Phatso: My Bastard Son!

So, I do a little search on my favorite website for dance music,, to see if my latest Aaren San/Plasmapool remixes have dropped, and whaddayaknow, I have a son.

Right there. A little bastard Phatso. I have no idea who the mother is, but all signs point in the direction of Spanish digital label Cutoff Recordings who, as it turns out, are my ‘friends’ on supreme social networking mecca, Facebook.

I always knew that relationship was gonna be trouble.

Anyway, the track is called Introspection by Phatso. Simply Phatso. No bio, no birth certificate, no history. Just Phatso.

Do you know of your father, my son?

I can only assume the label had no clue there was a Phatso Brown out there (serving up fresh hot organic gooey Electro goodness since 2006, thank you ladies), and thus released a track by my bastardly boy.

It’s not a bad tune at all actually, a bit noodley perhaps but it’ll do just fine to warm up the crowd.

Plus, when was the last time you heard an Indian woman say this in a dance track (with a lovely Bombay accent to boot):

“With eyes tight shut
I hear the roar of my heart
A distinct discontent
It says to me
This is not to be, this is not to be”

This most certainly is not to be.

A couple of years ago, I ran into a producer named Phatzoo which is fine, and there is a wonderful Horror Core rapper by the name of Jamie Madrox who wears killer clown makeup and is, by his own admission, “a sick son of a bitch and dirty bastard”. He goes by Phatso sometimes (the same way Eminem goes by Slim Shady), and that is fine.

But this isn’t. Phatso. Brown. Phatso Brown.

It’s not a name to me. It’s who I am. My identity. My destiny.

If you’re making dance music and going by Phatso, and you’re not my bastard son, then you’re out of order.

Call yourself Phatman (but not boy ‘cuz a certain Norman Cook might have a problem with that). Call yourself Phat Bastard. Call yourself anything but Phatso.

I am Phatso. Can You Dig It?

The moral of the story, boys and girls and Superstar DJs, is to Trademark your unique ‘act’ name like its your very essence. Because it is.

P.S. My lovely associate tells me that this is a sign that I have arrived. I hope it’s not Heathrow again.


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