While the bogan can’t always decide whether its favourite country is Bali or Phuket, it knows that come Sundays, its favourite techno band is Ministry of Sound. Just like commercial radio, the Ministry of Sound corporation acts as a filter for the bogan, packaging the world of music into glamourously-branded compilations so that it doesn’t need to think, search, or be faced with the confusion of choice. The full spectrum of the bogan’s moods can thus be catered to, by MoS compilations like Maximum Bass Overdrive (fighty), Clubbers Guide (fighty/strutty), Chillout Sessions (fighty/strung out), and the MoS Annual (fighty/nostalgic).
While the bogan is unaware of the origins of Ministry of Sound, it knows it’s something to do with Ibiza in the Greek Islands, which is probably full of hot sluts. If a song is too slow for the club, the bogan knows that Ministry can be relied upon to staple a programmed kick drum and a pneumatic buzzing synth sound to it. If a song is too frenetic for a Sunday afternoon, the bogan knows that Ministry agrees, has removed the kick drum, and called in some chick who sounds like Enya to sigh it over a sample of breaking waves and wind chimes. The bogan is safe from harm in its ministerial cocoon.
By fencing off the galaxy of music into a small pen, Ministry of Sound also enables the bogan to confidently participate in conversations about dance, electronic, and ambient music with its friends. Even better, the range of MoS branded apparel allows the bogan to physically affiliate itself with the logo, and then strut around like a DJ/celebrity. It feels at home near velvet ropes. The male bogan knows full well that an uptempo Ministry compilation is the correct mating call to pair with its plumage of large biceps and personalised numberplates while it competes for turf up and down popular nightclub strips.
Many a new bogan has heard the urban legend about the time that a bogan was in a metal club for its cousin’s birthday, unhappy with the confusing music that it didn’t know how to dance to. It approached the DJ booth, demanding that the DJ play some “fucking Ministry or something good”. Unexpectedly, the DJ nodded enthusiastically, and started playing an industrial metal song called “Jesus Built My Hotrod“. Few modern bogans have yet realised what went wrong, but many now cautiously add the “…of Sound” suffix to their request, just in case.