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DJ Dasani

So even the waiters are looking now. The waiters who fifteen minutes earlier were singing happy birthday out of tune are now looking over at the Lady signing the words of a song she's trying to recollect. It's odd to see waiters in suits and ties. Cheap suits, big shoulders, twitching at the Lady's flat notes.

Even the big chubby guy in the corner with the dark bandana who's been speaking as if he's just left Don Hills at 3am to his banker friend has shut up.

"Do you know the one?" she asks. I don't but I say I do to stop the flat notes sailing from her lungs. "Ok... the next one:" she says looking down a list of 80s and 90s classics.

Only 86 more songs to go before I can suggest the Rolling Stones.

Around 9pm, we leave an empty Jack's Oyster bar to go to the Underbar at the W in Union Square. I've never been to the Underbar before and I wonder as I descend why I've never been before. When I ascend later, I realise why.

While I'm there I meet DJ Dasani - liquid joy for your ears. Or something like that. Not hard to miss. Among the shirts and slacks and the tight dresses and heals sits a kid in vans, jeans, white t and topped with a bright blond crop of curly but receding hair. He peers through a pair of those ovesize glasses that the cooll kids are wearing - but by the size of his eyes. It looks like he needs them for real.

DJ Dasani is our DJ for our wedding. He's very nice. Can't pronounce my name and thinks Iran is somewhere near Korea. We wave the Persian songs in front of him. Just put on this 12 in this order and the crowd will be happy. Then we go Western.

The Lady brings out the paper with 100 songs that a friend of hers gave her. My god, he used to be a wedding DJ too. Didn't everybody. DJ Dasani responds to each one with a thumbs up or a shake of the hand.

When the Lady gets to a song she doesn't know she asks him how it sounds. At this point he unzips his bag and pulls out a mini keyboard. Mini-mini keyboard. So small that we have to draw near to hear the sound as he plays the notes badly.

Do you know that one?

The Lady is confused.

Dasani launches into the chorus. Oh yeah. She says and then her eyes grow wide.

Oh no.

The Lady belts out the chorus alongside the beeps and tweaks.

Somewhere a tree falls but no-one hears it. Meanwhile, the vibrations of that fall are travelling up and down my spine as I try to contain myself.

I love her so. But maybe she needs a couple of dozen singing lessons. Maybe a dozen down.

DJ Dasani is off on that beep-beep-bop-bop-op bit that that comes after "Sometimes I..." in the Moby/Seal track.

She looks me in the eyes. She's enjoying this. Going through the music for her big day. I smile back with all the genuineness I can muster.

"Ok... the next one:" she says. Only 86 more songs to go before I get DJ Dasani to murder the Rolling Stones.

August 11, 2006 in Diary, The Lady | Permalink


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