Meeting…Paul Oakenfold

Meeting…Paul Oakenfold

24 August, 2007 | 11.18AM

• Section: Music News Topics: Industry Boy Blog
• Written by: Industry Boy

Like the teenage girl that has a crush on the lead slimy douche bag of a boy band, Industry Boy too had an infatuation in my youth - Paul Oakenfold. I used to sit on the train on the way to school slowly caressing my penis through my trousers whilst listening to Oakey’s BBC Radio 1 Essential Mixes and his Global Underground mix CDs. 

His mixing was sublime, his tracks were underground, thought provoking and beautiful.

Paul Oakenfold was Lord of the Trance, and there was an army of devout followers fully committed to the Church of Oakenfold.

He preached a more progressive line, and an edgier and more enlightened path than other DJs and the general mood in the UK at the time was that Oakenfold was in fact God. In a gorilla suit.

Then Paul Oakenfold headed off to conquer America.

He succeeded and was soon America’s most popular DJ, but not before his obsession for power and popularity had destroyed his very soul.

Oakenfold adjusted his music to cater for the less informed American audience and in the process tainted his creativity by the lowest common denominator brush.

He sold out and everyone knows it.

So when Industry Boy was invited to meet Oakey in person to interview him, the chance was jumped at, if only for the closure of a teenage obsession.

“Do you care about DJing?” Industry Boy asks Oakenfold, who sits rigidly upright on a sofa as a stylist combs his curtained hair.

We’re in the middle of his huge suite at London’s exclusive Claridges hotel just off Bond Street.

A girl scurries by with a clipboard.

A photographer fiddles with his lens in the corner of the room.

Oakenfold doesn’t answer as he’s distracted by the minions who are part of the photo shoot machine we’re currently in the middle of.

It’s like a surreal pop music video.

Industry Boy repeats the question.

“Do I care about DJing?” Paul says in his pseudo cockney accent that seems remarkably out of place considering the luxurious surroundings.

“The thing is mate, it’s like if you wrote for the Financial Times or The Wall Street Journal – would you still care about writing for Beatportal,” he says, turning the question back on me.

“I’m doing film scores now, and I’ve moved on to bigger and better things,” says Paul as a girl interrupts us to introduce him to a camp fashion stylist.

“I’ll be with you in a sec, just gotta do this interview mate,” he tells him.

“So if you don’t really care about DJing anymore, why do you still do it?” Industry Boy asks trying to regain control on the rapidly evaporating interview.

I knew the answer, but I wanted to hear him say it.

“I do still care about DJing,” Oakenfold reposts.

“I still like the music and the crowd.”

As Industry Boy is obliged to, we speak about his album and about his plans for the near future and all the other promotional bullshit that comes with scoring a rare interview with a famous name.

But the truth of the matter is, the entire time Oakenfold pours forth his pre-prepared drivel Industry Boy isn’t listening because I’m plucking up the courage to say what needs to be said.

As the sole representative of dance music in the room, I feel it’s my duty to scream at him:

You had it all. You were the world’s biggest DJ. People idol-worshiped you. You played the best music, your mixing was pitch-perfect.

You were resident of Cream, Gatecrasher and Home. You warmed up for U2. You changed people’s lives through your sets.

Why the fuck did you sell out? When did you decide that money was more important than good music or credibility?

Industry Boy screams inside. But nothing comes out. Times up.

The girl with the clipboard shows me to the door.

Oakenfold shakes my hand, but he’s too busy speaking to somebody else to notice whose hand he’s shaking.

The door closes. And Industry Boy is alone in the softly carpeted corridor.

On the way down, two old boys with the rosy red cheeks of scotch addiction step into the shiny brass lift and look disdainfully down at Industry Boy.

The doorman in his top hat doesn’t even hold the door open for me on the way out.

As I stare up at the gold embossed Claridges sign on the street outside I find a sense of irony in its snobby shadow.

For years clubbers and music fans have spent their hard earned cash on tickets to see Paul Oakenfold play.

He gets paid upwards of £30,000 or $60,000 for a two hour festival headline set and it is we who pay his extortionate wages.

It is our cash that affords him a suite at Claridges, but Industry Boy, as the sole representative of the dance music industry that day, was hardly allowed to step foot in the building.

There is always a reluctance to acknowledge the humanity of an idol, and in Paul Oakenfold’s case the predominant force that fuels his DJ career is that most fallible of human qualities. Greed.

The pedestal tumbles down.

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• Check out Paul Oakenfold on Beatport