Each year, as the summer season draw ever closer, old Islanders begin to receive a myriad of e-mails and calls.
The pattern is almost always the same: “Hey buddy! How are YOU!?!?!” Followed by a long concise list of demands. It usually contains free entrance to the VIP section in every club, every night with as many free drinks as they can possibly consume. And of course you are driving them everywhere, right?
Now there was a time when I would stack my house full of friends from distant childhood and observe a 100 days party slowly deteriorating my house. I remember summers where I had over 250 different people stay at my house at some point or another. These days, however, I redirect them to various hotels and concierge services, and that seems to work fine.
But there is one class of individual that refuses to go away: The Damned Wannabe Ibiza DJ Sensation. Now, I have a lot of DJ friends on this island, and they all know exactly what I’m talking about. It’s almost always some individual that used to be a follower on MySpace, or some other insignificant social network, who just happens to think that you have nothing else to do but to build this guy’s career up overnight. Huh?!
Without fail, the conversation inevitably goes like this:
Wannabe: Hey, so do you think you can get me a gig in one of the big clubs? (remember that at this point I have no clue who this person is, but I do presume that they have never played a professional gig before)
Me: definitely not.
Wannabe: Well ok then, so if you could then just give me any gig as long as they pay the flights and hotel, that should be easy, right? followed by do you think 500 bucks would be in order?
It is at this point that I loose my self containment, and proceed to supply them with the Secret recipe to absolute success in Ibiza: first to get on the plane and get your good self down here. Then you crawl around the bars like a leper, begging for a chance to play for free, until one day, like a miracle, you are right there, ready with your music, ready to replace the idiot that didn’t show up. This is the moment you have been waiting for, and you better rock the house at least twice as hard the resident. You are now on the map. So you repeat this procedure over and over throughout the season(s) until one day you get a residence in a small insignificant bar. Here you will be grateful to receive 100 bucks a day for 12 hours work. You might even be asked to clean up the bar and carry beer crates. And then you simply keep doing that for some years until things take off, no money somewhere between 5 to 12 years. Guaranteed to work every time ;-)
This is also the description of the classic pilgrimage of the artist or craftsman. It is the mythological journey that one must inevitably pass through in order to master the conceptual understanding of the art form in question. One must travel far from home and forward to a life through one’s love for music. It’s a code that cannot be broken: to live through music and through music only. If the mere thought of such a journey does not scare you, then you are not doing it right.
Of course there are those who don’t want to put the work in, and some of them even have the nerve to ask me if I can just let them jump the queue, as if something like that was even possible. And it is at this point that I take the time to help them understand the situation by outlining the exact economic forces that are at work in our wonderful entertainment industry.
For example: It has come to my attention during my time as an event organizer that a freestanding portable chemical festival toilet can command a daily rental price of more than 300 bucks… I then proceed to explain to this mislead individual that their future (even with instant success) cannot expect to earn more than 100 a day (the economic truth is that actually they would make three times more money if as a toilet). On top of that I point out that being a new resident starting up in Ibiza they should prepare themselves, on a daily basis, to deal with three times as much shit as a festival toilet would expect to encounter at Glastonbury’s.
So, to crack the Ibiza conundrum is easy as pie:
Just lay down your life, past, present and future, and it can all be yours.
Tags: lenny ibizarre