5 December 2015, 4:00 AM I woke up and sat down behind the laptop in my new office, in order to contemplate whether to burn my set on CD, install Rekordbox, or use Traktor for my first International B2B performance in Ireland that night. In the past I performed 2 B2Bs before with CDs. But never with Traktor. After an hour staring at the VDM logo which I use as the background on my Macbook Pro, I decided to update Traktor to version 2.10 and started to make changes in the settings. After a few hours I managed to setup the aggregate and make preparations to use CDJs as the sound card and controllers for Traktor. This way I could play the B2B as if with USB, or CDs. After a few practice runs, I packed my bags and left for the airport early.
For every booking, local and International, I prepare 5 bottles of a mix consisting of a small amount of “Smirnoff” Vodka, a fruity drink called “Spa Fruit” (light) and water. In order to remain focused at all times during the set, no other alcoholic beverage is consumed other than my personal mix. Together with some toiletries, extra equipment and some fresh undies, the mixes are packed into a Timberland trolley and checked in for the flights. This was also the case on the day in question, however when I arrived at the Ryanair check in counter, pretty soon the bright day began to turn into a dark one.
Ryanair is one of those low budget airlines, that soon turn into high budged when you start adding the numbers. Ticket price, nice and low, checkin one back, that will be 10,-, want to sit there? that will be 5,-. Want to look in the mirror to check the hair, that will be another 5,-. Want a real lifejacket, instead of a fake one under your seat, that will be another 5,- and so on.
Even though I arrived at the airport, two hours before departure time, it took the checkin counter personnel more than 1 hour and 15 minutes to help the 4 passengers that were in line before me. In the meantime I stayed in communication with my wife, while she waited in the parking lot of the airport. For some reason, I had a feeling something was in the air, so I asked her to wait.
Sure enough, when finally it was my turn to check in my precious mixes, I was informed that I did not pay the 10ner for check in luggage, so I would have to take the trolley with me on board, no exceptions. Nice one, however once before I was late for a flight, and had to dump all my mixes in order to take the trolley on board, and than to have the flight canceled. No flight, no mix.
So this time I decided to save the mixes for a next booking, by dropping them with my wife, that was waiting outside in the parking lot. I than proceeded to move quickly to the departure area, in order to board the plane to Dublin. But wait, customs.
Schiphol Airport is now to be compared with a scene of the movie “Total Recall”. Apparently Dublin signed up for the Euro currency, without taking part of the Union. Instead of having a customs officer that checks faces, and sometimes the passports, Schiphol is now equipped with “Self Service Passport Control” systems. Basically every single passenger has to enter a confined space, place their passport in the scanner, and wait to be requicnosed by the machine. Very cool system, if every passenger is familiar with it, however this was not the case on this particular holiday traveling day.
In order not to lose face, I made sure I paid attention to the proceedings, and managed to be recognized quite nicely after I removed my glasses.
By the time I finally was in the departure area, I had a mere 5 minutes left before boarding time, and had 10 minutes to get there. However before I started to walk at a comfortable but hasty pace, I decided to call my wife and inform her that I was finally inside, and walking toward the departure gate. I assured her that everything was ok, and that she could finally return to base, after trying to elude the parking attendants outside of Schiphol Airport for almost 2 hours.
I than proceeded to tug away my Android, and by now reached the windows with the view of the many Airbus 320 that were parked outside. Even though I calculated I would arrive at the gate just in time to occupy the aisle seat market on my boarding pass, the fact that none of the Airbuses parked outside carried the Ryanair logo, begane to raise concerns.
Once before I was waiting to board a flight, when suddenly my name was mentioned throughout the Airport. “Mr dumbo, please proceed to the gate number printed on your boarding pass immediately. You are deleying the flight”. Well Mr dumbo was waiting at the gate number, that was printed as the seat number on the boarding pass, which was in the complete opposite side of the Airport. You figure out the rest.
So when I finally confirmed I was at the right gate, and ready to board the right airplane, the text on the screen caught my attention. CANCELLED
Fast Forward 30 minutes and I am now observing the Wall Of China taking form, made out of passengers waiting to reschedule. Once I reached the front of the line, I decided to listen in on the conversation between the first victim, and the attendant. Shure enough, the first words coming out of the blond was “Hotel, Sleep, Flight Not Today”. Apparently 2 out of the 3 flights for the day were canceled, and were now all jammed into the last flight, which was full long before my flight was canceled.
Ok EasyJet, no, not to Dublin. Anyone else? Lingus. By now I found out that, Fred Baker whom I was to play the B2B with was also stuck in Brussels, with no more options to Dublin.
Fast forward two hours, and I was driving direction home. A new flight was booked by the event organisation in Dublin leaving at 20:30, and Fred Baker was now driving from Brussels to Amsterdam to catch this same flight.
Once home, I had some dinner, freshened up and dropped on the couch in front of the telly. That is when I seriously began considering canceling this booking. For some reason my ass did not agree with me, on the fact that I was trying to create a space between it and the couch. After many failed attempts, I finally made an agreement with my stomach, and rolled over in order to remove myself from the warm comfortable couch, where me and the wife cuddle together and watch Horror movies at night.
Finally I managed to park myself in the car, reach the airport in time again, and passed the test at the self service baggage drop off of KLM, where your IQ decides whether your luggage will arrive at it’s destination, or not.
Once at the gate, the big muscles of Brussels silently sneaked up behind me, and from there on all the complications of the day were forgotten, and replaced by reminiscing chants of two old chaps sharing adventure stories of the past. This went on as far as 30 minutes flying time to Dublin, just when the pilot began his descent. That is when we remembered why the first flights were canceled in the first place. The western storm.
Slowly the Airbus 320 began to acknowledge the presence of wind coming from different directions, and with speeds that would not agree with the laws of physics that would describe a smooth and comfortable flight. Dublin city lights that at first were only moving slowly from left to right, were now wildly going in circles creating the impression of an old school disco ball. Even though the Airbus 320 was acting violently as if it had no intention to land on this airport, once the ground was near enough, the Irish chap in the main seat managed to sweet talk it into an everso smooth landing, even I started to clap as if my life depended on it.
Safely on the ground, I managed to get hold of my trolley, and so also my 5 bottles which by now were cooled to the exact right temperature of air at 10.000 feet. But then, slowly the next adventure awaiting began to fill the view in front of us, and after a brief introduction, it took off. There was no stopping him.
As soon as I parked myself in the front seat of the 3 series German speed demon coupe, the one liners began to fill the inside of the BMW, that was now having a difficult time creating forward momentum against the the strong winds coming from high altitudes on the Atlantic ocean, and dropping down fast on the Irish west coast where we were heading. After an unexpected long time laughing my ass off with this chap, my body finally decided to shut us both up, and turned out the lights on me. While the 3 series was bouncing from lane to lane trying keep a straight line, and at the same time avoiding aquaplaning from large puddles, slowly our destination appeared, while the driver began preparations for our arrival. “We are here” he said.
Slowly my eyes opened to the view of empty wet space, with now and again a house planted like someone just completed a whole street on the Monopoly board game, and decided to plant just two houses instead of hotels all over the place like I used to do when I was able to cheat comfortably. While the driver was frantically making phone calls to announce our arrival, the Monopoly board turned into a green gas station on Route 66, only surrounded by grass, flying dubre, and 3 Irish pubs, instead of dry sand.
Once the 3 series did not stop in the surroundings of the bright lights generated by the pubs, and the gas station, I seriously began to picture me and the muscles of Brussels ending up laughing at Irish jokes the whole night, until the time came to drive back to the hotel. That is when I realised I did not see any humans walking, standing, or even smoking anywhere outside the car, from the moment we left Dublin.
While the driver was trying to find his way where he referred to as the backdoor of the venue, I began to try to make myself invisible, so they would forget about me, and would be able to spend the night in the car sleeping. However once we arrived at the front entrance, immediately someone jumped out of a doorway I believed I missed, and knocked on the window. That is when it became clear that there was no escape. I was not going to be able to make myself small enough not to be noticed, especially with the big baggage I was carrying were only females are expected to carry their young.
And then, the struggle with the ass about the space between the seat started all over again. While I was fighting the battle with my ass, everyone else was already gone inside, leaving me all by myself standing there until someone asked if I wanted to go to a room upstairs. Before he could finish his sentence I began walking in the direction he was pointing.
Due to the lack of humans we have seen on the way to this venue, the first impression I got, was that of a large gym used as a storm shelter filed with refugees dressed in white, with a large radio busting low decibel beats up to 140 Beats Per Minute coming from just two stack on each side of what resembled a stage, with many DJs. In order to reduce precious time on the way to the promised land, I pulled down my head warmer and took off my glasses which combination normally would work as a great disguise. I than proceeded to make my way to the vip room filled with chairs, and then the sparklin clean throne two doors down, where I finally had the time to come to my senses, and realize it was all real.
Shortly after the financial matters were settled as discussed, I proceeded to open the first mix I so carefully packed for this journey, while making my way to the stage, where Fred Baker was already shaking hands with everyone in the crowd. By the time I dropped my bags next to the pressure thanks, and looked at the CDJs placed on the table, I realised my plan was not going to workout. Instead of the normal 4 I counted, just 3. Right away I began making signs to Fred letting him know he was going to have to start this venture without me, while I create an emergency setup with the X1 and an Audio 2 sound card. Remarkably, by the time I began consumption on the second bottle of mix, everything began to cooperate and by the time Fred played the third track, my setup was ready.
The first mix, came out a bit tricky as expected, but by the time the second mix was released I slowly began to remember why every time I performed in Ireland, I alway remember to never forget.
For some strange reason the consumption of the mix, slowly began to work like an antenna, catching all the frequencies transmitted by each and every person dressed in white in front of me, and about 30 minutes into the set, it all became crystal clear. It was the nothing else than the “ICS” drug that was starting to kick in, better known as the Irish Charm Slap in your face that will drive you mad for the rest of the night, and make you do stuff you will regret the next morning. It is the most carefully balanced amount of energy that is radiated toward the center of the stage, that signifies heaven the way any DJ would describe it.
That is how it came to be that for the first time in history, this DJ was not about to leave the stage after his B2B performance on the night in question. let it be known that it took a great deal of effort from two of the biggest security guards, and maybe some innocent bystanders as well, that had no choice, other than to join forces in order to drag this mad man of the stage, and dump him in the BMW parked in front of the venue, before it was too late.
Later that night, it was the muscles from Brussels that had the misfortune to endure the noisy process of rehabilitation after an ICS overdose. The next morning It soon became clear to me, the poor man did not stand chance in heaven, against the power of the dragon that was shooting fire out of my nostrils during the night, paired with the noise of 10 Dakota airplanes taking off each time I exhaled. I so much regret having molested my friend this way, that I have decided to consult with the expert on this field, in order to provide my friend with the proper tools next time he finds himself in this predicament. This is a summation of the report issued by the expert, considered to be top secret:
“Hi Fred. If you ever make the big mistake of letting him enter your room, and fall asleep again, just push him from one side to the other, and the snoring will stop.”
Thanks to Donal, the Crew and the Fans, for an awesome night...
Randy & Fred
