St John's College, Oxford - scene of my greatest memory of deejaying and my worst
Me and Paul Oldfield - my best friend and Monitor co-founder/editor-in-chief - partnered in a "DJ company" that went by various names, including - pardon my cringe - Apocalypso.
Despite our nifty-looking, Paul-designed flyer, we secured very few engagements - mostly they involved us playing modern music, club music, 80s electrofunk imports of the kind that David Stubbs marginally more successfully deejayed to a mostly not--very-appreciative student audience at his weekly night The Meltdown
One time we got a gig doing a Sixties night, though
I was more into garage punk; Paul was more into freakbeat.
That said, that night we mostly played fairly well-known Sixties beat and mod type tunes, weaving in the odd garage or freakbeat obscurity
In the course of the night I dropped this
"You Can Make It" sounded phenomenal on a big(gish) system, in that large hall - with that huge stompy drum beat.
And gratifyingly the kids went wild to it.
What thrilled me was the idea of British kids in 1985 dancing to a record that quite possibly hadn't ever been played in the U.K. on a dance floor - might indeed have last been played in a club in America in 1967 - and even then, not very often, since the single was a flop, unlike their other single
That was a great buzz, and overall the night went well - better than our usual engagements.
One thing marred the night, though.
This boy kept approaching the booth with a request.
"Can you play Power Station, 'Get It On'?"
I loathed the song. Didn't have the single. And besides, this was a Sixties theme night.
"Don't have that, sorry. Also, this is a Sixties night."
He came back after about fifteen minutes.
"Go on. Power Station. Play it." His tone both pleading and assertive.
"I told you - I don't have it. Also - This. Is. A. Sixties. Night."
About ten minutes after the latest approach /rebuff, a tremendous sulphorous stench enveloped the deejay booth. I realised that the young man - clearly believing that despite our protestations we possessed the record but were withholding it out of spite - had gone back to his room - where he kept an arsenal of stinkbombs for purposes unknown - and then stamped on a couple of the little yellow vials directly in front of the turntables.
Or perhaps he was a chemistry student and cooked up something special on the spur of the moment.
We soldiered on, spinning "You Really Got Me", "See Emily Play", "Psychotic Reactions", The Sorrows's "Take A Heart" etc as the reek slowly dissipated.