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My DJ moniker Port-a-Party
is somewhat ironic in this compressed
digital era. Hefting a 60-pound crate of 45s on and off buses is itself a part of the performance (although there is no conscious audience). Never mind that 10 times as many songs now tuck into breast pocket. I'm not sure why I do it other than I love the music--the warm sound of vinyl, the meditative stylus placement ritual, each song an artifact. Someone told me it's better to have the needle dig than skate so I taped an oldish NYC subway token to the tone arm and the Numark my sister gave me never sounded better. I eschewed the usual tube amp Newcomb tonight because I needed to plug in direct at Vermillion. I really didn't miss the extra weight and worry of the oldie gramophone. I also lugged and plugged my digital projector and showed a slightly askew marathon of the first four volumes of robZtv. I sold a lucky number's worth but even more important were the two dudes who separately introduced themselves with hugs and gratitude saying the films gave them something that's absent from mean-spirited mainstream media. |
