For more Scene Watch with DJ P-Modern check these:
"We have a particular and unique terrorism capacity in Victoria. I discussed the response after 7/11 here". (Former Victorian Premier Steve Bracks, 10/05/07.)
Farewell Steve Bracks, it's been, well… non-descript.
Oh my! So many letters this issue, keep ‘em coming!
Dear DJ P-modern, I hope this reaches you, as I write we are on our last scraps of rotten food and our last few crystals of ice. We have been locked in the toilets at Seven nightclub for a week now, and we fear this is our last hope. Please, please, can you send us one of your mix CDs, we hear they’re really good and we can’t listen to this shit anymore.
Dear Chloe and Gigi – it’s in the post! But smoking ice at Seven nightclub? Girls, seriously – you gotta look after yourselves. The psychological ramifications of hanging around Seven can be disastrous. DJPM
Also, found this in the Bangkok street press. Quote comes from Dutch duo out of Amsterdam called “Born to Funk”.
Thanks Ginger Ninja! You get a free DJPM mix CD! DJPM
Dear DJ P-modern, I write to you in response to your request for a blow up doll of Naomi Robson, and yes we agree that she is kinda hot, despite being the devil’s spawn. Regretfully, there is…
WHOOPS, how did that get in there? DJPM
Don't let me down P.
Dearest Mambl, thank you for you patronage. And you are not the first to enquire about Miao Miao, I recall that, er… no, actually you are the first. But, as luck would have it - our own investigative journalist Dorothy Dixer has some fascinating insights on this very page! Look for the Miao Miao column and read from left to right, pausing when punctually appropriate. DJPM
Dear DJPM, this actually happened. We can’t deny it, wont even try. For a long time its been suspected, but sometimes it takes the bludgeoning of actual fact to finally make you see what has always been there not quite right before your eyes. My awakening occurred one pumping Saturday at a club whose name for legal reasons I am not allowed to divulge but for the sake of the story I'll refer to as Varollver. One eye on the door and the other on the girls left only one more eye for what was happening on the decks, so it's no wonder it took some time for me to figure that something a little out if the ordinary was happening in the corner where the tables turned. It's not every night at Varollver that you see the DJ wearing flowing white robes, barefoot, with one fisted hand gesturing to the sky and the other with uncanny dexterity flipping track after track like pancakes while the dance floor swells into ecstasy. I caught the mood like an antenna and I knew something was up. Suddenly I recalled things, things that at the time had seemed like nothing, now thrown up into my mind like ignored prophecies howling for belated acknowledgement. Did I even get the new DJ's name? That fake AK47 I let him stash under the decks-could it possibly be the functioning article? But the man was a DJ!! Suddenly that common phrase "dance floor immunity" took on the most sinister connotations. An attack was imminent. What could I do? I knew no one else had noticed anything. The other bouncers had only two eyes and from what I could tell were busy multitasking – breathing while standing up, while the dance floor lapped up the DJ like a novelty god. What warning my dying grandfathers words slipped like amal-nitrate straight into my brain......."I have no idea"..."no idea'..."no idea?'..."no idea!”... The answer exploded from the grave to my flailing senses-the December 06 edition of New Idea feature article (pg 24) "Funky White Robes Of Death" A random line came to me-"in the advent of jihadist dance floor infiltration, curl up into a ball, cover up all vital areas as best as possible, and show no visible signs of fear" Immediately I knew what to do. Striding straight into the midst of the oblivious, I assumed the emergency position.
From Alert and Alarmed, Thornbury.
Thank you, Alert and Alarmed, it seems not even Varollver is safe from the evil influence of jihad.
With reports of refugees from war-ravaged countries being refused entry to local nightclubs, the issue of race and exclusionism in Melbourne’s bars and clubs is a hot one. Fanning the flames are reports of an “entry test”, similar to the “citizenship test” currently being drafted by the Hotel and Nightclub commission. Scene Watch obtained a leaked document detailing some of the proposed questions:
Who invented the “cross-fader”?
Starting with “Grant”, and ending in “Smilie” – who is the greatest DJ in Australia?
How do you spell “DJ”?
Why are the chicks at indie gigs hotter than those in the club scene?
Why are guys at indie gigs pretentious losers?
Why can’t you pick up at indie gigs, even though the guys are losers?
Is it a poor reflection on yourself?
Emma, why won’t you call me back, it’s been three weeks?
And, er, so on.
Kanye versus Fiddy
A local hip hop night was shocked when one of their hip hop DJs accidentally played a verse of a song. “I know I made a mistake, it was stupid and I feel ashamed” The DJ said at a press conference outside the Laundry. “I’d like to assure my fans that it won’t happen again, and I’d hate to think that there are kids out there that think that this sort of thing is OK. It’s not. I should have just played the chorus, then the chorus of another song, then that Ol’ Dirty song that goes “baby I want your money”.
Oh, let me in,
don't even think about it
With Dorothy Dixer, from “Bat and Table” magazine, available no where.
During her recent promotional tour, Meow Meow found the time to spend a few hours in the hotel bar of the Crown Casino with "Bat and Table" discussing life, love, changes and the pitfalls of corporate sponsorship. After finishing with her mobile phone, a brief chat with her press agent, grabbing a passing waiter to order a scotch ("a double, something single malt, not too peaty and no fucking ice"), Meow Meow removed her sunglasses and gave me her full attention.
There has certainly been a transformation. I first met Meow Meow, then Miao Miao, after her surprise victory at the Polish Open (1996, Winner - Women's open) when I was covering the tournament for "The Australian Ponger". I remember a slight, shy teenager who had impressed us all with the fierce control she displayed at the table. It was clear to many of us then that we were seeing something special, just how very special none of us could dream.
We leapt straight in "Look, I have no issue talking about pong, its not a problem, I just don't want to keep looking back. Its just it’s a phase of my life that is over, completely. I do get a bit shitty when it’s all people want to talk about, but don't believe everything people say. What happened at the Oceania Championships with the Table Tennis Gazette correspondent wasn't solely due to his pong questions, ok? People should just get over it." (Turns to press agent) "Do I have to pay for drinks here?"
So, the question on everyone's lips: what prompted such a transition? "The international pong scene is soooo full of wankers. Absolute bunch of cunts. After failing to win a medal at Athens and copping so much shit about it, I thought it was a sign. Time to get on with what I really want to do. When Rudi suggested working with me to change direction, I leapt at the chance. Pong is a cruel master, it demands absolute focus. I wanna party, I can stay up much later now."
Which is where all the trouble started for Miao Maio. "Well, yeah. Fucking Stiga wouldn't let me out of my sponsorship contract that ran until 2009. They were desperate to hold onto an Asian player that used a 'hand-shake' grip rather than that semi-spastic 'pen-hold' most of the Asians use, how the fuck do they do that? Anyway, it makes for better marketing when you're trying to sell to Western try-hards. Well, fuck em, they can kiss my arse I thought, they might own my name, but no one tells me what to do.... No one. Another double please."
So Meow Meow she became. So why cabaret? "Instead of something Chinese you mean? C'mon, you've seen the Chinese stuff, huh? I know you Anglo types have got to be all culturally sensitive and pretend you find it interesting, but a load of fuckers dressed like women, screeching like cats and banging pots aint my idea of getting a groove on. If my time in Poland taught me anything about art its that if you can't get rat arsed while you're doing it, you're wasting your time. Cabaret is an artistic celebration of all that is good in life. Sex, drink and fucking great shoes... Do they do food here?"
So, what about a love life. "Well that was another issue with pong. Don't get me wrong, international tournaments are pretty free and easy, Athens was an absolute fuck fest, but in general its hard to mix the life of an athlete with a decent sex life. As Meow Meow, I'm getting it awwwnMeeoooowww!"
Our time was drawing to a close, so I played the secret card up my sleeve. Knowing there was table in the hotel gym and having the two bats and packet of fresh balls I always carry, I suggested a quick game. "Unless you've got something better to do down there with me and that table than pong sweetie, I'll pass." The turn events took from that point, dear reader, will remain forever between me and Meow Meow.D.D. For Scene Watch.
Mini Bar :: the free booklet reviewing Melbourne’s bars and clubs, is full of little nuggets of wisdom.
“Unpretentious, fun, quirky and classy enough to attract a well to do crowd, Argy Bargy is quickly establishing itself as the pre-drinks venue for Melbourne’s happy go lucky twenty-somethings.”
So I’ve whipped up DJ P-modern’s own Bar Watch segment with insights not seen in Mini Bar.
The Toff in Town.
Northcote Social Club.
Before I go, what is it with the increasing number of bars that give you your change back in a little saucer so that you feel rude not to leave a tip? I can’t stand this, especially when you’re paying seven or eight dollars for a beer. I do, however, have a solution: let’s start taking the plates with our change so that they’ve got none more to use. Genius.