Last week I was working at an event where my reputation with the tech team preceded me. Some of their team had been working at a separate corporate event that I was DJing at earlier in the month, and while they pumped loads of money into creating a stage that had a ramp for me to use, and set up a lower table for the decks, I couldn’t reach the decks at all. The underside of the table was too low - even though I asked for 70cm clearance so I could fit underneath.
The problem was solved as I played my first song (Houdini by Dua Lipa) by extending the table legs and tilting the decks at an angler so I could read the track names on my USB sticks. They were mortified, and the anecdote was shared around as a warning.
Access in not taken seriously by people working in live events; it’s a last-minute edition, a half-baked execution, or worse, non-existent but dressed up in vague inclusive language. Good access, I’ve come to learn, exists not out of good will and good business sense, but through trial, error, rinse, repeat, until the disabled community complain enough that they are invited to collaborate by sharing their expertise, but not necessarily being paid for their time.
As I am getting ready to present a work in development at the brand new Disrupt Disability Arts Festival, I am learning what access really means, both as an attendee and an artist. Curated by and for the disability community, access is a priority, a necessity, and an artform across the board at this festival.
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