Diary of a Dj (2024)

16/02/2024

Chapter 7

The Fox n Goose

My memories of this place are quite hazy, surprise surprise, hence the delay in posting this Chapter..

Here goes ..

The Fox n Goose was our local pub. Smack bang in the middle of where all the local districts met.

Washwood Heath, Ward End, Stechford, Bromford and Castle Bromwich. It was the watering hole for everybody and anybody .

My early memories are going on casual Sunday strolls with Graham Willis and his mom and dad Denise and Roy the godfather of the social club I previously mentioned.

We’d take a walk from their house and stop off at the Ward End pub and then up to the fox n goose and sit outside there with half a lager and lime before walking back.

I was about 10 or 11 but always felt quite grown up experiencing pubs for the first time .. So I blame Roy for my current mild dependancy on alcohol.

As I got a little older about 14 I remember heading back there on a Sunday evening with my breakdance crew “Street Rock”, with a huge ghetto blaster I’d scrounged off my girlfriend at the time Kay Brelsford and huge pieces of cardboard we’d acquired from the bins at the back of Dodge city.

We all tentatively approached the Fox n Goose car park to perform all our best “rock steady crew” type moves ..
We made a few quid busking that way and without me releasing it was sowing the seeds in those moments that engrained the Fox n Goose in the very bones of me.

It wasn’t long before me and my gang of best friends , that’s me, the organiser, white Phil, the shady poor man’s Stephen Bartlett, Black Phil, the unpredictable one, Daren Fisher the gangs hairdresser, Smiley, the only clever one, Gary, the brawler (he’s changed now), and “G” the self proclaimed funny one, were all frequenting this establishment about 4 nights a week drinking copious amounts of Castlemaine ###x and the occasional pint of Lowenbrau which was not for the feint hearted.

One particular Sunday lunch time session a golden opportunity landed out of nowhere. Tony, the manager at the time was talking about finding some entertainment for a charity night.

“ Stretch is a Dj piped up one of the lads (Daren Fisher as I recall)

Before I could catch my breath I’d agreed to the terms scribbled down on the back of beer mat and we were all set to go.

I was actually booked to play to all my friends in my favourite pub.. it’s the stuff dreams are made of .

On the day of the charity gig they got me to set up in the “men only” yes you heard correctly “men only” end of the bar . I remember the stuffed Fox and Goose in a glass display box was catching the glare from my ridiculously bright flashing disco lights.

The night was a roaring success and unlike my first gig I was oozing confidence, well it was like playing in my second home it seemed to come so naturally to me.

Some of highlights were Grandmaster Flash , White lines, a big sing along to Wet Wet Wets “ A little help from my friends” and a surprise guest appearance from an old School pal Steve “cheesedip” Brayford who volunteered his rapping skills offering a service where you gave him your name and he created a rap, freestyling like a young Vanilla ice.

Following the success of this event I was offered the residency.. two nights a week Thursday and a Saturday .. definitely not a Wednesday as that would clash with DJ Sam at the Weir inn..the coolest Dj in Birmingham and a big Dj influence of mine ..

There are so many tales that I could tell about those days DJing at the Fox and getting payed to get drunk. It would be a whole book on its own ..

Me playing the Specials “Night club” dropping the volume at the perfect spot and 200 people all singing back at me “I won’t dance in a club like this, all the girls are slags and the beer tastes just like piss” is one of my DJing highs and a memory I’ll take to my grave.

It was at some point during those crazy days I met 15 year old Pete Smallwood.

I remember there was a lad called Nick.. he was boy racer as I recall.
In my minds eye I can see the moment where I was packing up at the end of a really good night at the Fox. He didn’t know I was there and he’s talking to a fresh faced Peter Smallwood saying “yeah it’s been alright tonight but Stretch is just a party Dj at the end of the day.”

He was spot on..

I emerged from behind the speaker stack and took it on the chin as that’s what I was ..

The next time I bumped into this lad I was making my way through the crowds with my box of records at Miss Moneypennys to play one of my sets .. certain moments stick like glue in your mind.

More about Miss Moneypennys to come in a future chapter.

Meeting Pete and getting him to cover for me at the Fox when I was away with my mates inventing lads holidays was a union that changed my DJing trajectory beyond all recognition..

Things were about to get even more colourful as Pete and I fumbled our way through hundreds of private parties ..

If you’re still on board ..thanks for reading ..

Time to stick your book mark in ..until next time …

27/01/2024

Diary of a Dj
Chapter 5

My first paid gig.

It was the morning of my first official gig .

The 40th birthday of one of my dad’s friends. Stan was his name.

So off I popped to Tradindisc records a small independent record store just past the Capitol cinema in Ward End.

I had a tenner in my pocket, I think it might have been pound notes back then so I was feeling quite empowered by the spending power I had.

My heart was pounding as I got closer to the shop.

As I entered I was drawn towards the flashing lights of the space invaders machine that stood proudly between the Heavy metal and Tamla Motown section.. almost like a bouncer keeping the two worlds apart .

As I walked past the machine I glanced at who had the top score ..it was Ian, the tall lad from the park that for some reason always insisted on me being left until last to be picked for the Sunday kickabouts.

I’ll beat his high score one day I thought .. but not today. Today I was wearing my brand new Dj hat and nothing would distract me from the task in hand .
I’d already studied the chart before I arrived (down there for dancin’) and knew exactly what I wanted ..So I walked up confidentially to the counter and started to real off my requirements.

“I’ll have Denise Williams - let’s hear it for the boy. I’ll have Pointer sisters - Automatic. I’ll have Sister Sledge- Frankie. I’ll have Peter Gabriel - Sledgehammer, Steve Winwood-Higher love, Like to get to know you well-Howard Jones and of course the party banger of the year Black Lace Agadoo..which was for those that don’t know it’s a bit like Cameo and the “candy dance”

The owner of the shop who was serving me said “ gigging tonight fella” ?and like a consummate professional I casually answered “ yeah, it’s a just family thing for a relative, you just have to do these things” I delivered the retort like I’d been in the game longer than Jimmy Saville.

Feeling quite smug about my haul I headed home but distinctly remember a mild feeling of panic was kicking in as it was now only 4 hours to the start of my DJing debut.

It was 5pm and I started to load up my dad’s Morris Marina coupe with all of my gear. I’d made a record box out of plywood which was as big and heavy as a small builders skip. That took up the whole boot. The speakers ended up on on the roof rack, which was fine a long as didn’t rain. Ok we were all set.

I can’t quite remember where the gig was but it was about a 20 minute drive which was about all I think the trusted Marina’s suspension could take and thank the lord it didn’t rain.

I had my plan.. get set up with plenty of time to spare and have a couple of drinks to calm my nerves..

The first task was to find a table to put my decks on but to my despair there was nothing in sight. In the end I was rooting around at the back of this clubhouse in a dusty store cupboard when I spotted Tombolla stand. It was going to have to do.

So I’m set, I’d carefully wired up all my kit and it looked and sounded great. I hadn’t even turned on the slave guitar amp that I’d scrounged off my sisters boyfriend so I knew I had that beauty in my arsenal.

The guests started to arrive and as I downed my third pint of castlemaine ###x and lime I’m hitting them with Chic and George Benson that I’d “borrowed” from my sisters record collection.

It was all going to plan. I was in my stride.. The buffet was about to be opened. I wasn’t over confident about using my plastic microphone to announce the fact but thought I dealt with it with a similar level of professionalism to what Bradly Walsh’s son has on the new Gladiators.

Not only that I had a quirky plan to make the quiet buffet time more entertaining. For some reason I thought it would be a good idea to play hilarious audio exerts from the cult comedy classics “ The young ones” .

A great idea on the surface as everyone was talking about this new series that was taking the uk by storm. Somehow I’d managed to transfer the audio to cassette tape and even more impressively hooked up a little top loading cassette deck via a DIN cable through my Kay’s catalogue Dj set up.

What I didn’t pay any attention to is that language used in this comedy gold was absolutely fowl and that most people were just bemused to what was happening . It was all very cringe . Lesson learned for next time ..

It was all good though because I knew after the buffet it was my time to shine, it was going to be my Norman Cook on Brighton Beach moment.

I cued up Madonna’s like a virgin and shifted the clunky start button while simultaneously turning on my back up amp which was going to double the volume output .. What could possibly go wrong ?

Well everything did. I instantly got horrendous what I now understand to be “feedback”, all the audience holding their hands up to the ears in an attempt to minimise the damage to their ear drums.

I had no idea what was causing it or how to stop it. So in the end I had to turn the whole kit off.
One of the guests could see I was in distress and rescued me explaining to me where I’d gone wrong. I was ready to go again but in the chaos of the moment some sc**te had taken the opportunity to steal my box of chart hits that were conveniently situated near the fire exit which was now slightly ajar. All my dreams were crumbling in front of me.

It was all too much for a vulnerable sensitive slightly inebriated young lad at his first gig to handle. The next thing I remember is my pal Graham Willis coming to comfort me as I sat in corner of the room behind the decks crying my eyes out contemplating how my life could go so wrong.

I don’t recall anything else about that first gig apart from how I somehow managed to see it through to the end and sloping off feeling totally under prepared, embarrassed and deflated.

As my dad drove me home it wasn’t the proud father son moment I was hoping for. We just sat in silence.

Those moments did come eventually though.

Stay tuned pop pickers to find out where my first residency was.

27/01/2024

Diary of a Dj
Chapter 4

Getting ready for my first gig.

Let’s fast forward to the booking of my first gig. It was the spring of 1984 and one of mom and dads friends who I used to “play” to at the house parties I previously mentioned asked me if I wanted to be the Dj at an upcoming 40th birthday party.

I of course jumped at the chance. What an opportunity this was to break into the world of DJing ..

We agreed the price of £35 and I shuffled off to WH Smith’s to purchase my first diary optimistically thinking that an avalanche of bookings were immanent.

I had just six weeks to prepare for my debut. What a daunting task. I knew I needed to elaborate on my set up.
I knew where I was heading.. no not to Squires sound and lighting on Broad street but to quite a shady looking dealer on the Bristol Road right in the heart of studentland in Selly Oak.

I can’t remember the name of this place but it stood next to a second hand car dealer. Capri’s, Cortina’s and Morris Marinas were obviously the ride of the time because they stocked little else.

Next to car dealer was where it was at for me . A place where used sound and lighting equipment was sold.. speakers, amps and pin spot lights, but what I had my eye on were these impressive light boxes. About 2 feet square and covered in cheap black carpet. The front was white Perspex but when you fired these babies up what you experienced was a kaleidoscopic display of coloured segments as the light bulbs inside wove their magic.

So now I had the twin decks,lighting boxes for each side and then speakers after that. All topped off with a rope light and a police beacon light for the top of each speaker.

All that was missing was a centre piece.

So off I went to a place called “Dodge city” .. it was B&Q’s predecessor.
I purchased a pile of marine plywood, a sheet of frosted Perspex and some Christmas lights from the discount bin.

I built a huge light box 4ft square. I fitted the Perspex to front and covered all the edging with small mirrored tiles.

Here’s the best bit.
For the large part of the self built light box my plan was to “borrow” a few off the workman’s flashing lights that warned the traffic there was a big hole in the road ahead.

For the top section I strategically positioned 2 sets of fairy lights. Flashing fairy lights didn’t exist then so I had to buy a special adaptor to make them flash . On the front of the Perspex I cut out my phone number 328-1855 from black card and glued it on and for the main display a cut silhouette of a needle on a record.
I was so chuffed with the result.

All that was left was to stick on my roadshow name and of course to find two extremely strong men that were up to the mammoth task of moving this monstrosity into my mom and dad’s hallway which was to be its new home .

In that moment ..

“SPARKS”
disco was born.

So I had all the hardware for my first gig but did I have the brains ..

Stay tuned pop pickers..

14/01/2024

Diary of a Dj
Chapter 3

Catalogue of dreams.

It was winter 1983
The brinks Matt gold robbery had just happened, and kajagoogoo were top of the hit parade.

I’d just arrived home after hours of break dancing at Beaufort Park with my pal Graham Willis and our crew called Street Rock.

As I frantically tapped on the window, I peered through the net curtains to see who was there to let me in. As my nose got
closer to the window my breath misted up the freezing cold glass but I could still see stood proud on the dining room table like a beacon of endless possibilities the coveted Kay’s catalogue.

For a young teenage lad that didn’t come from a privileged background. This was everything to me.

It gave me access to things that I would never normally be able to afford.

My sister denise had previously ordered a leather jacket, yes you heard .. leather, real leather. Unheard of in those days.

These catalogues were a way that people who couldn’t afford stuff could get stuff.

You’d simply order what you wanted and it would magically appear a few days later.

You’d pay on a weekly basis. Yes it did take forever to pay back and yes you did have to pay interest but back then we didn’t understand that concept we just knew we could order something from Kay’s or Freemans catalogue and it would arrive a few days later and it seemed to us like it was free of charge.

I’d just started a YTS, that stands for Youth Training Scheme.

I’d work all week and at the end of 40 hours hard labour I’d get paid £25. It was a way for the government to get unemployment figures down but that didn’t matter to me, I knew my mum would allow me to buy stuff out of the catalogue because now I had this vast earning power.

From my £25 hard earned cash my mum would have £10 housekeeping. Plus I’d have to put aside enough to pay a 3rd to all the household bills, gas, electricity and phone bill. That did give me wriggle room to have something out of the catalogue.

Id grab myself a brew and sit down at the huge dining room table with a pencil and paper and the catalogue ready to make my little list of tat that I didn’t actually need.

I’d flick through the pages pausing briefly at the women’s underwear section. Well I say briefly, you can easily lose half an hour if you let your mind wander. It would always give me a bit of a stirring feeling but nowhere near as exciting as what was to come.

The “tech” section was where I was heading. Ghetto blasters, Walkmans, hi-fi and all that lovely stuff.

As I came to the section with hand held Galaxia game consoles and Atari video games I turned the page to see what was next.

That moment I will remember for the rest of my life.

There before my eyes was a brand new never been seen before “DJ” section.

Half a page of Dj equipment. I could hardly contain my excitement.
A rope light, flashing police style beacons and there jumping out of the page was this twin deck Dj unit.

I hadn’t been looking for this, I didn’t know that such a thing existed, it was just there.

As I poured over the details i was looking for the all important weekly payments.

£8 a week for 52 weeks
It was £350, that’s more than my dad paid for the family car. My heart sank as I knew my mom a dad would never allow me to waste such a large amount of money.

My tactic was to wait until January was completely out of the way and as the days edged towards my birthday I bided my time and picked my moment. Friday afternoon when dad got home from work.(down there for dancing😉)

I p***y footed around the subject and then dropped the bombshell. I want to be a Dj!

I can pay this back so easily when I get some bookings. It was reminiscent of poor man’s dragons den type pitch.

Eventually they crumbled and agreed to the purchase. I could swear that I spotted a glimpse of enthusiasm in my dad’s eyes.

A twin Dj deck with built in amp and full range 12inch 100 watt speakers made by Linear, a 15ft rope light and two flashing beacons.

I had everything that I needed, I knew that if I had a chance that I could make some people dance and maybe they’d be happy for a while.

I now had the passion, the ability to read a crowd and unbelievably I had the equipment. The possibilities seemed endless.

The dream was about to become reality.

08/01/2024

Dairy of a Dj

Chapter 2
Learning to read a crowd. The early days.

It was about 1979, my mum and dad had just had their lounge and back room nocked through so they could have one large “posher” living area. It seemed to be a thing of the moment. The ni****ne stained artexed ceiling with majestic swirls around the light fittings seemed to go hand in hand with mom’s tea trolly that got periodically wheeled out when my older sister Denise bought home a new boyfriend.

In the front recently double glazed bay window stood a wooden look huge plastic globe drinks cabinet, one could argue that it had been purposefully positioned so that passers by could see it.

On top of the small grundig colour TV Was a porcelain Shire horse, pulling a carriage and on the wall behind the family tv hung the picture of the crying boy. I seem to remember an urban myth of this picture bringing bad luck.

At the far end of the room was a China cabinet, where all Mom’s important things were kept, best China, silver knickknacks, a pot of old imperial pennies and important bits of jewellery. It was a place that was strictly out of bounds for us pesky kids.

The other side of the chimney breast was where you could find the record player. That’s where you would find me most of the time flicking through records and reading sleeve notes.

I was about aged 10 when my mum and dad started having house parties or small get togethers. They were the type of parties where a handful of my dad‘s fireman friends would all congregate at our house with their wives and they would sit around drinking and chatting, and there would always be music playing in the background.

I took on the job of choosing the music to keep them entertained .

Mom and dad had all the usual albums of the time there was Elvis Presley‘s greatest hits Frank Sinatra’s greatest hits Queen’s greatest hits, in fact, all the greatest hits, there was the Beatles Help LP which was a favourite of mine . There was also a couple of Ktel compilations one called Rock ‘n’ roller Disco and one called Night moves. These had the big hits of the day on them. I seem to remember compilation album of 60s number ones with things like Buddy Holly and Bill Haley. I had plenty to work with that was for sure.

I quickly figured out that if I was playing the music that this group of friends really enjoyed I’d be allowed to stay up a lot later.

They didn’t take that much encouraging as the heady mix of babycham, brew eleven and mild flirting created the perfect cocktail for any gaggle of frustrated parents to lose themselves, if only for a few hours.

So it was down to me to change the records to find the optimum track that meant a later bedtime for me. You see if I was getting the music spot on it distracted them from how late it was getting ..

It taught me how to get from one style of music to another. It taught me that dramatic changes in tempo would affect the flow of the conversation and change the atmosphere, it taught me the importance of having music at the right volume .

Right there. In those moments, it taught me how to read the crowd. It might’ve only been a really small crowd, but that refined my skills even more. I knew that me taking control of the music equated to a more enjoyable experience for everyone and I knew that making their experience better was something that brought me joy and a feeling of satisfaction.

Just imagine it was me controlling the mood, the feel of the party .

I knew how enhancing people’s experience brought me a great sense of achievement and I now know what a really important part of my Dj journey those parties were.

I realised that I wanted to be the person that chose the music, at all the Carroll family house parties.

Looking back, choosing the music for my mum and dad’s house parties could actually be described as my first ever DJ gigs, but at that time I never knew that Djs even existed.

That was all about to change.

02/01/2024

Diary of a Dj

Before I get going on this I have to say that the title is a work in progress. I’m toying with journal of a Dj. We’ll see how that evolves.

Right then here I go
Chapter 1. Where it all began

“From as far back as I can remember I always wanted to be a Dj.”

Well, that’s not entirely true. I want to paint a little picture for you.

It’s 1973 and my nan Dorothy Dodd lived in a two up two down terraced house in Alum Rock in the heart of Birmingham. It was the type of place where the women of the house could be seen scrubbing the doorstep and sweeping the pathway at the front of the house. The toilet was outside in the cobbled yard and back doors were left open so that neighbours could pop in uninvited. Washing was done by hand and put through a mangle that squeezed out all the water before being hung out to dry. It was what I know understand to be the end of the post war years and the cusp of what was to me a brand new world that was turning from black and white to full on technicolour, not everyone had a tv just yet but all had a radiogram or danset record player of one kind or another.

As a six or seven year old I remember my mom and two sisters would make the hour and a half walk from Thornton Road Washwood Heath where we lived to Reginald Road in Alum Rock to see our nan.

In my minds eye I can seem to remember every step of that journey. Past the capital cinema and the Pelham pub and on down the hill past Southalls factory where all the local moms worked making “ladies things” as my mom put it.

When we finally arrived at my nans I’d head straight for the record player. It was a danset. It’s a portable record player that looked a bit like a vintage suit case but when you opened the catch and opened it up you were greeted with the most magical experience.

The first thing that I remember was the smell. A combination of the thick rubber mat and the valves from the inbuilt amplifier.

There were two big ceramic k***s on the front. One for tone and one for volume. When you turned the volume k**b the first click would signal the start of the magical mystery tour into music. The crackles from the speaker and the glow from the valve amp is a memory that I will take to my grave.

Next to the record player stood a record rack that looked a bit like a toast rack stacked with 7 inch records all out of the sleeves, the whole thing glistening from the winter sun that poured through net curtains. It looked and seemed like a treasure chest of possibilities to my young eyes.

I’d lift up the arm that held the records in place, it was time to delve into what was my mom and dads seven inch single record collection, almost every space in the rack was filled with all the biggest tunes from the hit parade. Sunny afternoon the kinks, Elvis Presley - king Creole, Be my baby - the Ronnetes and so so many more but my favourite was by Clarence “frogman” Henry a song called but I do.

I’d pile 5 records on the spindle. That seemed to be most that the danset could handle. It was our early seventies version of a Spotify playlist.

Once they were there ready to go I’d make sure the speed was set at 45rpm for singles, 33rpm for long players and there was 78rpm for the really old records .I’d shift the clunky k**b that was “play or reject. The tone arm would magically lift and the first of the pile would clumsily drop onto the thick rubber mat. The needle in a robotic mechanical type action would then move across and somehow accurately drop onto the grooves of my tune of choice.

The sound of the needle hitting the record and the crackles from the silent empty groove was almost as good as the song that was about to pour out of the speaker.

I’d be lying on my stomach stretched out, elbows on the floor propping up my chin so I could get as close as possible to this spectular music machine as possible. Then the opening bars d dum dum dum dum dum dum dum dum dum dum dum dum dum “ the tax man’s taken all my dough and left me in this stately home”

We were off, the records and I transported to a different world, as the first record comes to an end an excited 7 year old waits for the needle to lift off and move out of the way in order for the next record to drop on top of the previous and so the sequence is repeated. The more records that dropped from the stack to be played Increased the chances of the top one skidding. It all added to magic of my introduction to world of listening to records.

It was the start of a magical journey. In that house in Alum rock, in that moment the musical seeds had been sown. Little then did I know what lay ahead.

——-

Look out for the next chapter..

Mom and dad’s house parties …💃🕺🏼🥂

02/01/2024

Diary of a DJ

Hi everyone, 2024 means I’ve been djing for 40 years .. yes that’s four- zero. 🤦‍♂️

To mark this milestone I’m venturing into a self indulgent trip down memory lane to revisit the highs, the lows and mainly the mediocracy of time spent behind the decks.

To be totally transparent there’s a few reasons I want to embark on this journey.

The first being, I genuinely like the idea of getting this all down on here for prosperity. Maybe my kids might delve into it when I’m no longer here. I can only hope.

Another reason is that I like the idea of all this stuff being together in one place for my own reference.

Maybe it will spark memories for some of you too. Places I’ve played and memories we’ve made together.

The timing of this little project seems to be bob on also.

This year on March 2nd 2024 I launch my brand new event “Kitchen Disco”. A free daytime party at the The Beer Emporium Bottle Bank. A place for like minded grown ups to come together like we used to when all this was fields.

I’m literally throwing everything I have at getting the Kitchen Disco off to a flying start in March, so this acts as a great conduit for that.

From how it all started playing records for my mom and dad’s social gathering at home when I was 10 to the crazy days of Denial in the mailbox, Miss moneypennys and the Vaults to name a few.

All the things I’ve kept to myself from all the decades, what was working at Hard to find records really like and how it was the best time and worst time of my life.

I’ll be sharing stories of s*x, drugs, rock ‘n’ roll, well maybe just the later of that trio.😉

The van that couldn’t make it up steep hills, my Dj mate that was last seen running down the Mailbox canal with £200 joint of beef he’d stolen after his stint on the decks and what really happens behind the curtain at Miss Moneypennys.

The people I have met along the way, the bar owners and managers, the promoters, the other djs and most importantly stories about the party goers that have made my journey complete.

I’ll be sharing photographs, my favourite mixes from the djs that have influenced me as well as my own creations.

Stories of how Shed Radio and the daily listeners got me through the toughest of times.

How in my mind I invented online streaming long before tik tok and covid lockdown was even a thing.

Club 6, bleu light special, the best men, Jook Joint , Shed Radio and so much more.

I can’t wait to get stuck into this.

If you were part of my journey I suggest you buckle up. It’s going to be a “warts n all” as well as the glitter and glamour account of what happened.

Have a great weekend and I’ll see you soon for the first installment of.

“Diary of a Dj “

( Name of the project stolen from Tee Jai)
more about him later

Diary of a Dj

16/02/2024

27/01/2024

27/01/2024

14/01/2024

08/01/2024

02/01/2024

02/01/2024

Address

Website

Alerts

Shortcuts

Share