Diary of a Flasher: I Love DJs

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Over the weekend I felt I was the only one not at the Depeche Mode concert. Texts and tweets blew up my phone on Saturday night about the show, but I was busy photographing a wedding up in Hollywood. All of us, including the happy couple, are fans of DM so the DJ played a nice set while we ate, which was not appreciated. We would have rather danced to it after the cake. But the DJ saved himself. Someone should have told him, when in doubt, play Madonna. His selection was a little rough at first, but ended the night with the usual but contagious party music.

Sunday afternoon we had a barbecue up in Weston, a long drive from South Beach, but hoping Flow Rida would do a surprise performance gave me that Sunday boost to find myself heading out west. The celebration of Victor Harvey's V Georgio Vodka line had mentioned Flo would be stopping in and as this was a private house party -- hey, you never know.

Flo didn't show, but Eric "E-Class" Prince, CEO of Poe Boy Records, did

and so did a few other celeb friends of Victor. During the first half

of the barbecue, there was a little rain, the pool was empty and the DJ was

hurting our ears with some kind of house music that wasn't pleasing for

a Sunday afternoon. But when the sun set, Whodini's DJ Grandmaster D

took over and slammed on the jams honey (we dated ourselves singing to

Al B. Sure's "Nite And Day") and had everyone swaying, there were

ladies in the pool and it finally felt like a Sunday barbecue.

No matter what kind of party, DJs must know to read the crowd. And those who do deserve the money they ask for. RIP DJ AM.

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