Karma curmudgeon

By JACK OATMON

I’ll tell you what the problem is with university student audiences. Or perhaps this could be interpreted as the problem with me, depending on what way you swing it. So dig it—there I am, layin’ down some serious grooves for a student function in the form of some Kano and a bit of Giorgio, and I can see that these cats aren’t really feeling the galactic disco mothership vibe. So when a girl approaches me all doe-eyed and asks if I have any hip hop, I smile. Do I ever! I slam down a classic Afrika Bambaataa cut. Now I know these are some pretty antiquated jams, outdating me and probably every other person in the room. But you can’t date the Bambaataa. The Bambaataa is a timeless, cosmic perpetuity of funktacular genius. Then a couple of young ladies come up, looking somewhat skeptical, and I say, “Listen, I’m gonna hook you up.” So I hit ’em with “Jam on It” by Newcleus. Damn! That’s some crazy shit, I’m thinking, they can’t rebuke this indelible eruption of spastication. Then one of the girls leans over and says, “Well, do you have anything more, um, beat-oriented? Like Rhianna?”

This is what you call a catastrophic failure to communicate, and such irritating misfires and muck-ups are the theme, not only of this column, but seemingly of many recent events. I’ll give you an example of a misfire. I’ve been hounding promoters to book Alan Braxe for as long as I’ve had the gall to hound promoters about stuff. And who should book one of my very favourite house producers but a restaurant? Not a nightclub, where I could wail and sway to the finest of uplifting electronic jams. Not just any restaurant either, but one I can very decidedly not afford to hang out at for an evening. Blast you, foul luck! Of course, I am by no means criticizing Time Supperclub for making the very prescient and wonderful decision to bring Braxe to town for the first time on Saturday night, Dec. 13.

There’s more. While not nearly as irritating as a universally incompetent and disabled parliament during a huge economic meltdown, for instance, another misfire came last month for the Boomboxx party at Zoobizarre. NYC’s DJ/Rupture had three flights in a row cancelled on him and thus could not appear at the inaugural night of the monthly. But the good news is that the night will be relaunching with him and the U.K.’s Gervase this Saturday. Check that for a dope night of dancehall, cumbia, crunk and numerous world/club crosspollinations.

So it’s not all bad news. And to help you forget about the poop embroiling the politics and the production lines, here’s more good news. Toronto’s ’90s anachronism Mansion will be throwing down some heavily Bangalter-influenced filter house as well as catchy-if-hastily-produced, Chicago-style remixes at Coda on Friday night, and Mike Simonetti’s back in town at the same club on Saturday to weave some sweet disco magic, old and new. And for a real cold-weather, crappy-news-countering pick-me-up, peep the Piknic Électronik site for their freshly released programming for this year’s edition of the ever-expanding Igloofest. Sweet!

MAYBE I SHOULD JUST START LISTENING TO FRIGGIN’
RHIANNA... jack.oatmon@gmail.com