I am a music junkie, with a fervent love and broad knowledge of all things first generation punk, post-punk, new wave, romantic, EBM, industrial, darkwave, synth-pop and shoegaze, plus an interest in a wide variety of other music styles and genres. I am a relative newbie to the DJ booth, playing hour-long opening sets at the Breakfast Club (Thursday nights from 10pm - 11pm) in Charlotte, NC. I have cut my teeth under the tutelage of two phenomenal DJs, DJ Spider and DJ Christian, for the past year. I am forever grateful to them and to Jody, the club's owner, for bequeathing to me the opportunity to share with others much of the music that has brought so much pleasure to my life. It's an honor and a privilege. The DJ thing seems a natural extension of my crippling music addiction. I have sought couseling, yet have been told repeatedly that until I can admit I have a problem there's nothing that can be done. I've always been THAT guy. You know the type. I was the guy who always had a mix tape handy to dole out to friends and acquaintances on a moment's notice. I was the guy who quite often caught himself focused more on the song playing on the stereo than on the conversation progressing in front of him. I was the guy who would then "shush" those keenly engaged in that conversation to draw attention to the song playing and to subsequently proffer anecdotal evidence of its historical relevance, any attached memories associated with the song and a "coolness" quotient on a ten point scale. I was also the guy who checked out your record collection as the first order of business after walking into your dorm room, apartment or house to dissect the feasibility of a long-term friendship or relationship with you. I hold out hope for a cure from the music stranglehold gripping me like a narcotic-tinged vice. At this point, it may be already too late.To all my friends who have been on me about my reluctance to joining MySpace:Doctors have determined I have a thicker skull than most. I think they said the condition is called...stubbornness. It apparently flourishes in old age. What a funny disease. I've been reading up on it. It seems that, due to my abnormal level of cranial density, the cult of MySpace just took longer to brainwash me than most. But I'm here, nonetheless. Now, do your worst.In the meantime, you'll have to excuse me, I have to go hike my pants up around my pecs and sit on the porch in a rocking chair shaking my fist at all the punk kids as they pass by.Don't forget to check out my blog for playlists and other inanities I feel compelled to share with the viewing public.
