persian disputation

Right now, no one’s dancing. It’s not your fault: It’s because they’re goddamn nerds. – random Italian female

Enjoying a good evening with friends is always a boon. Going into this review one needs to remember that pretty much anything with the stud above is a pretty certain 5-star review – however, for the sake of sincerity, I’ll break it down and apply objectice to the instance itself: We were hired to play for princess Jasmine and her prince Ali at Jasmine’s disputation in advanced signals and logistics. 

The pay was good, the clients friendly. We agreed to carry our own sound system for a shiny penny more, and thus we carried a home system across town in water-sealed bags (they’re HURRICANE PROOF MOTHAF*). Much sweat was had at the pit-stop before the Chalmers Villa, and thus, the above picture was taken.

Flash forward three hours – seated with some badass engineers, and amongst them the good gent that recomended us to the hosts. We needed an initial ice-breaker being the last table to be served – naked picture of my co-host of the DJ table up, asking the friendly guests for help with instagram filters. Instant icebreaker.


The gigg itself went mostly great! I learned that I know jack shit about Persian music, with six hits (amongst them goddamn Tunak Tun, a dream for any self-respecting entertainer) and one mega-fail (Persian hitsong for 11-year olds). We peppered with safe bets, but it didn’t always sage. At a momentary low, we had a bit of a lull on the floor, but a gentle Italian woman approcahed us and told us with full smile that it wasn’t our fault: Look around. These people are all nerds. In the best way, but they don’t dance.

All in all, getting krunk with good people, playing music we didn’t know, pumping the guns and carrying 1) equipment home with the help of a random, servitile Italian and 2) in Dota 2 with a promille approaching shoe sizes at 8 am in the morning was a 5) star approach. However, the dipps and fear of early inflation makes me award a sober 3,5 stars, and perhaps a drunk 4 star if we’d only won that Juggernaut + Jakiro lane.   

tru story of dota 2


  • Jasmine and Ali. Great hosts. They have a glorious future ahead of them. And so generous – even gave tips!
  • The table we ate at. Geniuses!
  • The Iranian man, known as Baha Man, who enjoyed “who let the dogs out” and dropped sour, sober, egocentric wisdom. He alone was 5-stars.
  • The Proffessor. A Chalmers proffesor who made his own edgy songs. Bordering the crazy and the genius lo-fi, it’s a memory.
  • The kid with the paper airplane. So entertained, he had people close the doors on us when seven grown people were chasing his toy in the middle of long speeches.


  • Long speeches.
  • Rain and heavy carrying sucks.
  • I love goddamn nerds (hello, biggest one here) but dance at your friends disputation party. Like your goddamn lives depend on it.
  • A little lackluster in the liquor department.
  • My own, innate lack of research into the Persian music front almost proved to be my undoing. I thought the good stuff would hit, but our heavy hitters went sinking as middle-milk shit that barely registered.
  • Sucks to loose Dota 2 with 1,5 promille until 10.00 am. Such a poor decision instead of doing illegal clubs at a nearby artists’ collective with a childhood friend.
  • The Proffessor was crazy awesome. Turns out, crazy is still crazy even though it’s awesome, sometimes.