Vinyl Scratch wriggled, restless. She glared into the dark. You never knew when it would sneak up on you: after all those gigs, she’d have thought herself immune to pre-show jitters, but there she was: wakeful before dawn, and having to make that awful decision: get up far too early, or try and force a little more sleep?
Of course, it wasn’t just the gig. It was still performance in a sense, but it wasn’t only DJing on the agenda. Scratch had a feeling of trepidation that beatmongering alone couldn’t produce, and a kind of excitement that used to belong to the gigs themselves.
It was a funny thing. As you got good, really good, in some ways your art got less scary. You could try and bring back the danger and novelty of your first gigs through various means, allowing for dodgy equipment or trying bold transitions and audience-challenging stunts… but the audience learned too. It learned with you, and it learned about you, and even though she hadn’t played Neighpon for ages, word spread fast. She wasn’t going to need to explain much. The beats of Fillydelpia’s wildest clubs spoke loudly to Neighpon villages and required little translation.
It was what Vinyl planned for after the gig that had her excited and nervous. Continue reading