Since the dawn of time it has been quite trendy to hate them. But with last summer’s resurgence of normcore, maybe Nickelback finally has a place in the lexicon of pop culture’s tastemakers.
And this is Stripper Music Monday and since when do strippers give a fuck about being ahead of the curve regarding trend forecasting? We don’t. We care about money. When the DJ makes some lethargic attempt at a beat-match to crank up the latest Nickelback jam, a stripper knows she’s about to make some coin.
Because every single Nickelback releases immediately becomes the next douche anthem.
Welcome to the club! (image via flickr user dustout)
Starting a new club is never easy. You have to contend with the management, the staff, and a whole new crowd of customers. It takes a while, but eventually you adapt to the new atmosphere. So long as you make it through the initiation—the unspoken way a tight group of strippers sometimes try to break the new girl in. Try to not to take it personally. Use the music you dance to as a passive-aggressive tool to protect yourself—and impress everyone in the process. Here’s how I do it.
Once I feel comfortable at my new club, I’ll begin requesting changes to my setlists. The retaliation begins when dancers giggle and request a couple of my freshly incorporated tracks into their stage sets during our shift together, as if it will get a rise out of me the way it riles them up, seeing stacks thrown at another dancer “ruining their song.” You know, “Pussy Liquor.” Their song.
When this situation occurs, I wait for my eyes to return to their proper position post-roll and gather songs from these dancers’ elementary school days, ensuring that they either don’t know them, or would never think to request them because it’s much too difficult to pout at yourself in the mirror as they’re played. The following list contains songs that aren’t necessarily obscure—but if the club DJ still used vinyl or CDs, these tracks’ albums would be the ones covered in dust. [READ MORE]
We all have those nights when shaving your entire body, gluing on false lashes, and fake smiling at customers seem like the most laborious tasks imaginable. Now, you can either cop out and decide that the club is PROBABLY going to be dead anyway so you MIGHT AS WELL watch Netflix in bed all night, or you can try to change your attitude. When I know that I have no choice but to drag my ass to the club, and I have to get in the mood to deal with a mind-numbing evening of “What’s your REAL name?” and “I just came in for a beer,” I turn to musical inspiration. The right combination of songs can transform me from a motionless sloth in a blanket-burrito to a perfectly coiffed seductress ready to empty all the wallets.
I’ve spent a lot of time considering how music affects my mood for work, and my theory is that rap lyrics about getting money are actually a form of positive affirmation. Yep, that hokey New Age “Law of Attraction” stuff. As I’m getting ready for work, listening to Lil’ Kim say “fuck bitches, get money” truly puts me in the mindset to get ALL the money and disregard ALL the bitches. If you tell yourself something enough times, it becomes your truth. So my pre-work twerking in the mirror can actually be considered a sort of meditation…right?
There was a long time when I first started working as a strip club DJ when I’d engage in small talk with customers. Almost always it led to them saying “You must have the best job in the world!” It was hard to understand why. I don’t have benefits. Trying to get days off is a daunting effort, and when I have to cover for another DJ I am yelled at for reaching overtime. I’m the whipping boy of management and certain dancers. Then the slow realization dawns of why they think it’s so great: I get to look at naked women all day.
So I wonder what they’d think if they knew they were talking to a fag (well, queer male, in the Rainer Werner Fassbinder/Paul Bowles sense. I’m attracted to women romantically and intellectually, but mostly sleep with men) who remains pretty indifferent to all the nudity. But since I don’t really want to discuss any more with them, or ruin any part of the illusion that comes with the territory, I nod and say “Yup,” then proceed back to my booth.
I’ve worked at two different clubs and there’s not much to the job. I come in, turn on the sound equipment and lights, put music on shuffle and wait out the day until I can clock out, chatting with the dancers or staff when free or not reading a book. I’m not out to my coworkers by any means for fear of being fired. In an industry that hires solely on looks and can fire someone for such bullshit excuses as saying no to a drink when already very drunk or trying to signal a customer over from stage, I’m sure a queer man in a highly hetero male space would cause waves. [READ MORE]