Archive for May 19, 2013

OSUNLADE 18.05.13

May 19, 2013

OSUNLADE

00.00

A brush of a shoulder here and a brush of a shoulder there detour not from the festivity at hand.  A sea of brown and beige paints the room’s canvas.  The lovely soul children have arrived.  The people pack the place.  They come ready to be baptized into the waters of deep.  Digital phones and tablets rush front and center stage with bright red buttons aglow that records movement.  Onstage busy bodies migrate to and fro as they prepare for the third coming.  The return of one of the most anticipated Ministers of Sound that has defined a musical movement for this generation’s era. 

Tambor Party.  Let us welcome back for the third time, all the way from Greece, Mr……”   

 

Osunlade’s Tambor debut, three years earlier, saw the “Envision” singer share the bill with a fellow DJ from Chicago.  Talk about running upstairs and running downstairs to catch both DJs at work.  In addition, the venue’s shoebox shaped basement could not contain the crowd Osunlade commands.

One year later sees Osunlade-in support of his final house music offering ‘Pyrography’ with organic illustrations from artist Scott Marr-headline Tambor’s two-year anniversary soiree to a capacity crowd.  Peculiarly, Tambor was pushed out of the venue’s more spacious accommodation and into a smaller adjacent corner with no air-conditioning in mid-August heat.  Epic FAIL. 

This time around, team Tambor envisioned correctly and secured the event facility’s main room, come hell or high water.     

 

Reinvention is essential.  Not only has Osunlade’s music manifesto evolved at each Tambor but so his appearance.  Gone, the dreads traded for a military cut.  Ever present: the ear gauges large enough to punch a fist through.  Standing proud and appearing stunning in a golden tee, contrasted by a grey vest, the artist steps up to play. 

The warm cheers subside.  Quietly the people stand.  A sense of anticipation shatters the atmosphere.  An anticipation so delicate it borders on discretion.  Suddenly, a shimmering vocal sounds.  It softly dances on heads and drifts through the air.  As so, eloquent discretion begets questions.  Who is singing?  What is the title of this track?  Everyone’s response: petrified silence.  Perhaps this is no expected powerhouse anthem, but more of a soft opener wetting the people’s appetite for more to come. 

Punch the bass and hit throttle.  The music kicks into high gear with Fleetwood Mac’s “Dreams” (Osunlade Mix).  Stevie Nicks never sounded so distinguished than belting notes over a deep house treatment.  The audience agrees.  They sing along.

Questionable.  Neophyte, Lana Del Rey’s “Video Games” (A Nooma Remix by Manoo) quiets the tone but keeps bodies in motion. 

BOOM!!! Afefe Iku’s “Mirror Dance” shatters the sound sphere.  The song’s vibrancy still has not lost its edge.  The crowd jumps off.  Their unbridled praise proves the Yoruba Soul Remix featuring Oveous Maximus is still relevant. 

Anyone for a slow dance?  Jill Scott’s “My Love” plays filler duties.  The Jason B Remix is a sleeping beauty that needs to stay asleep. 

“HEEEYY.” Dave Ghan screams.  The crowd awakes and stands attentive.  Depache Mode’s lead vocalist sings “Reach Out” on MasterKev/Tony Loreto and Polyrhythm’s interpretation of “Personal Jesus” against a stark beating percussion. “Reach Out And Touch Me” is what the crowd tries to do.  With arms stretched high and hands raised in the air a spiritual pilgrimage begins.

The spiritual apex ascends.  This time Atlanta’s Donnie sings “Olmec Save Us” (Yoruba Soul Mix) produced by Atlantan Kai Alce, who is in the house.  People beg, “What is the name of this track?  “Where can I download it?”

Jazzy Jeff featuring Erro’s “Rock With You” (Yoruba Soul Dub Mix) oscillates right into the hands of yesteryear.  Chicago’s “Street Player’s” brass section dazzles dancers with dynamics, Lil Louis’ & The World’s “I Called You (But You Weren’t There) provides the wit with its tell-tale of love gone wrong, and later Candido’s “Thousand Finger Man” surprises and delights and refreshes seasoned ears.

01:00

The battle of the event occurs: Jack Son’s “Thrill Her” versus Prince’s “Controversy.”  The room explodes.  People scream.  People dance.  People sweat. 

As this is the party of sweat stains.  Perspiration accents brows, drops from foreheads, runs down bare arms and decorates T-shirts.  Be careful.  Even the slippery floor sweats.    

One word describes a world-renowned DJ/producer/songwriter/singer that can slay a room with a belt-heavy of eclectic catalog hits, produced or remixed for the likes of mainstream artist Frank Ocean featuring Earl Sweatshirt’s, “Super Rich Kid” to indie repertoire Jazztronik’s, “Dentro Mi Alma.” The word is pride.  A pride that sings so loud and so clear that it demands attention.  Live and in person, singer soulstress Nadirah Shakoor does so.  She takes the stage to sing her female fueled power anthem, “Pride.”  Surprise!  No one envisioned this moment where these two musical souls, the producer and the singer, would synergize together on Tambor’s stage.  The DJ steps back; the singer steps forward.  Osunlade digs out another cohort/producer, Andy Catana’s “Ironia,” a deep/tech house four-to-the-floor treat from his 2010, “Occult Symphonic.”  From the OS to Pyrography, “Envision,” (Ame Remix) plays but right at the break where sonic beeps collide with bombastic bass the song disappears.

“Bleep, Bop”

“Bleep, Bleep, Bop”

“Errrrr”

“Bleep, Bleep, Bop”

“Ooooo, Yeee, Ooooo”

“Bloop”

“Errrr”

“Bah, Bah, Bah, Bah”  

With every “Bleep” a Bozark knob turns clockwise.  With perfect timing between intervals of FX, the sound is tweaked with skilled precision.  The spectacle displays a master of music playing Space Invaders on an Atari gaming system. 

A drum kicks.  A four count rhythm startles.  A climatic build of dizzying bleeps and bumps clash against stark fireworks.   Galactic shrills scream “Bang.”  This is the one minute opener to one of the most amazing pieces of music ever recorded.

“Fireworks”/ “Computer Games” is the song that might have made Kraftwerk uneasy.  “Computer Games” inspired the hip hop and electronic/electro age of music.  Tokyo Japan’s most successful outfit, Yellow Magic Orchestra’s opus takes the dancers on a magic carpet ride to the Far East where sound imagery intersects Asian arts.  The song-composed of strings, steel vibes, warm keys and fluttering flutes, all played on synthesizers-plays in its entire glory for seven minutes and twenty seconds.        

The party becomes a performance.  Osunlade transforms from DJ to entertainer.  He dances.  He frolics to every count, every intricate detail of rhythmic expression via instrument.  At best, Osunlade is a showman. 

“I can’t take no more.” One dancer pants.  “I’m about to pass out.”  Osunlade slays the room.  Dancers hold one another up.  Even Tambor’s banner on stage lies on the floor.   

Next, the crowd journeys along the Nile to the Motherland.  Pyramids raid the distance and camels travel on cruise control.  Listen.  The Jones Girls sings, “Nights Over Egypt.” 

02:00

Somewhere the music goes obscure between Latin rhythms of bossa nova and samba where African drums talk into the ancestral universe. 

Osunlade returns the journey back to a safe destination, his Yoruba Soul catalog.  Self- produced, “Cantos A Ochun Et Oya” and Erro’s “Don’t Change” (Main Mix) segue into remixed classics for the likes of Tortured Soul with “I Might Do Something Wrong” (Osunlade Lonely Remix) and the pimp-slap Vivian Green’s “Emotional Rollercoaster,” (Osunlade Late Night Mix) both nods to the early aughts. 

A slight interruption by DJ Stanzeff can’t stop the music.  Osunlade is where?  He is zoned in the mix and unable to stop playing music even if he wanted too.  Sadly, Osunlade has no choice.   The room illuminates with fluorescents.  Translation: Time To Go. 

The event’s closing number a padapella of Marvin Gaye’s “I Want You” brings out the freaks.  Several couples grind and grope one another as if this event is one large orgy.  Pheromones fill the air.  Sex is in the future for some tonight.         

 

The Tambor Party is known for many surprises.  But this party turned performance was the surprise of all.  From a live singer to a DJ playing three instruments called two Pioneer CD players and one Bozark.  This Tambor felt authentic, not forced, organic, not processed, yet cohesive lacking definition. 

The music fit no formula, format or flow.  The mixing of songs seemed cold.  At times, one song slammed into the next that forced the music into unexpected genres.  Why was this so?  How did this work?  Better yet, it worked!  If this had been another DJ the experience would have largely failed flat.  Word to the wise: Osunlade is often imitated but never duplicated.  

03:00

DJ Stanzeff takes hold of the microphone to announce, “Tambor let’s give a round of applause to our good friend Mr…”

“I’m freaking family!”  Osunlade interrupts.  “I’m freaking family!”

Yes, Mr. Osunlade you are family. 

 

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Words and photography by AJ Dance

 

 

 

 

 

 

CARL CRAIG 04.05.13

May 5, 2013

CARL CRAIG

 

It is said, the body’s natural response to music is dancing.

 

The first Saturday in May masquerades as the first Saturday in March.  Way too cold and way too wet.  Electronic Dance Music pathos suggests the month of May belongs to Detroit’s Movement Festival, still dubbed DEMF, as the month of March to the Winter Music Conference.  Detroit’s home-grown finest, techno music thumps from Midwest assembly lines down to the outhouses in the Dirty South.  One of Detroit Techno’s many distributors, DEMF’s original artistic director, touched down and schooled a certain southern hospitable metropolis-the city too busy partying to hate-on true techno music.     

The problem started with the rain.  No the real problem dated back to the original E-blast.  The boys of Project B announced their one year anniversary gig.  Following in the footsteps of their past soirees with Stacey Pullen and Kevin Saunderson, another Detroit Techno legend would grace the hardware at a trendy restaurant turned night club afterhours.  The problem?  The oblong-shaped, shoebox, restaurant keeps a limited crowd capacity.  Not the place for a living legend, who plays packed festivals and stadiums worldwide, to whip his techno wizardry.    Already buzzing ears were on alert to anticipate a few unwanted encounters.      

01:00

Enter Carl Craig.  The forty-something Detroit Techno ambassador appears rock star, looking relatively youthful.  He shows face wearing expensive solar shields and sporting an authentic black leather jacket.  Style shows the man comes to throw down. 

“Atlanta.  Can I take you on a journey of future sounds?”

“Yeah!”  The drunken debauchery responds. 

Perhaps the future of electronica rests in the hands of the narrative.  Its voice a symmetric hybrid of deep house intersects minimal techno.   The sound sphere plays excursion to preconceived notions of any expected playlist traded for the spontaneity of open-mindedness.    

Obviously, the shoebox is pack, too pack, with bodies slammed from wall to wall.  Forget about trying to meander through the density of mass.  Forget about busting your favorite dance move.  Forget about trying to consume the drink in your hand.  Forget about doing anything that falls outside the category of standing stiff and staring directly into the blond hair in your face while you are elbowed in the head, jabbed in the back, pushed to the side and your kicks stepped on. 

Over a deep treat Marvin Gaye sings “Ain’t That Peculiar.”  Yes.  How peculiar to show up at a dance party and have no room to dance. 

One or two printed Detroit garbs dot the room.  Some spectators appear to show-up only for the word, “techno.”   Most of the monochromatic crowd appears hell bent to fist pump than actually pop and lock.  Later, their wish is granted as the music builds into the atmosphere, disappears into gravity and then drops on their heads like barometric pressure.  Tomahawks appear. Sorry.  A Braves baseball game this is not.   However, the crowd loves it.  They respond, “Fuck Yeah” experiencing some peculiar eargasms. 

“That was the new Moodymann.” Carl shouts into the microphone after the third song plays.  Detroit Techno fans in the know respond with enthusiastic cheer. 

“The year 1995 just called the year 2013 and she wants her house music back,” says a giddy graphic designer wrapped in the arms of heavenly bliss. Her house music compass is only one year off.  A dub of Detroit’s Inner City & Kevin Saunderson’s “Share My Life” rams into action with classic chords thumping on all fours. 

“That’s got to be my favorite song.”  The Detroit giant pledges as the song fades into the next track by Suburban Knights.

02:00

The Planet E imprint founder plays professor to the crowd of students.  “I’m playing the same music that I would play in Berlin.  Atlanta, that means I’m being inspired.”

Awww.  Sweet sentiments.  The crowd responds with approval.      

“Earlier, I played for you my favorite song.  Now I’m going to play for you the first song I ever played as a DJ.  It was at a family reunion in Athens.  Ha.” 

Again the crowd goes wild.

“If I lost you on the last song then I will lose you on this one.  Atlanta, can I go deep?”

The crowd goes apeshit. 

“Honestly, if it wasn’t for this song here, there would be no techno music.” 

The crowd goes silent.

“There would not be half of the hip hop songs you hear.”

A pin can be heard dropping to the floor.

“Certainly, I wouldn’t be hear.”

Utter silence.

Egyptian Lover’s “Egypt Egypt” the original electro/hip hop song plays. 

What the?  The crowd is completely lost in translation. Maybe 1980’s nostalgia is not their song and dance.  Sadly, they fail to realize…..     

“People have no manners.”  A local DJ notes.  Somewhere within the hour the drunks grow ever obnoxious.  Too many drunks in a tiny confide guarantees disturbance of peace.  The scene grows bedlam.  Someone gets punched in the face.  And someone is banned from the venue.  Across the room a father dances with his twenty-six years of age daughter.  “She’s a DJ,” the buzzed dad brags.  “And she’s pretty good.”   The daughter’s drunken boyfriend sadly stares in disbelief and tries to make since out of this mess.  By the event’s end the daughter’s father ditches her and the boyfriend for the bar as she whips out and spins glow sticks. 

“The vibe is different tonight.”  The local DJ notes.  “Till next time. Peace out.”

Bombastic blasts accompanying sonic sounds bumps and bruises the room. 

“Turn around,” commands the giddy graphic designer wiping tears from her eyes.  “He played Strings of Life!!!” 

03:00

The tiny room is still pack with flesh.  Sweat and sex play in the air.  The DJ’s wife offers a round of drinks to dancers.  There is an extra inch of dance space as the true dancers gobble it up like the hot commodity it is.  Once again, deep house plays host before the night’s explosive Detroit Techno anthem, UR’s “Hi Tech Jazz” will send a person to the podiatrist with a plantar fasciitis.  OUCH!!!  That’s the power of house music.  It can hurt you.

“Where’s the techno?” yells an out-of-towner.  This too is the power of Detroit Techno, its sound is not boxed.

Carl Craig’s forward march into futurism proved a promising focal point.  Even greater, his educating the audience was priceless.  The chaos juxtaposed against the sound track deemed all too nauseous.  Next go round, should the music shine solo in the spotlight with greater emphasis on dance space is a must for positive impact.  After all, the event’s dilemma left no doubt as to the choice of music or genres played as the question posed, “What happens when you experience inspiring music that the body is unable to respond to?”

Words and Photography by AJ Dance

THE VENT: THE TEN COMMANDMENTS

May 5, 2013

THE VENT:
THE TEN COMMANDMENTS

Recently, having attended an event with an extraordinary DJ, a few patrons realized something was off kilter with this city’s house music market. So, a list of Ten Commandments was complied on how not to throw a party, how to behave at a party and how not to behave at a party and etc.  Let us provide higher quality events and safer events for patrons to attend in the near future. 

Commandment 01. Thou shall not bring a legendary DJ, who plays at sold-out festivals and stadiums around the world, to play at a restaurant shaped the size of a shoebox that accommodates a limited capacity.

Commandment 02. Thou shall not allow too many drunks to gather within a tiny space.

Commandment 03. If eighty-five percent of the crowd in attendance can not name one song by the world renowned DJ, thou shall not punish the fans that can.

Commandment 04. Thou shall not let a real dancer get elbowed in the forehead, knocked upside the back of the head, punched in the back several times, kicked in the ankle and pushed aside while some drunks falls to the ground.

Commandment 05. When the crowd is more prepared to fist pump than pop and lock, the party is in trouble. Thou shall not let this occur.

Commandment 06. Thou shall dance.

Commandment 07. Thou shall not disrespect the music. Music is sacred, a religious entity. RESPECT it.

Commandment 08. Thou shall not disrespect the dance space. It is hot real estate. RESPECT it.

Commandment 09. Thou shall not tell anyone your DAUGHTER is a DJ and she’s pretty good.

Commandment 10. The soul is something you cannot buy. You are born with it.

Bonus Commandment:

Thou shall not bring WPP to the club. Leave it at home.

Words and photography by AJ Dance