Back before I even owned enough records to play a whole set, I had a friend who was also trying to break into the industry, not as a DJ, but as a Live PA artist. He was the sort of person who was really good at manipulating situations and people to his advantage, and he played my eagerness to crack into the scene, by dangling opportunities in front of my face. For weeks, he would call me up to help him to lug gear and be his little roadie for his show, and I was answering yes all too quickly to make it seem like I was even considering what was in it for me. After so many times of doing this and really not getting any sort of recognition, my enthusiasm was starting to wane, and my friend must have noticed. The following Monday, this friend called me and said that I could DJ after his set that Saturday. I was over the moon, as this was going to be my first proper gig at a club[1]. I immediately said yes, hung up the phone, and spent the next four days practicing like I needed records to breathe.
On the fourth day, I heard from a close friend that the promoter of the club had no idea that I was going to play. I really wasn’t interested in starting off on the wrong foot in the scene and looking like a chump, showing up to a gig with records that I wasn’t actually billed to play, so I told my friend thanks for the offer, but I’ll hold off.
That Saturday I showed up at the club, to see my friend play, and as his set was winding down, everyone realized that the next DJ was nowhere to be seen. My friend said he was running out of material, so he told me to hop behind the decks!
“What?!? I didn’t bring any records!”
Suddenly, DJ Mini, the club manager says, “Here, play from my record crate.” and she hands me a crate of records.
Now, if you gave me a crate of random records in 2026, I would have a lot of fun experimenting and being creative, but this was 1997, and even with the records that I knew intimately, my sets were laboured at best. But, not one to turn down an opportunity to play for an already packed dance floor, I nervously took that crate of records behind the DJ booth and pulled out the first one. Not only did I not know this person’s records, I didn’t even know what genre was in this crate. To say that I was in over my head, was an understatement, but what’s the worst that could happen?
I placed the record on the platter. Grabbed the tone arm and just as I was about to drop the needle when… the other DJ tapped me on the shoulder and said, “I’ll take it from here mate.”
Thank. Fucking. God.
Relieved, I stepped down from the DJ booth and handed the club manager her records. “Too bad,” she said, “next time you can play your own records.”
“Sure.”
“What did you say your DJ name was?”
I looked over at my friend, and I said, “accomplice.”
That’s the real story of how I came up with my DJ name. It just felt appropriate considering the situation, and at that moment, and even now, it has always felt like a badass name. The aforementioned notwithstanding, it also lends itself to how I feel about DJing as a whole.
Many of the DJs that were my contemporaries at the time (and I still see it to this day), were all ego; they were there for the attention, for the praise, for everyone to be facing them front and center. I, on the other hand, always felt as though the music should be the focus, everyone is there to hear the music, not the DJ; the DJ is just there to play the music. I’ve been to lots of venues without DJs, but there aren’t many venues without music.
The DJ is the accomplice to the music.