Remember When...

I think I was a sophomore. Matt Quarez was in charge of a dance at the high school and he asked if I wanted to play deejay. He knew I wasn't a fan of Z-103 and had a big collection of tunes you couldn't hear on the radio in Rexburg. I looked forward to educating the student body about "real" music -- none of that Top 40 crap. I picked out the best of The Cure, Depeche Mode, R.E.M., Cocteau Twins, The Pixies, Echo and the Bunnymen, The Smiths, O.M.D., Yaz, Erasure, Howard Jones, New Order -- I might have thrown in The Final Countdown by Europe, but only because it had that awesome synthesizer riff.

I remember the first song I put on was Love is a Shield by German synthpop band Camouflage. It was my favorite at the moment. It wasn't very many songs later when I realized that no one was dancing. I hadn't taken into account that:

• I hate dancing and am therefore disqualified as judge of what's dance-able.
• For the most part, people at high school dances want to hear what they're already familiar with.
• I had nothing in my collection that the majority of the would-be dancers were familiar with.

I started the night confident I'd win over some fans to David Gahan's sublime baritone, but Brady Porter and Cameron Boice were the first to come over to the table and say something like, "Ummm. . . this music sucks."

I panicked.

I was only 20 minutes into the evening and all I had was a pile of New Wave cassettes in a room half-full of cowboy boots. In a burst of inspiration, I remembered that someone had recently given me a copied Milli Vanilli album and it was probably somewhere in my car. I raced out to the parking lot during an extended remix of Behind the Wheel (you can dance to that, can't you?) and found the Memorex cassette under the driver's seat.

Moments later I heard the awkward spoken opening:
"It really meant a lot to me. YOU meant a lot to me."
"Do I really mean that much to you?"
"Girl, you know it's true."

There was a little cheer and to my relief some people started dancing.

I played Milli Vanilli every other song until others started bringing me tapes from their cars and lockers. Soon we were back to Every Rose Has Its Thorn and the greatest hits of Richard Marx and all was well with the world again.

The experience has forever scarred me. I can only handle Depeche Mode in small doses anymore, but I still have major anxiety about hosting any sort of gathering. I can't relax if I'm in any way responsible for someone else's entertainment.

So, I always keep a little Milli Vanilli on my iPod in case I ever need to get the party started.

That's an awesome story! I can visualize the big hair, cowboy boots...and the panic.

Speaking of big hair, anyone care to recount the mohawk dare?

Wow, Justin. I just read your story. That was awesome.

At least in the modern age, you have access to thousands of songs from all genres. I'm sure you would be a fabulous DJ. In fact, if we have a dance at a reunion, you should be nominated. I would even assist you if you want.

Thanks for the vote of confidence, Ryan.

We should have a dance where we all bring our own music -- nothing is played over the loudspeakers and we all wear (inconspicuous) headphones. We coordinate beats-per-minute at the start of each dance and everyone listens to their own tunes. I think we'd all be better off except those who like to sing the lyrics over their partner's shoulder while they slow dance.