As I stroll through this quaint suburban farmers market, I have this nagging feeling that something is missing. Sure there are plenty of requisite independent farmers and raspberry preserve vendors. But without someone to soundtrack the experience of buying homemade sourdough what’s the point of even leaving the house? Enter the kid, aka me.
This co-op needs some binaural beats to go with those organic beets, and I’m more than happy to oblige.
I know it’s a Sunday and some people will say they are hung over and want to browse organic tomatoes in peace, but deep down they want to keep the party going. What sounds cooler to you: shopping for songbirds and the gentle rustling of oak trees in the breeze, or a four-hour-long EDM set to wire you awake?
See that vintage clothing booth in the corner over there? They have some pretty cool digs but imagine how much the experience of buying bell bottoms can be enhanced with Led Zeppelin’s “Black Dog” expertly remixed and blaring three feet away. Call it an immersive experience.
Forget what you believe may be the “vibe” or “aesthetic” of your run-of-the-mill market and wonder if maybe the inclusion of 6-foot speakers and a dance floor blocking the sweet corn stand is just as viable. I was under the impression that all were welcome here, at least according to the signs.
Don’t try and tell me I’m not qualified to DJ a farmers market. Do you see any kind of oversight or regulations of these vendors? I could stroll right in here with some pickled turnips from my basement and no one would blink twice. So what if I play a 45-minute version of “Friend of the Devi,” at least no one will get food poisoning right?
Sure I can’t tell a kumquat from a pear and I don’t have the patience to cultivate anything that could be considered “organic” or “sustainable”, but there’s one thing I do know: how to drop phat ass beats on this quiet suburban market with some DJ equipment I found on Craigslist.