The underrated art of the pub DJ

You’ve lugged your equipment across the city centre to reach your destination, having taken two buses, a train and a 20-minute walk staggering beneath the weight of your back-breaking record bag. You pitch yourself up behind the booth and begin your set. A few hours in you sense the time is right to hit play on the record you’ve been addicted to all week. The euphoria is brewing within your soul as you look up to bathe in the glowing adulation of the crowd, then… nothing. There’s an old man propping up the bar, a part-time Topman model is being carried out the place and a hen night straggler is shouting “GOT ANY SEAN PAUL?” in your ear. Your heart sinks, but you’re a pub DJ, so you’ve come to expect these things.

The pub DJ can be one of the most thankless jobs in dance music, after the people who collect glasses in mega clubs like fabric and Swedish House Mafia’s PA. If wannabe DJs who usually spend their time arguing on Boiler Room comment sections aren’t tutting at your every selection, groups of meatheads triple your size are spilling Negroni on the decks while trying to plug their Samsung into the AUX cable.

But UK clubland in its current form is suffering. Late licences are priceless artefacts in some parts of the UK, and while high profile club closures like Plastic People and Dance Tunnel are still being mourned the competition for slots in the venues that remain open are Battle Royale levels of fierce. In that, local boozers have become often overlooked hotbeds of new DJ talent; where in between pub quizzes and Sunday roasts you can find dance music’s next wave.

“I've had countless men tell me they’re DJs who then fiddle with the decks, or just reach over and do their own spin-backs,” says London-based DJ and producer ELLES. “Once a girl came over while I was playing, attempted to stop the record and demanded I plug in her iPod. Needless to say this was met with a 'nope'... the kind of 'nope' that starts with 'fuck' and ends with 'you'.” As one third of London’s Suspiciously Delicious crew and co-founder of Dalston Superstore’s monthly Sexcloud night alongside DJ iona, if ELLES isn’t holding it down in some of London’s favourite nightspots, she’s welcoming forthcoming release on Paramida’s Love On The Rocks label. That doesn’t stop critics thinking they know better, mind. “I could probably write a book on this topic – probably all DJs could.”

For some, these lowkey spaces can offer an in-road to the next step. Take HAAi, who formerly took ownership of the Saturday nights at London’s much-loved hideaway Ridley Road Market Bar before becoming the weekly resident at Phonox last year. Playing week-in, week-out for around 3 years, HAAi’s break came on a relatively quiet Valentine’s Day. Jacques Greene’s manager was drinking there at the time, and after hearing her selections offered HAAi a slot supporting Greene on his next London date. “I remember the tune that got their attention actually, ‘Fire In My Heart’ by Escape From New York,” she says, somewhat apt given the day that she played it. “At that point I’d never played in a club before so that was my entry point, but after that anytime Greene was in town I’d support him.” After a set at Phonox pricked up the ears of the venue’s booking team HAAi’s talents found a new home; talents honed through the challenging crowds you’ll find in east London watering holes on any given weekend. “In bars some people don’t see you as a DJ even though you’re literally doing the same job as anyone playing in a club. But there’s the challenge. It’s about encouraging people who are used to listening to reliably danceable music and pushing them to listen to something that in my opinion, is equally as danceable. I didn’t realise at the time, but that’s integral to how I play now.”

The pub rave is not a new development by any means. Bugged Out’s longstanding NYD all-dayer at North London’s The Old Queen’s Head has become a yearly ritual, and at The Star By Hackney Downs the balearic Sunday social We Are The Sunset has been going strong for nearly four years. “We’re a free gathering and run on a small budget, but thankfully most people play for us for a few beers and a taxi home,” says We Are The Sunset promoter Andy Taylor, who aims to bring the glory days of Ibiza to their E5 postcode. “It’s not a party, it’s just an excuse to meet up once a month, spin records, chat, drink and dance.”

Today, venues have to offer more to entice punters inside. In the relatively newly formed ‘high fidelity’ nightspots such as Spiritland, Behind This Wall, The Lion & Lamb and Brilliant Corners, listening to your favourite selections on eye wateringly-expensive soundsystems is no longer reserved for just Brian Eno. Further afield, record store and city centre local Outlaws Yacht Club caters to Yorkshire’s more discerning ale drinkers. Having welcomed the likes of Irvine Welsh, Awesome Tapes From Africa and Greg Wilson for live Q&A’s their weekend rosters have seen Andrew Weatherall, Nightmares On Wax, Ruf Dug and Jan Schulte all take control of the OYC system. "We're providing a hub for like-minded souls to meet, form collaborations and create," says OYC owner Joe Gill. “Everybody is welcome. Acid house mums and dads, market workers, and blue rinses on their way to the bingo. You don't have to be music obsessives like us to appreciate it.”

In Sheffield Bungalows & Bears has long been a staple for students and music fans alike, where amid Chesterfield sofas and framed portraits hanging on the wall Zomby, Midland, Maribou State and XXXY have all played to packed-out crowds. “Venues have the world to offer nowadays so purely event-based venues are very difficult to make financially safe, especially in Sheffield where there just isn’t the crowd to fill the place every night,” says Jeremy Arblaster, events manager at Bungalows & Bears. Offering diverse bookings in a relatively small city hasn’t been easy – “I was hit by a taxi trying to get working needles for Krystal Klear once,” says Arblaster, remembering one particularly difficult night – but thanks to trusting bosses Arblaster can see these risks pay off. “When we do club nights the crowd is always amazing, but that’s more a testament to Sheffield than what we put on.”

“I guess what it illuminates is that most smallish venues can't survive by just being a club anymore so many of the places I play are multifaceted,” adds ELLES. “Now, you have to be creative about the way you run a venue in order to survive, and if you want to DJ you have to be equally as creative about the spaces available for doing this.”

One of those places is Camden Assembly, the North London spot where many a Libertine and Winehouse once spent their days during the peak eras of nu rave and indie. By day, Camden Assembly is no different to your regular beloved local haunt. But by night, there's an ever-changing roster of diverse new talent; welcoming everyone from the hi-energy sound of Lisbon’s Príncipe records to London’s up-and-coming next wave. “When we launched Camden Assembly, we made it clear from the outset that we would be as diverse as possible with our programming,” says Columbo Group founder Steve Ball, who also brought us XOYO and Phonox. Away from their more dedicated club confines Camden Assembly has become a testing ground for tomorrow’s headliners. “A 220-capacity pub means that we can provide a platform to nurture future and underground talent,” Ball explains. “The fact that it’s a smaller space definitely means we can be more creative with who we book.”

By no means is club culture going anywhere fast, and it’s not like the boozer at the end of your road is going to compete with whatever thrills dance music fans find in Tomorrowland or Creamfields. But while there’s rightfully increased attention toward saving our superclub staples, it’s important to treat our community cornerstones with equal regard. So, perhaps next time you’re about to splurge £50 on a night in one of London’s superclubs take a stroll down the road and support your local instead. Just remember, no requests please.

Jack Needham is a freelance journalist. Follow him on Twitter