The Puzzling Prevalence of Ryanair DJs

In a music industry where promotion itself is increasingly the primary product, building (and maintaining) illusions has become an essential skill.

On a recent episode of the Pizá i Fontanals podcast, hosts Frankie Pizá and Albert Fontanals spent approximately half an hour discussing what they called “DJs Ryanair.” That’s not the name of some upstart DJ crew—although, funnily enough, there was an Irish artist who briefly went by DJ Ryanair in the late 2010s, but he appears to have abandoned the moniker several years ago. What Pizá and Fontanals were talking about was a particular type of DJ, one who most likely resides in Europe, earns relatively low fees and has little discernible draw, yet nonetheless continues to get out-of-town bookings on at least a semi-regular basis. In other words, they’re essentially a form of line-up filler, and the “DJs Ryanair” tag stems from the fact that their services can often be procured in exchange for a low-cost flight and a few hundred euros. (If the promoter is feeling generous, a night in an unexceptional hotel and transport to and from the airport might also be part of the package.)

In previous eras, these kinds of artists were sometimes known as Easyjet DJs, and to conform better to English syntax, I’m going to refer to them from here on out as Ryanair DJs, but regardless of one’s preferred nomenclature, they continue to occupy an unusual place in the hierarchy of dance music. Although they usually have some level of name recognition—maybe they’ve been mentioned a few times on Resident Advisor, or have a few records out on hyped labels—they’re not exactly famous, at least not in the sense that they can headline a sizable club night and be counted upon to sell a significant number of tickets. They may or may not be good DJs, but much of the time, that doesn’t really matter, particularly in larger venues where they’re often just one of a litany of artists on the bill. Sure, their skills and selections might win over a few audience converts from time to time, but in a time where dance music—like most other forms of culture—is increasingly defined by a sort of celebrity worship, the average Ryanair DJ is far more likely to be met with indifference. And no matter how much someone loves DJing, the allure of the lifestyle will inevitably start to wear thin when they’re merely scratching out a living while playing to rooms of disinterested clubbers a few times a month.

What compels these DJs to keep going? More importantly, why do promoters continue to book them, especially when handing their slot to a local DJ—or just extending the slot of the actual headliner—would not only be cheaper, but have little to no negative impact on attendance? In many cases, the answer to both questions can be boiled down to a single world: illusion. That’s not necessarily a new phenomenon—the music industry has long traded on the fantasy and lore that surrounds many of its artists and events—but in the context of the modern cultural landscape, the building and maintaining of illusion has in many ways become more important than the music itself.