I was a terrible DJ. Mixing was beyond me, sampling felt like cheating, and scratching? Forget about it. But the ultimate failure, the real indictment of my DJing career, was that I couldn’t make people dance – at least, not to my music. The memory still stings: the empty dance floor, the lonely reflections of the mirror ball, the crowd glued to the walls as if repelled by some invisible force. It felt like I was committing murder on the dance floor, not in a literal sense, of course, but in the silent screams of unmet expectations and untapped energy.
I’d throw out hit after hit – classics from D-Train, Fatback, Archie Bell & the Drells – but nothing moved them. The air hung thick with unspoken disappointment, a palpable lack of rhythm. Evelyn ‘Champagne’ King’s lyrics echoed my inner turmoil: ‘Sometimes I feel like I’m going insane, But still I want to stay.’ Stay and face the music, or rather, the lack of it.
The pressure mounted. They were there to dance, but they were resolutely not dancing to what I was playing. Occasionally, a lone Goth would brave the no-man’s-land in front of the booth, demanding the obscure sounds of Southern Death Cult, further highlighting my inability to connect with the room. It was clear: I was failing to ignite the spark, to create the vital energy a dance floor craves. My set was a murder on the dance floor in slow motion.
Desperate, I caved. I reached for the ultimate crowd-pleaser: The Jackson 5. The moment the opening bars of ABC filled the room, it was as if a spell had been broken. Suddenly, the dance floor exploded with life. Students, previously statues against the walls, were now a swirling mass of jiving limbs, a joyous eruption of rhythm and movement. The transformation was instant, almost violent in its contrast to the preceding stillness. It was a resurrection, a direct reversal of the murder on the dance floor I had been unintentionally committing.
Alt text: Ecstatic crowd dancing under a mirror ball, illustrating the energy a good DJ can create.
But there was no time for self-congratulation. I faced a new dilemma. Having unleashed the power of The Jackson 5, I couldn’t suddenly drop the tempo with Melba Moore. The energy was up, the expectation set. So, I transitioned to Earth, Wind & Fire, then Shalamar, then Chic. ‘And the beat goes on…’ The floor was pulsating, a sea of bodies moving in unison, a truly Bacchanalian scene. Yet, amidst this apparent triumph, a wave of self-loathing washed over me. I had, in essence, created a Wedding Disco. The very thing I had hoped to avoid.
I knew, deep down, that these dancers wouldn’t leave feeling truly fulfilled. They’d had a good time, a bop, but it was to the same old familiar tunes, the soundtrack of countless other nights. Nothing new, nothing challenging, nothing to be remembered, respected, or revisited. No originality, no authenticity, no inspiration. Last night a DJ, namely me, hadn’t exactly ruined their lives, but I certainly hadn’t enriched them either. My initial murder on the dance floor had been replaced by a different kind of crime: musical mediocrity.
So, why am I confessing my DJ sins? Because from this experience of being a bad DJ, of almost committing murder on the dance floor with my terrible selections, I learned a valuable lesson: it’s easy to generate a fleeting buzz, a superficial thrill. But it’s far more challenging, and ultimately more rewarding, to get people dancing to your tune, to be recognized and appreciated for your unique contribution. And once you’ve locked them into a purely populist rhythm, breaking free and introducing something new becomes incredibly difficult. I realized that to become a good DJ, and by extension, to succeed in engaging any audience, I needed to develop a thicker skin and a more nuanced approach.
‘Here’s my chance to dance my way out of my constrictions, (Feet don’t fail me now), One nation under a groove, Gettin’ down just for the funk of it.’ Funkadelic’s words resonated – the desire to transcend limitations, to find freedom and connection through music and movement.
Alt text: DJ skillfully mixing tracks, representing the expertise needed to create a vibrant dance floor experience.
I had witnessed enough skilled DJs to know what true mastery looked like. I’d seen them seamlessly weave together the familiar and the unexpected, gently guiding the crowd onto the dance floor, manipulating the tempo and atmosphere with subtle shifts in sound. I’d observed them insinuate rhythms that transported dancers to another dimension, a shared space of collective energy and release. And I’d felt the unbridled joy of a dance floor united, moving as one entity. This was the opposite of murder on the dance floor; this was creation, inspiration, and connection.
I believe marketers can draw profound parallels from the art of DJing and the power of dance. Dance, at its core, is about individual fulfillment achieved through collective participation, personal passions explored in a shared space – much like the relationship between brands and consumers. Marketers can learn valuable lessons from DJs, these experts in crafting, catalyzing, and controlling the dance floor dynamic, these magicians who manufacture social success. What advice would a seasoned DJ, someone who knows how to keep the energy alive and avoid murder on the dance floor, offer to a brand manager? Perhaps these five key principles:
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Read the Crowd: Understand the mood, the unspoken desires of your audience. Rely on your own intuitive judgment, not just secondhand data or someone else’s interpretation. It’s about feeling the pulse of the room, sensing the collective energy, and responding authentically.
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Live in the Moment: Be spontaneous, intuitive, and adaptable. Don’t over-plan for a hypothetical future you can’t accurately predict. The dance floor, like the market, is dynamic and ever-changing. React to the present energy and be willing to adjust your course in real-time.
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Mix Sugar and Spice: Blend the familiar with the unknown, the comforting with the challenging. It may seem counterintuitive, but simply giving people exactly what they already know, want, or expect will ultimately lead to stagnation and boredom – a slow murder on the dance floor of enthusiasm. Introduce novelty and surprise to keep things fresh and engaging.
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Surprise with the Arcane: Introduce the unexpected, the forgotten gems, the delightful absurdities when they least anticipate it. Don’t let consistency devolve into predictability. A truly memorable set, or brand experience, is punctuated by moments of delightful surprise, things that break the mold and spark genuine interest.
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Create a Seamless Journey: Craft a cohesive experience with its own peaks and valleys, its own narrative arc. Take the entire dance floor, the whole audience, on this journey together. Don’t get lost in excessive segmentation, tailoring, and targeting that fragments the collective experience. Unity and shared experience are powerful drivers of engagement.
Great brands, like great DJs, establish a rhythm that unites consumers, propelling them onto the dance floor of life and inspiring them to express their most authentic selves, together. In this age of the empowered, atomized consumer, we must never lose sight of the fundamental truth: brands are, at their heart, shared beliefs. I’ve always believed in brands that aspire to lead opinion, to set the tempo, rather than merely follow existing trends. I believe in the Brand as DJ, the orchestrator of experience, the one who prevents murder on the dance floor and instead creates a space for collective joy and connection.
Or, to borrow the wisdom of Soul II Soul: ‘A happy face, a thumpin’ bass, for a lovin’ race’… a sentiment that perfectly encapsulates the energy of a thriving dance floor and the aspiration of a truly resonant brand.
First published: Marketing 06/09/2013
No. 31
