Archive for July 23, 2012

DJEFF AFROZILA 22.07.12 PART II

July 23, 2012

DJEFF AFROZILA PART II

The Afrozila Attacks

As a human morphs into a wolf by the full moon’s light, the affable Djeff has the supernatural ability to transform into the monstrous Afrozila when in DJ mode. The ectopic anomaly occurred somewhere during DJ Roland Clark’s spoken word opus, I Get Deeppreaching over the percolating Afro rhythms of Black Motion’s featuring Jah Rich finely crafted,Banane Mavoko(Dub Mix). The once graceful young man now turned the monstrous Afrozila spewed an infectious assault of bursting flames that spread like a wildfire on the loose throughout the room. For two hours and fifteen minutes the Afrozila weaved in and out of songs; Djeff Afrozila’s presents Gari Sinedina, Pilukaand Shana’s,Outplayed a cappellas; Rhianna’s, “We Found Love”, Ultra Nate’s, “Free” and Liquideep’s, “Alone” that sang over Afro beats while mixing two entirely different songs at once; Manoo’s, Kodjoand Thommy Davis’ & Ron Hall’s,Fugue In Bostonwhich can prove a dizzying feat for any bystander but the Afrozila pulled it off without a hint of challenge. Don’t close your eyes to sleep while this monstrosity spins because he is known to entertain the dancing eyes of spectators while mixing. The beast can work a Bozak with finesse precision and execute technical mixing skills beyond his years. Plus, the boy knows his music. Often times, the destructive force sang every word to the songs he played in their indigenous African tongue or maybe in his native Portuguese tongue. During the beginnings of the magnetic set the music sounded muffled or was played well-below volume. On the prowl, the Afrozila took note and adjusted the volume controls and turned knobs that sent Shana’s, “Out” with a clear and forceful bang. A Tambor party/Tribe Records classic, Sister Pearl’s, Bang The Drum (Manoo Remix) whipped the dancers into a sweat. Thank God for the working overhead ceiling fans. Unfortunately, the sinister Peven Everett with Burning Hot(Timmy Regisford & Adam Rios Mix) was leaked into the mix. On a side note, please house music DJs/producers/remixers throw this artist and his music into the retirement bins, his diabolical ego and cunning tactics precedes his work. Thankfully, Afrozila beat Peven’s vocals into a dizzying swirl and at the song’s climatic peak he abruptly killed the song to make way for the soft finger snaps and mellow vibes courtesy of Atjazz’s Love Soul Mix of Oh I (Miss You)by The Muthafunkaz featuring vocalists Sheila Ford and Marc Evans.” Soul-stunner Kem’s,Heaven (Marlon D & Groove Assassin Mix) opened to cheers of approval but proved a Catch-22. The deep house anthem of classic material is a beast in and of itself. It resides on the many of deep house DJ’s list “of must play songs” and is the type of song that any DJ can play to guarantee some type of audience response. Naturally, it’s a song to play if you want to wake a crowd from its slumber. On one hand, it’s great to hear the orchestrated rhythms sync to a heavenly climax, but on the other hand, the piece has been played so many times that people tend to become bored with it in mid second verse. Wait one second. Was that Robin S’, “Show Me Love” a cappella vocals committing a quick drive-by?!? Yes it was! The surprise of the party sent the crowd stir-crazy jumping up and down, and screaming, “Oh, no he didn’t!”

The Destruction

As Godzilla trampled Tokyo, Afrozila attacked Atlanta. Afrozila breathed upon the city a fiery rage of musical arsenal of a destructive force. For one hundred and thirty-five minutes, the attacked left no mindset intact or psyche untouched from the monstrous demolition. The beast went on a jolting rampage seeking to destroy all musical conformity. Afrozila’s mission was to annihilate the very fabric of self-destructing inveterate of music ideals, music prejudices and enslaving musical mindsets. Brick and mortar ethos were scorched and evaporated into thin air. Towering walls of musical fragmentations crumpled, fell and crashed to the ground. Steel statutes of music images were reduced to writhed framework. The mind could no longer hold on to anemic musicality but was free to love all music that promotes diversity, encourages change and provides substance. In the midst of the action, Tambor’s denizens freely danced in the rubble-filled streets. They danced, around and atop the rubble of once oppressive musical prejudices and preconceived notions of predictable music genres, glib music stereotypes and frothy music tastes. The city’s horizontal skyline of dancing music notes had been burned into magnetic proportions of ash, dust, and smoke. The Afrozila left behind a chaotic but beautiful mess that beckoned the city to musical change. It was this archetype that could start the ambitious makings of a new musical revolution for the hungry and thirsty of paradigms.

The Aftermath

Onstage, a hesitant looking Stanzeff, with microphone in hand, seemed preoccupied with thoughts of how he was going to clean up the rubble after Afrozila’s devastating assault. Handling the adversity like a true professional, DJ Stanzeff assumed mass clean-up duties by playing hits like Quentin Harris’,My Joyand Regina Belle’s, “Baby Come To Me” (Shelter Mix) that swept up the debris into neat contained piles. The latter had people in clean-up mode doing handstands, dropping to the floor and collecting debris while rolling around on the floor. Even Djeff back in human form-changed shirts, and wore a grey Tribe Recordings tee-got in on the action. He made the rounds and posed for several photographs-avec hand gestures-and danced in his alter ego’s destructive calamity. The party ended with happy hearts dancing in joy. Sometimes, you just don’t care to clean up such beautiful shambles.

All photography by AJ Dance/Except Photo 11 by Ghostcam

DJEFF AFROZILA 22.07.12 PART 1

July 22, 2012

DJEFF AFROZILA

Already, DJ BE had electrocuted the atmosphere with pulsating charged particles of electrons and protons dancing to diversified sounds that culminated in a show-stopping spectacle of frantic dance moves combusting from bouts of kinetic energy. There was nothing like the magic of a pre-warm-up, putting the folks in the mood, before the party’s derivative. By the stroke of midnight, BE’s successor wasted no time analyzing the musical elements of two Pioneer CDJs, a music/mixing software program, and the signature Bozak for what was to be an epic Tambor.

“Oh my!”
“I can’t wait!”
“Tonight’s going to be special!”
Several festive spirits whispered in high anticipation in the venue’s space number two, a smaller but more suitable arrangement. Although the crowd’s attendance faired less than record-breaking numbers, those that came out showed up and showed out. The feverish buzz trickled into the air-conditioned atmosphere and culminated at an audio zenith that tickled attentive ears. Why all the excitement? Well, grab your passport and Afro attire because we’re going on a quick journey for an educational visit to a country called Angola.

Angola sits on the West coast of Southern Africa next to the Atlantic Ocean to the West and Zambia to the East. With its Angola Mountain Range of Lela, a coastal capital city, Cracks of Tundarla, breathtaking waterfalls, sweeping hills and rugged cliffs the county’s scenery is one majestic behemoth. The fertile land which provides diamonds and oil fuels its strengthening economy. The Portuguese speaking country, freed from Portugal’s rule thirty-seven years ago, with a population of 19 million embraces its African heritage which can be heard in its music and seen in its dance, which brings us back to Tambor fresh off an airplane with additional baggage and an extra body.

The extra person aboard the aircraft was none-other-than Tiago Barros. Who? Djeff Afrozila. Tambor’s special guest DJ. Born in Portugal to a father from Cape Verde and a mother from Angola, Djeff grew up listening to an eclectic range of musical artists from Michael Jackson, Michael Bolton, Kassav to Tabanka Jazz. At the age of fifteen, the future DJ, would fall in love with house music and be influenced by the likes of Erick Morillo, Daft Punk and Robin S. In the year 2010 he would produce his first edit, “Canjika” and later go on to produce tracks and remixes for global renowned deep house music artists and labels. Currently, Djeff resides in Angola’s capital and largest city, Luanda. Based out of the urban hub is Kazukuta Records. Djeff, one of six DJs signed to the label with its growing roster, is en-route to becoming a burgeoning star in the world of Afro-deep house. The graphic arts and design graduate-which explains his fascination for haute couture, fashion forward promotional photographs, and avant-garde music videos-has handsome facial features that could have been ripped straight from the pages of a gentlemen’s quarterly fashion magazine or at least from a campy tourist brochure. The “I don’t look older than nineteen years of age” star sported the Kazukuta logo on a form-fitted white tee with grey graphics atop form-fitted blue denim. However, don’t be deceived by the lad’s 1.727 meters height, with a futbol player’s frame, and a clean-cut appearance because he would soon reveal his alter ego.

To Be Continued….

All photography by AJ Dance

THIRTY SUMETHIN’ YEAR OLDS AT A RAVE 30.06.12

July 1, 2012

TIRED A$$ THIRTY-SUMETHIN’ YEAR OLDS AT A RAVE?!?

“Oh boy, here we go again… We’ve just listened to a sales pitch on why we should buy drugs,” commented a thirty-something years old giddy graphic designer wearing an ankle brace and dancing in a corporate logo branded chair. “C’mon. Like… really?”

By this time, Molly and her gang had long arrived at the party. Hell, Molly was on the minds and on the tongues of the many drug-induced patrons long before the party, uh-hmm, rave had started. She and her teeny bopper friends stood everywhere, outdoors in the packed parking lot adjacent potheads hacking lungs to the indoor public restroom urinals sucking on hard candy.

Molly, the nouveau designer heroin chick, had shed her former shell “Tina,” and left it behind stranded in some sadist’s medicine cabinet in a glow stick illuminated hellhole. The new “It” girl with spiked pink hair and dyed midnight roots cropped to the outer edges on both sides of the head, wore a leather pink bustier, soft to the touch pink lace panties and pink furry boots, all in stark contrast to the communicable candy jewelry draped around her hands and tatted neck. And to think the candy ravers had retreated into the caves. She worked two elongated arms that ended with ten acute neon pink fingernails slashing through the air. She wore a frozen visage, but with soft and inviting facial features. A silver chain linked her nose ring to the hole in her left earlobe. This spectacle resembled more cyber-punkish than cyber-raverish. Oh well, so much for the stereotypes.

Outdoors, at midnight, standing in 98 degree heat, a 4Deep family reunion of cast and characters, who by the way, were all over the age of thirty gathered outside a club to enter a party. In line, some random droopy-eyed ephebe rambled surfeits to the sober minded. Indoors, Scott Wozniak’s “Breathe(Instrumental) reverberated off the walls of the club, while outdoors a line wrapped around the building, with ravers waiting for twenty or more minutes behind a velvet rope just to enter the mind-altering premises.

Once inside the apocalyptic Neverland a feverish buzz of activity blew from ever angle, every corner and every view of the room. Like a playground filled with pseudo-adult kids screaming atop lungs and playing on various swing sets, monkey bars, and curvy slides. The aroma of flesh saturated with addicting substances tickled the nose hairs. Three separate spaces, the bar, the main room, and a patio boldly captured three distinct yet unified sounds. The bar area churned out soul-hacked jackin’ house and EDM gems. Next door, in the main room, funky house danced in the arms of electro that consummated the hazy-oxidized environment. While outdoors drenched in Mother Nature’s perspiration drum & bass, jungle and tribal sounds kicked out atmospheric buzzes. The capacious club contained the correct amount of dance space. However, please be aware of the dizzying strobe light display spinning nearby. Someone could sustain massive injuries by those twirling glow sticks the size of massive dildos. The translucent plastic tubes were everywhere; from the wide-eyed girl selling merchandise at one of the many vending tables in the global bazaar to the lad decked in a chemiluminescence glow from head to toe. The single-use objects came in all colors, shapes and sizes, much like condoms atop a panoply display of heads. WATCH OUT!?! This could either get dangerous or interesting.

“This is not my kind of scene,” observed one house head-a mother of two teenagers. This place equaled Paris’ Can Can, an underground circus minus the singing. An inveterate of motleys; misfits, outcasts, deviants and clones paraded around in linear fashion.

Speaking of fashion -which recalled to mind a bad trip down memory lane, to the local shopping mall to visit one of those “toxic” chain stores where facial piercings and body tats are du jour, and guitars scream from overhead speakers delivering a nauseating thump-several miscues misstepped boundaries . Fashion no-no number one, the crack. Natch, crack came with the territory from a lad swinging glow sticks with baggy pants falling low waistline to girls sporting hip hugging dental floss and not much else. Fashion no-no number two arrived straight from the catwalks of Paris. (Not) Shirtless white boys. Bare chests that have yet to graduate puberty danced in celebration. The trend stolen straight (oops gaily) from the pages of boy-on-boy clubs proved all too distracting. Were these kids hetero, homo, bi or try (curious)? Anyhoo, bird-chest boys, pranced around with curvy-chest girls in fluorescent body paint of designs that ranged from the Mehndi to sloppy. These “happy chains” resembled bad hallucinations of the cult Teletubbies rainbow characters. The third fashion no-no, the cat suit. Please, don’t come dressed as a black cat wearing a black pleather spandex top and matching shorts equipped with a black animal tail, lace leggings and boots on the hottest night of the year. Yes, that goes out to the guy wearing glasses over black cat ears and twirling the glow sticks. Adroit? Yes. Intelligent? No. The fourth fashion no-no, the puerile backpack. Is that Mario from Super Mario Brothers fame strapped to the back of some guy? Wait another minute. Is that the crazy cat from “Alice In Wonderland” with the sharper than a two-edged sword teeth strapped to the back of another guy?

There are so many blacks (males) here,” marveled the thirty-something graphic designer with googly-eyes. “Who would’ve ever thought?”

Guess one shirtless black guy with sculpted pecs thought so because within ten minutes he would grab the “I’m old enough to be your older sister” graphic designer for a “bump and grind” session. Two things are for sure these youngins’ like them older and successful.

Not only were there a significant portion of hip-hoppers turned ravers but a lively mix of Latinos (Mexicans) sprinkled with a dash of Asians. After all, the club sat on Buford Highway the city’s hybrid of cultural explosion.  Too bad the youth had no idea what they were listening to.

“It’s the alternative to their house music,” beamed the graphic artist. “They have no clue what this is.” She was correct. The playlist paid no relevance to today’s household famous electronica names; David Guetta, Deadmau5, Skrillex or the Ultra Records Kaskade but to inspiring Chicago house artists. Not that the crowd was unreceptive or unresponsive. The freaked-out youth danced, jumped up and down and head-banged to their parent’s-the first and second generation wave of U.S. ravers -electronic grooves.

“Bro, I should have known by the amount of DJ names listed on the flyer this was a rave,” snickered a thirty-something years old chef who always carries around his security blanket-a bottled beer.

The party consisted of a who’s who in Bro-House. 4Deep veterans DJC and Knoxville, TN’s Kevin Nowell tagging and playing the newly appointed British ambassador of soul, Adele’s “Set Fire To The Rain” to the blue-eyed soul maestro Grant Nelson, alongside Earthtone Soundsystem vets musical fillings in the bar area. The Teamsters Reunion with Nashville’s, DJ Sammie, Georgetown, KY’s, Trevor Lamont and former Chicagoan/California transplant Halo Varga tagging in the main room but it was the solo music set from DJ Lego that brought that sweet symphonic North Side Chicago Jackin’ House sound to the playground.

Windy City’s DJ Lego drugged the hyper-active kids with aggressive beats meets psychedelic melodies. Lego hit a home run, knocked the ball out of the park and kept the hits in the family by playing signature crafted tunes from his hometown base. A dubbie version from former Chicagoan Honey Dijon featuring sliced vocals by resident Chicagoan Dajae titled “Until The Day,” played to a fussy shock. As the beats banged faster the crowd danced harder proving the youngsters like it hard and rough.

Onstage, half- baked and half-dressed girls danced off-count (and not because they were intoxicated) while one sprayed glitter from the platform that would take a week or so to rinse out of curly locs. A fog machine spewed its venom on the victims below on the crowded dance floor. As if the glow sticks weren’t enough the young girls pulled out sparklers and lit the fireworks onstage to the sound of cheers. Was this a fire code violation?

The stroke of 2:30 signaled the time for one tired a$$ thirty-something years old’s departure. Outdoors, one of the county’s finest dressed in blue, sat on a steel beam at the egress. It was one of those nights where the law enforcement turned their protective eye to certain illegal ongoings. Into the thick blanket of heat on the hottest night of the year, the sweating thirty-something years old chef remarked, “It’s time to go home. I can only take so much.”

After all, age ain’t nuthin’ but a number. Right?

Photography by Atlas Clothing