The Voice Of Pussy

Scott slipping into a coma after an 8 hour shift of boobs, booze and blow. Photos by Big Pinky
 

What is it with Strip Club DJs? Why do they talk like that? Most people are busy checking out tits and bums when they go to a strip club, but not me. I want to know who the fuck that guy is who’s talking like an AM radio show host introducing Johnny Carson. That’s what I want know. Actually, that’s what I did want to know. Now I know and I’m not so sure I should have checked it out. You see, to satisfy my curiosity I went to a strip club every night for six months with my video camera and interviewed DJs and dancers. The answers I got were as fascinating as they were sad. For example, they don’t know why they talk like that. It started with one guy and then everyone had to do it or they wouldn’t sound like the main guy. I also learned that it’s a shitty job. Of course, you get to fuck a lot of naked girls and there’s more coke than you can shake a stick at, but regulating cat fights over who gets to have “Gangsta’s Paradise” kind of fucks with your buzz.

Here’s everything I learned from six months of facing the wrong end of the bar at every strip club in town.

THE JOB: It’s important to know that the good DJs are the nerve center of the operation and, like Mr. Roarke on Fantasy Island, they can arrange whatever it takes to get that 9-5 tie around your sex-deprived head. As Marcus, a DJ from Vancouver, eloquently sums it up: “Let me put this in Star Trek terms. The club is the bridge and we are the engineering.” The DJs not only play music, they get to give dancers fines for being late, tell dancers they can’t go on stage when they’re too drunk (the blind leading the blind) and convince the crowd to buy VIP dances by screaming things like: “Who wouldn’t want to fuck her, eh?” In return, the dancers will sometimes whip a bottle at their heads.

Years ago, the DJs were financial hard-ons—the kind of guys you’d see ordering 40 chicken wings on a day when there was no wing special, just cause they could. In the late 80s and early 90s, they made a base salary of $6-$8/hr plus $200–$300 in tips per night. That was until the undercover cops started fucking with all of the strip clubs in an arbitrary attack on lap dancing.

As one dude puts it, “Until the cops showed up I was like Eddie Murphy—pussy was falling out of my pockets—and I was rich!” All the DJs describe the late 80s as the zenith of their careers, and as a tribute to that era they have frozen their look in time, circa ‘87.

THE DJ BOOTHS: The booths look like shacks designed by a blind, drunk wizard who got dared to conjure something up using only the most dangerous supplies known to man. Layers of spandex, satin, and acid wash stuck on protruding nails are quite popular.

THE EQUIPMENT: Tape decks (yes, tape decks) and CD players are the tools. The only turntables that exist in the clubs are in the minds of the customers who don’t bother to look in the booths. There’s always an abundance of amazing posters of dancers, stray wires, empty cups, and fake novelty tits decorating each part of the stereo.

THAT VOICE: The style of MCing that the DJs have is, according to them, quite varied. As masters of their craft, they can point out nuances in competing DJs’ styles that only a clairvoyant dog would notice. If you want to see an angry, angry man walk up to a DJ and say, “You guys all sound the same.” It’s the equivalent of saying, “You’re cut off!” to the Bush daughters.


Here’s a random selection of the people I met:

Scott: A 12 year DJ veteran, Scott goes from club to club, lasting a week or two before his head gets ground into the carpet by an Italian loafer worn by an angry Chinese man. No joke.
Quote: “People think we’re lucky but we fuckin’ DESERVE blowjobs when you consider the amount of bullshit we put up with.”

Clockwise from top left: Syd takes a break with a DJnamed Brent who never swears; Candy getting ready; the filmmaker gets the 411 from Seven; Scott cooks up some freebase. Roy and Flipper: The DJ team at the Whiskey a Go-Go in Toronto, considered the jewels in the city’s Strip Club DJ crown. Their angle is that people love abuse. They incessantly burn the dancers, the staff, the audience, and each other with killer zingers like: “Why don’t you come down here and say that, motherfucker!”.
Quote: “Fuckin’ eh!!!”
 

Monty: A “used to be” player who, just weeks before he was interviewed for Strip Club DJs, became born again. He now reads from the bible while DJing.
Quote: “Strip clubs are the doorway to hell, and that’s where Christians should be.”

Ruby: A lady through and through. She is the only known female DJ in Toronto and she does NOT sound like an AM radio voice. In fact, her delivery is a deadpan somewhere between a grade school principal reading the morning announcements and HAL 2000.
Quote: “These girls work for me and if they don’t like it, there’s the door.”


Insider tips for aspiring DJs (from the mouths of the pros):

On sex: “Never take the dancers to your home. Rent a hotel room. You have no idea who most of them are.” One DJ claims he has spent over $10,000 on hotels.

On drugs: Do not tell the dancers you have coke. If they don’t know, you could get tipped with a line. If they do know, the only line you’ll get is: “Sorry baby, I didn’t make much tonight. Can I have some of your coke?”

On rock and roll: “When two girls are fighting over a song, just remember—the hot one wins.”

On menstruation: “There are all kinds of tricks to hiding tampons. Keep the lights low, distract the audience, and cut the string.”

On Lighting: If you put a red light on a girl you’ll see cellulite, but if you use a blue light you won’t see anything except a big blue woman.

In General: Keep things going. Create a party atmosphere, accept bribes, and do not touch the poles.

BIG PINKY
Big Pinky’s documentary on strip club DJs is aptly named STRIP CLUB DJS and is currently touring the festival circuit and playing rep theatres.