A life spent
finding the
next record.

Discovering MP3s in the mid-90s opened up a whole new world. This was the era of slow dial-up connections, when getting hold of a single track took patience. My music collection grew, and so did the urge to be the person choosing what everyone heard next.

By 1998, when I was eighteen, that meant playing at house parties around Brisbane. I couldn’t afford decks, so I used what I had: a beige desktop tower, a heavy CRT monitor and Winamp. The whole computer came with me. Carrying a USB stick to a gig still feels pretty luxurious by comparison.

I experimented with crossfading, then running two copies of Winamp, finding ways to move from one track to the next. A cable from the computer into the stereo was enough to get the music out into the room. It was improvised, and it worked.

What I remember most is the feeling of putting something on and watching people respond. Someone recognised a song. Someone started dancing. The party found another gear. I didn’t have much equipment, but I was already hooked on that exchange.

Putting together a mix gave me room to think about that properly. The order mattered. So did the mood, the movement between records and the way two tracks could complement each other harmonically. I could spend ages on a small stretch of music because I wanted the whole thing to feel right.

When I began sharing full-length mixes online, they reached people in countries I’d never visited. That was a strange and lovely feeling: music I’d put together at home was becoming part of somebody else’s night on the other side of the world.

Messages came back about parties, friendships and memories attached to those mixes. People had lived a little bit of their lives with something I’d made playing in the background. I still find that quite incredible.

Those recordings are part of my history too. You can hear the music I was excited about, the choices I was making and how my taste developed. The mix archive is there if you’d like to revisit that part of the journey.

I loved DJing, which made it easy to keep saying yes to the work that came with it. There was always another track to find, another mix to think about and another weekend approaching. It didn’t feel like something I wanted to put down.

But office all week and DJing all weekend left very little room to recover. I was exhausted. Looking at this period now, I can see both things clearly: how much I wanted those nights, and how hard that seven-day rhythm was to sustain.

The photos from the booth tend to capture the good bit. I’m glad I have this one as well. It reminds me of the work around the music, and of a version of me who was trying to fit a lot into every week.

At the Victory, the beer garden and the upstairs club could feel like two different worlds. Downstairs had room for pop, retro and songs people wanted to sing together. Upstairs could be a heaving club that needed a very different level of intensity.

Then there was Blackbird, overlooking the river and the Story Bridge. The setting had its own atmosphere, and the music needed to belong to it. A beautiful view doesn’t tell you what to play next, but it certainly changes the feeling of going to work.

Blackbird also came with the occasional Wagyu ribeye while I worked. After years of lugging gear around and keeping unusual hours, I was very happy to appreciate that particular perk.

Long occasions like Melbourne Cup brought their own challenge: following a crowd from the middle of the day into a very different evening. Across all these rooms, I kept learning to make decisions from what was actually happening in front of me.

I loved those nights and the people I worked with. When you spend that much time in a venue, the people around you become part of the memory of it. You remember the atmosphere, the familiar faces and the enjoyment of sharing another night together.

It’s also where I first met my wife, Olivia. She was celebrating her birthday with friends and decided she needed to come up and meet the DJ playing all these incredible tunes. I’m very glad she did.

The rest is history. We now have two beautiful kids together and live in Bali. Of all the things music has brought into my life, that night gave me something I could never have planned.

I’ve played records I was sure would work and watched them fall flat. I’ve also seen one song bring a whole room together. Both experiences have stayed useful. The good nights give you memories; the difficult moments make you pay closer attention.

After 25+ years, I have a wider collection and a lot more experience to draw on. I still have to look up. The people in front of me are having their own night, and it’s my job to understand a little of it as we go.

If you’ve been part of this story—at a house party, on a dancefloor, working beside me or listening to a mix somewhere far away—thank you. A lot of people are wrapped up in these photos. I’m grateful the music brought us into each other’s lives.