​(This story starts out having nothing at all to do with DJing, but does involve DJing tangentially, so it’s included in this series of “interesting memories”.  Many have heard this story, but it bears retelling)
 
The year was 1995.  My daughter, Sophia was about a year old, and, like many new dads, I was looking for new and fun ways to hang out with my baby girl.  I learned about Kindergym, which was basically a place to have organized play time with your young child.  It was in the basement of a church, I believe, just a stone’s throw from the Claremont hotel.  It had little play structures, and circle games, and your kid could interact with kids their same age.  Predictably, I was the only dad in there.  We’d meet once a week:  Me, my daughter, and a bunch of other moms and their kids.
 
One day, this young guy comes in with his little boy, and he’s a stark contrast to all the upscale moms in the room.  He’s got eyeliner on, he’s rocking torn jeans and an inside-out concert tee.  He looks like he hasn’t slept.  The eye-rolling going on was nearly audible.  But, I know something these moms don’t know.  As a DJ, I have to keep up on new music, and a local band had recently released what had been their breakout smash album.  They were in heavy rotation on MTV, which amazingly used to play these things called “music videos.”  I recognized Billie Joe Armstrong from Green Day right away; the other moms did not.  
 
I was instantly struck by how “normal” he was.  He was just a young guy with his young son… just like everyone else in the room.  He was looking for some bonding time, which probably wasn’t easy back then given his touring schedule.  I knew right away that I wasn’t go to tell anyone who he was; it wasn’t my business, and I figured if he wanted others to know, he’d tell them.  I did find it amusing that all those snobby moms were looking down their noses at him, although he was probably earning more than all of them and their husbands combined.  
 
Some years later, I received a call from a friend.  She was planning a party for a buddy of hers whose sister was about to graduate from college.  The event was going to be interesting, in that I’d be splitting time with several bands that would be performing.  Her buddy was “in music” and he wanted to possibly produce some new bands, so they’d be performing that night.  Obviously being a fan of music, I asked if I’d know any of her buddy’s music.  She swore me to secrecy, and told me… it was Billie Joe Armstrong!  After boring her with my now-worn-out Kindergym story, we nailed down the details. 
 
The party couldn’t have been more fascinating.  First, I was told to not play any Green Day.  Aside from that, I was given no real music requests, which I’m fine with – it’s fun to play it by ear, if you will.  Second, in a room full of people excited to hear live music, I was a little nervous that no one would even bother to get into whatever I’d be doing.  As it turns out, the bands were cool, but no one danced to their music.  Instead, they waited for the DJ to crank it up.  Given the clientele, I was thinking I’d need to play some alternative stuff; the last thing they’d want to hear was the standard party favorites.  I could not have been more wrong.  One highlight of the evening was watching Billie Joe cut loose during Y.M.C.A.  This applies to lesson learned repeatedly over the years… pre-judging a group of people before the dancing starts is an often inaccurate method of figuring out what to play.  There was no way I would have predicted party staples like Shout would have been requested, but there you go.
 
Ah, but the story doesn’t end there, unfortunately.  Although we wouldn’t cross paths again for some time, I did hear through the grapevine that Billie Joe’s son, that same son that had once done Kindergym with my daughter, was attending the same high school I went to.  I had the opportunity to attend one of their football games with my daughter and some friends, and, wouldn’t you know it, Billie Joe’s son was on the team, so he was there.  He sat sort of separate from the other parents; perhaps they were respecting his privacy as I had done nearly 20 years before.  
 
For some unknown reason, I had enjoyed a couple of adult beverages prior to game time, so I was feeling free and easy.  After spotting Billie Joe, I grabbed my daughter and said we should go say “hi.”  “We’ll tell him the Kindergym story – he’ll think it’s cute!”  My daughter, wise beyond her years, thought it was a horrible idea.  I waited for a break in the action, and then I dragged her over to him anyway.  I saddled up next to him and began my tale.  My daughter immediately backtracked away, leaving me to die alone. 
 
Have you ever started a conversation with someone, and that someone seemed to be really trying to be polite… only you can tell that they’re in serious physical pain?  Pain that you, and your story, are causing?  I knew three seconds in that I’d made a horrible mistake, and yet, on and on I went, desperately trying to salvage some dignity.  It was not to be.  I hadn’t been some drunken fool, seeing a celebrity and gushing over him.  I thought we had this connection, that he’d appreciate the bond we had.  Perhaps, under different circumstances, he would have.  But, I’d forgotten.  He was just a dad with a son.  I apologized, and slinked away, embarrassed.  I’ve been embarrassed ever since.  While I take zero credit for contributing to his career in any way, I can’t help thinking that, after that interaction, American Idiot wasn’t in some small way a song about me!
 

​I had a DJ connection that used to work much more than I did.  So, when he ever tossed me a potential job, I seized on it.  I was young and hungry, eager to build up my experience and my client list.  However, when he suggested I give a hypnotist a call, I was a bit skeptical.  
 
“What the hell does a hypnotist need a DJ for?” I wondered.  I called the guy, and he tried to explain his act to me over the phone.  The whole thing sounded bizarre to me; the guy’s name was Alexander, and he went by the less than humble name of Alexander the Great.  From the outset, I thought the whole thing was a put on.  I didn’t believe that hypnotism was real, and he sounded like a new-age in-touch-with-his-feelings type of dude.  But, what the hell?  A gig’s a gig!
 
He asked that I pick him up, and we’d drive to the job together.  It was at Great America, where’d he’d be entertaining a whole company’s worth of employees.  We chatted for a bit on the way, and I basically told him I thought his act – even though I’d never seen it – was bullshit.  He brushed off my criticism, and asked me to reserve judgment until after I’d seen it.  When we got to the park, they asked us to park in some lot far from where we’d be setting up.  I shot him a quick, you-must-be-kidding look, and Alexander casually said “you know, we’d actually like to park right next to the stage.  Let us do that.”  And, just like that, the guard said, “you know… you should park right by the stage.”  I didn’t want to act as though I was already convinced that his talent was legit, but I was certainly impressed.  He said, “remember that scene in Star Wars?  The one where Obi-Won says to the Stormtrooper: ‘These aren’t the droids you’re looking for?’  I just did a Jedi mind trick on the security guard.”  Who was I to argue?
 
I had some musical cues to hit during the act.  He had an intro song that he’d walk in to – he’d choose between You Can Do Magic by America, or Danger Zone by Kenny Loggins.  Which song he chose depended on the clientele.  From that point, I’d keep things quiet for a while when he spoke to the audience.  He’d ask for volunteers, and up they’d come, like sheep.  The whole time, I’m rolling my eyes.  He’d take his time, slowly inducing his “subjects.”  For reasons I’ll explain later, I learned not to pay too much attention during this phase of the show. 
 
Once the subjects were “under”, he’d begin to ask them to pick from a list of songs, and each of the subjects would lip sync to the song they chose.  This is where I came in… I would play the songs they’d chosen.  You’d see these stuffed shirt, reserved souls suddenly get up and perform like they were on stage in front of 20,000 adoring fans.  It was, quite frankly, amazing.  
 
I had to give up to the man:  His act was for real.  I saw it again and again.  The gigs came pretty regular for a while.  He’d book these corporate clients for the then outlandish price of $2500 per evening!  Me?  I’d get maybe $150 or $200, plus I’d drive every time!  (I did have to bring my equipment, so of course I’d drive.)  Being young and impetuous, I’d ask why he paid so little.  He explained that he was “the talent.”  I couldn’t argue.  He was a rock star when he performed.  People that saw his show would line up to talk with him after the show, especially women.  
 
I remember one job in particular… actually, what’s funny is, I don’t remember the job at all.  I remember that it was quite a drive from our Peninsula homes, and we had to drive home late at night.  Never a coffee person, I relied on good tunes that I could sing along to.  So, we drove the whole way home, singing James Taylor’s greatest hits as loud as we could.  
 
I learned from him.  I learned that performers have to “own their space.”  My DJ area was mine… I had to control it.  I couldn’t let others, from sloppy drunks to young punks, feel like they could step in and do my job.  I learned to be direct when discussing professional matters, such as getting paid or what were fair expectations.  I also learned that, when you own a business, you’ll often get asked to provide your services at a discount.  He taught me that it’s best to come to terms with how you’ll feel about it if you accept the gig.  Will you be pissed if you offer a discount?  Are you willing to piss off a friend if you demand your full rate?  I had put on some serious weight when my wife was pregnant with my daughter, and knowing that Alexander often counseled people with hypnotic suggestion, I asked if he’d “hook me up,” with some weight loss hypnotism action since we were friends.  He flatly refused.  I didn’t like the answer, but I respected that it was the way he did business.  
 
We worked together for a couple of years, until he took his act to Las Vegas for a more steady income stream.  I had a blast doing the events, even if the pay wasn’t great.  I learned from him, and I enjoyed the gigs.  Once I had a feel for the show, it was pretty low maintenance.  I never grew tired of seeing him hypnotize people, but I never paid direct attention during the process – if anyone was prone to be hypnotized, it was my sleep-deprived ass.  
 
I lost track of him after a while.  I always admired the fact that he made a point of keeping the show classy… he wasn’t interested of getting people to act too crazily… they’d never take their clothes off or behave too inappropriately.  He often said that he wasn’t asking people to do something they didn’t already want to do; he was merely removing the conscious straightjackets people find themselves strapped in to.  It was fascinating to watch. 

​The year was 1997.  My fledgling DJ business had grown to a healthy degree, and the bulk of our jobs was kid-centered:  Bar and Bat Mitzvahs, birthday parties, and, of course, school dances.  Since we typically played to young teens, most of our school dances were for middle schools.  When thinking back to certain time periods, it’s important to put them in the proper context.  In ’97, Titanic was a massive hit in movie theaters, and it had overtaken the social consciousness.  My Heart Will Go On, Celine Dion’s theme song from the movie, was ubiquitous.  Like it or not, you were bound to hear it anywhere and everywhere.  School dances were no exception.
 
It has long been an unwritten rule of mine, when it comes to middle school dances, to keep the girls dancing.  This may sound sexist, but truth be told, it’s the girls who do the bulk of the actual dancing at a middle school dance; most boys are simply too lame to see the value of dancing with a girl at that age.  Another unwritten rule of mine at school dances is to save the most requested song for the end of the dance.  This flies in the face of the strategy of some DJs.  They might argue that it’s smart to play the big hits first to get them excited early on and keep them hyped throughout the dance, a kind-of dessert-first attitude.  I employed the opposite strategy.  I’d rather build the suspense, and leave them as excited as possible at the end.  The drawback is that you end up fielding the “dude, when are you playing our song?!” requests about 100 times, but it’s worth it.  
 
This strategy makes sense when the song is an up-tempo party jam that’ll have the floor full and the kids jumping.  But, what happens when the huge song at the moment is a slow song?  And, what happens when there are tears involved?  Real, “oh my god, please play it” tears?  In the case of My Heart Will Go On, I found myself breaking a couple of my unwritten rules.  At first, I’d play the song early on in the evening.  It was clear that the boys were not fans, and this was understandable.  Girls wouldn’t dance with the boys.  They’d get in circles and sing… loudly… and cry.  Some girls (and this is before cell phones) would pull pictures of Leonardo DiCaprio out of their pockets, and sing to Leo.  And cry.  The teenage boys in the gym never had a chance.  
 
So, I’d play the song early on.  But, the demand for that one song was so great, I’d end up playing it as the last song of the night.  Imagine 100, or 200 13 year old girls screaming “You’re… here… there’s nothing I fear” at the top of their weeping lungs.  Parents, eager to pick their kids up, were lining the edge of the dimly lit gym, wondering what therapist they could take their daughters to.  Boys were shooting me the “you’re KILLING me!” face.  Chaperones merely shook their heads, while the girls clutched their tear-soaked pictures and pledged their undying love to Jack Dawson. 
 
It’s a DJs dream to play songs that get a universal positive response from the people on the dance floor.  Believe it or not, My Heart Will Go On drove many a kid nuts back in ’97, and I got to watch.  It was a blast.