During my youth, I loved to go the Shippensburg (Pa) Fair during the summer. My father and his friends belonged to the Robert Green Cemetery Club, which was a club whose members would cut the grass every week at the only black cemetery in the town. They operated a gambling booth at the fair which was totally ahead of its time. It was extremely well constructed, complete with a strong floor, a slanted roof, and an awesome lighting system. The booth also had benches for comfortable sitting, a compartment area that held the extra money, and even a spot that my Dad’s stereo could fit into. That gambling booth was a straight-up party spot as my Dad and his friends kept the gambling wheel spinning, the money rolling, and the music blaring. For a young man my age there was no other place to be, as I was able to work the booth (usually covering the bets placed down on the table) and run around with my family and friends at the fair until the wee hours of the night.
One night, my Dad (who usually spun the wheel and called the winning numbers) told me to take his spot so he could sit down and cover the bets. True, I heard him spin the wheel and call numbers a million times to the point that I knew how to do it, but I definitely wasn’t comfortable getting up there and doing it myself. With what seemed like the entire community of Shippensburg looking at me, I feebly spun the wheel and with a weak and sickly-like voice I squeaked the winning numbers. Almost each time that I did this I was told by different people to repeat the winning numbers and/or shout them out louder. I definitely didn’t do my father any justice, as the gap between his vocal abilities and mine was as vast as a chasm. At the end of the night (when the fair was closing, the booth members were counting up the final profits, and I was trying to recover from that night’s awful experience), I worked up the courage to tell my Dad that I didn’t want to spin the wheel anymore and I didn’t want to shout out any more numbers. I told him flat-out that I couldn’t do it and that I felt embarrassed trying to do something that I was in no way qualified for. My father looked at me and told me “no”, and then told me that I was going to be doing the same thing the next night! When I asked him why, he told me that I must master my voice if I want to be successful in the future and the time to start was right then and there.
As we drove home, my father explained that he knew that he wasn’t the greatest DJ of all time (even though I thought he was). He said he didn’t know the first thing about mixing or transforming or scratching, and he also stated that he may not have the best equipment money could buy or have all of the music that a patron would want to hear. But he indicated that he had that one thing that was so great that it would equalize whatever DJ misgivings that he had and guarantee that any party he deejayed would be a blast. That one thing was his voice…..
My Dad had the type of voice that controlled a party and kept partygoers absorbed and rocking throughout the night. He had that crazy vocal ability that allowed him to turn a bland and boring party into the greatest shindig east of the Mississippi. Whenever I went with him to his DJ gigs or when I saw him shout out the numbers at the gambling booth he was always able to make every person feel like they were a part of the experience. Everyone who had the privilege of going to an event that my father deejayed was privy to his “mastery on the microphone.” When my Dad deejayed a party he not only supplied the music; he would in effect thrust his very soul into that particular party so that everyone who came had a grand time. His voice was the reflection of that thrust and I knew that if I was going to be a legitimate DJ someday that I would have to do the same. Not only would I have to perfect my mixing, scratching, and crowd-reading techniques, I would have to perfect my voice just as much if not more because I have seen first-hand that no matter how awesome a DJ may be on the turntables, if they didn’t have the proper voice that can keep a crowd enthused then the party could get extremely boring in a hurry.
I am extremely proud of my abilities as a DJ. I am an extension of the party I am deejaying and with my state-of-the-art equipment I can read a crowd, play the right music, mix, transform, and scratch efficiently, vocalize on a microphone, and keep a party jumping for hours on end. In retrospect, if I couldn’t do all of that then I would not feel comfortable owning and operating a company like J.A.M. Masters, which has extremely high standards for all of its DJ’s, not just me. Finding a DJ that can do all of the aforementioned things and more can be an exhaustive search. Thankfully, at J.A.M. Masters we got that part covered! Please consider J.A.M. Masters for all of your music needs.