F is for Fatboy Slim

Brixton boxing beats

Dear Norman,

Thank you for igniting a love of dance music in a girl who had no idea what mixing was or what DJ’s were for (apart from playing the Birdy Dance and Grease megamix at wedding receptions). Before I left home and broadened my musical horizons, I went to a Sunday Session at a popular watering hole where Boy George was scheduled to perform. We left that evening bitterly disappointed and confused that he hadn’t turned up. None the wiser until much later that George WAS there but on the decks rather than on stage in makeup singing Karma Chameleon. No freaking idea.

You first captured my heart with a soul lifting happy tune on British radio about bosoms and brimfuls of asha. Then you took my scary solo adventure to the other side of the world, flung it on its head and stuck a happy face on it. I was in love. I can close my eyes and see you right before us at The End. There in your little booth, drinking vodka & OJ, a dozen hands stretched out with lighters ablaze every time you took a cigarette out. You’d pass your cigarette through them all.

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Forever burned in my memory the moment after some frenzied hours on the dancefloor when you suddenly dropped the tempo with When Doves Cry. Time stood still. Festivals, New Years Eve celebrations, boxing matches in Brixton or lying in my shared room above shops taping your late night session on Radio One.
(Yes I still have the cassette.) A million memories and anthems as we partied like it was 1999.

It was the best of times…and the best of tunes. Xxx

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God is a DJ