DON’T HATE THE PLAYER, HATE THE GAME
There have been more DJs than dancers in the clubs for a while now. The scene is like a tank full of piranhas: mini-kings, addicts, redliners, freaks, and collectors — all locked in a political game for attention, clicks, drugs, and bad sex — just before the AI trawler empties the piss-yellow kiddie pool of recession nightlife.
People even pay €5000 to play festivals in hellish Ibiza just to film it for Instagram and get more bookings. Okay, maybe it’s still cheaper than a table with bottle service.
Here are some of the most stereotypical archetypes:
The Vinyl Buff
Recognizable by his hunched back, typically dragging around 120 vinyl records (weighing over 30 kg). They’re often “secret” (as if the internet didn’t exist), worn-out or reissues, frequently from MP3 masters.
PROS: Forced to play full tracks and build long, coherent narratives. Beautiful sleeves. Visually impressive — like bartenders flipping bottles.
CONS: Trapped in his record bag, tied to genre, poor sound, hi-fi superstition, elitist retro vibe.
The Icon
Former model or stripper — now sporting a nose ring and black leotard. Like a spin-class instructor for the festival masses. Synced visuals, flames, ghost producers, and premixed sets are common. More dancer than DJ.
The Turntablist
Usually an autistic man-child who kills the dancefloor with tricks nobody appreciates unless they grew up with vinyl. Like a magician at a party — fun for two minutes. Most can’t maintain focus beyond a 30-minute battle set. Can’t read a crowd — his set is the DJ world’s version of an endless guitar solo.
The Pioneer
Probably ruined his life releasing influential analog chaos before you were even born. Mixes like a god. Gets excluded because no one wants to follow him. Every new generation insists on reinventing the wheel for the 3,021st time. Screw dad. Screw big brother.
DJ Boring
A completely average guy with a background in sports and/or accounting who approaches DJing like he’s training for the Tour de France or plotting a corporate takeover. Constantly digging for knowledge on YouTube.
The problem? His “content” — and his DJ sets — are mind-numbingly dull. But Mr. Normal still attracts waves of techno tourists — the last ones to the dying party — who in turn, bring even more boring people… and their phones.
The Networker
Often also a promoter or club owner. Gets booked because:
A) He books the people who book him
B) Hands out drugs backstage
C) Is a relentless promo machine
D) Plays bland and safe, always available for warm-up or graveyard shifts
Mr. Social
His greatest skill? Always smiling, hugging everyone, and avoiding the classic DJ backstabbing. Weekly downloader of the Beatport Top 50 across all trending genres.
The Hero
Had a few sub-hits back when it required real patience to tame a hardware sampler. Met the right people at the right time. Had a rent-controlled flat and an inheritance. Now hides his bald spot under a quirky hat. Coasting on the past, playing festivals, endlessly remixing himself, popping up on label comps that play in designer stores.
The Survivor
Seen it all, heard it all — and now hates both music and people. But hey, it’s a job. Reads the dancefloor like a canary in a coal mine. Only plays tracks with dancers in the music video, circa 1980–2010. Mostly found at weddings and corporate gigs.
The Balearic Bro
Always ready for a sunset chillout with nylon-string MIDI guitar in a Hawaiian shirt. Everything was better back then. Now plays mostly private gigs for C-list celebs. Even Wham! is Balearic now — especially on rare 12”s.
The Celebrity DJ
Booked for their Instagram value, premixed sets, mic presence — or maybe there’s a tiny DJ under the booth doing the actual mixing?
The Stunt DJ
The club’s answer to Ozzy, Billy Idol, or Neubauten. Will he survive the night? A possible OD? Attracts fellow addicts who see the gig as a legit excuse to throw bags around. Brings back a sense of danger and chaos that clubs haven’t seen in years.
The Monomaniac
A purist DJ who dreams of 1990s Berlin meets 1970s Jamaica — a black hole of purist, floating tech-dub continuum. But do we feel anything? Always in oversized designer shades and a label T-shirt.
Mrs. Global
The demand for female and global DJs has exploded. What we once dismissed as “vacation disco” or “cultural appropriation” is now fully embraced. Buddabar 2.0.
The Dakkedaks
Makes techno sound like lyrical jazz: pure bass flapping and redlining. Aggro without gabber, dark without industrial or drama — just relentless pump. Basically: redlined, guilt-free neo-trance with fake underground airbrush vibes.
The Attack DJ
Raised on gaming and meth, musically ADHD. All energy, no depth. Too much sugar, not enough substance. Probably the only person on this list that actually make something new and raw.
THE MOBILE BIKE DJ
No booking? No problem. Only 1% of DJs get regular gigs — so a heroic new generation is taking the rave to the streets. No booth, no gatekeeping – just Nihola wheels, built-in bass. Watch out for traffic cops, huge potential audience, sonic graffiti – respect!
Pretentious Moi
Well-dressed, low-key guy — styled to perfection. Flirts with classical and gothic aesthetics. Dreams of making a post-punk masterpiece. Drives home sober to apply for arts funding. Should’ve been a lawyer or a designer.
The Scenester
Brings the entire hyped-up posse into the booth — all of them promoters — livestreaming everything and spamming social media like there’s no tomorrow.
REMEMBER: GOD IS NOT A DJ ANYMORE – YOU ARE.