenty four
hour drive home to endure. The Colorado State Highway Patrol was kind enough to add
a couple of hours to our trip by pulling us over and exhaustively searching the vehicle.
One of the officers was elated when he spotted my Acid Junkies record bag. I could tell
by his facial expression that he was certain that I had drugs in the bag marked "drugs."
Of course there was nothing there. Having failed to locate anything of interest, the
patrolmen left us and all of our disassembled luggage by the side of the road and drove off.
Nebraska beckoned to our East. The drive continued on.