Posts Tagged ‘Anane Vega’

LOUIE VEGA & ANANE 15.02.14 Part I

February 26, 2014



Part 1

Black Curtain

There hang long black drapes in one corner of the room, next to the DJ stage and behind the global bazaar. 

A steady stream of bodies treks from out the curtain.

Gofers fetch drinks from the bar before they disappear back into the curtain.

A group of hourglass curves exit the curtain with glowing smiles.

Those left on the outside watch curiously.                                           

Something goes on behind those large black drapes.

You can feel the energy.

Is this some makeshift private VIP, roped off from the common soul?

Or a moon ritual?


Louie Vega Main.jpg 

Louie Vega

Always, Louie Vega brings the unadulterated soulful house music sound that capsizes at 126 beats per minute.  Foot heavy four-on-the floors slap the faces of dancers.  His sound is not for the faint.  Or for the soft of feet that prance on the tips of toes as ballerinas.  These days, ears have to be conditioned to tolerate stuttered 808’s as hamstrings have to be fully stretched to endure the wear and tear that shall soon follow.   In all, this is Louie’s tribute to his old school roots, when late 80’s house and early 90’s house ruled.  His momentum takes you back to the Devil’s Nest in the Bronx.  A time when vocal house pit the Jacksons against First Choice.  Anyone for Lynn Lockamy?  Inaya Day?  Duane Harden?  To fully understand Louie is to fully understand the sum of his parts.  Vega Records.  Roots remixes.  EOL essentials.  Fania T-shirts?  Louie is not shy to spotlight his ethos.  Louie Vega revolves around Louie’s world. He is a heavyweight in the industry, a revered leader among his peers.  When Louie speaks, people actually jot notes.    People just don’t happen to dance to Louie Vega in the mix.  They are subconsciously pulled into his black hole.  Rather or not education on the dance floor is your dogma.  You will be schooled.       


Aww, look, the darling couple sits on stage.  His body is pinned against hers.  Their body language speaks love.  She pulls out her smartphone encased in candy apple red.  “Click.”  The selfie captures two loving souls.   That’s cute.  However, the crowd is ready to experience what they dropped Gs for. 

Like a swan’s tears dropping into tranquil waters, Japanese violinist, Chieko Kinbara’s dramatics bleeds all over Josh Milan’s heartfelt “Just Like Love.”  The Timmy Regisford and Adam Rios tropical beat builds to a muddled rise.  The train is running off the tracks.  Can anyone help?  To the rescue he comes.  Where?  To the right of the stage.  His two eyes peep over three Pioneers.  His waist and upper torso bends over the CD players.  The man is dressed in a black tee and sporting his signature stingy-brim fedora.  A tattooed tribal arrow points towards his hand that turns shiny knobs, while his right hand cups a silver earphone.  His stance commands all attention.    

A few facial visages appear stunned.  Perhaps the sight of their idol standing a few feet away smacks them.  Or is it the beat?  The “oonz, oonz, oonz,” clocks at high speeds.  All courtesy of a power kick drum, hissing snares and a heart pounding bass thump.  Bodies erk and jerk.  Inquiries of confusion contort eyebrows.  Smoky vocals sing that adds additional confusion.  The beat overpowers the messenger.  Louie understands.  He adjusts the controls.  Fail.  So, two heavyweights move a monitor closer to Vega’s post for greater sound definition.  The light bulb idea works.

“I was At The Club, somewhere near the bar.” Lynn Lockamy never sounded better in surround sound.  Her accappella plays over the same sixteen counts that startled minutes earlier.  The crowd gets it.  They sing, “When I saw that man.”          

Somewhere the secular intersects the spiritual.  A juxtapose that possesses one dancer to bolt up the stage and back down stage in nanoseconds.  “Can I preach to you?”  Arms thrust into the air.  Hands beat speakers.  Mops of hair wiggle from side-to-side.  People are short of falling out in the spirit.  Whatever Louie laced this “Can I preach to you?” acapella, sets the people free.  Earlier hesitations of premature expectations are now fully abandoned.  The people melt in the hands of Louie.  The room is ripe and ready to receive. 

“Hey, hey, hey, hey.”  A familiar voice beckons from the audio’s output.  “It’s Not Over,” sings a First Choice soundclip.   The score’s highs pull to the fore, the bass drops into oblivion that leaves the mids pitched against white noise.  Orchestrated strings pull the melody back into existence.  A moody electric guitar speaks with a twang.  The disco re-edit is the Gamble and Huff produced Jackson’s “Show You The Way To Go” vs. MFSB “The Sound of Philadephia” that sucks the room right into Louie’s black hole.

Mr. Vega is eager to show off his universe.  His world is full of stars.  Louie Vega staring Duane Harden, Louie Vega staring Bucie and Louie Vega staring Julie…the list goes on and on and on.  God love him.  Louie is always staring someone. 

If Louie had to play one summative oeuvre it would be Louie Vega starring Duane Harden’s “Never Stop.”  The Sunset Ritual Version lyrically laced with positivity uplifts the room to a higher state.  When lead vocalist Duane Harden backs Cindy Mizelle to sing ”Lift You Up,” the atmosphere erupts with explosives.  Louie could pack his crates, grab his wife and make a run for the door.  The crowd would never know they were robbed. 

Thankfully, the GRAMMY award winner proves why he is the hardest working man in soulful/deep/house music and continues to drop hits.  He plays his Piano Dub of the Native Sons “City Lights.”  Don’t get too comfortable with Inaya Day yelling, “Hey, Hey.”  Louie throws a curve ball.  When the outro bass line filters to low-fi, in comes Louie’s Factory Mix Part 1 for even more hi-fidelity bass trickery.  This guy won’t even stick to playing one of his remixes: he goes in to play two of his remixes.        

A key in F-minor bumps over 125 BPMs.  Is it filler time?  Louie allows the crowd to breathe.  After all, a professional knows not to wear his or her guests out in twenty minutes.  So he cools the school with the ‘Princess of House’ on “Angels Are Watching Over Me“ his Vega Old School UN Instrumental.    

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” The ever recognizable accent of Tambor’s founding father DJ Stan Zeff announces with microphone in hand.  “Let’s give a warm Tambor welcome for the second time to….. “


Anane Vega

The force of Anane does not pull in the opposite direction but rather digs deeper into the waters that birthed her voice of ancestral soul.   Her Cape Verde, two tiny archipelagos to the left of the Motherland’s shores, roots is her narrative.  At one point growls and chirps resonates through the room.  At safer beats per minute, one dancer feels compelled to join the flock rushing center stage to lay eyes on the DJ. 

The male and female species are rarely treated to lay eyes on a Glamazon.  Let alone a Glamazon DJ.  A simple gesture as pulling her sandy blond locks back into a tail captivates the room.  The “Bem Ma Mi” singer radiates a glow that blings brighter than the ‘Rock’ gold chain hanging around her elongated neck.  Voices whisper, “Beauty is only skin deep.”  But in Anane’s case her God give beauty is layered not linear.  Not one to rest solely on her symmetrical cheekbones, the singer, DJ, wife, philanthropist and most recent entrepreneur proves she has skills.  The music she plays is self-evident, realized and afro driven.  A fact her partner-no, not Antonello Coghe-acknowledges in eye distant.  A head nod to her hubby at work provides approval for him to chime in the fun.   The two stationed at polar opposites of the mixing spectrum align their chakras into one cohesive body.  Impressive, breathtaking and sometimes all over the place is what the two display.  A husband and wife DJ tag team.  After all, Louie and Anane are house music’s Jay and Bey.      

“Flowers bloomin, mornin’ dew and the beauty seems to say…..A velvet voice sings.  “It’s a pleasure when you treasure all that’s new and true and gay.”  Rhythm and Blues lovers recognize the voice they grew up with as Luther Vandross.  Then from nowhere, Glow’s “Change of Love” goes from straight disco to proper Jersey house.  Dancing feet keep pace for the second verse.  Until a voice announces, “We gon take it back.” 

Where Anane stops:  Louie starts.  Electric synths jabs staccato punches.  The volume slowly ascends.  The ears of elders recognize the ear candy.  “Say are you happy” an angelic voice asks.  Feet stomp the floor.  Arms thrust into the air.  “Have you been down to the club that the worldly people love.”

Perhaps this Moon Ritual is not the “Club Lonely (Lonely People)” that Lil’ Louis envisioned.  Black, brown, tan, yellow, beige and peach faces dot wall to wall.  People are adorned with their spouse, people whisper amongst friends and even the single dance hand in hand.  No one appears to be lonely.

A few counts later the medley switches tides but stays true old school.  “Can You Hit It/Hit It,” a powerhouse vocal repeats.  Again the crowd goes AWOL.  “Brighter Daaaaaaayyyyy.”  Singer Dajae wails into the air for an extended frame on the Cajmere’s Underground Goodies Mix.  Lads take note a professional not only knows the right song to play at the right time but the right remix to play of the song. 

Earth People’s “Dance” floors feet and silences every criticism.  “I Got Something for your mind, your body and soul.”  A First Choice sound clip brags.  The party man does not stop there he continues throwing down classic heat from Chitown to the 5 Boroughs.  But around the corner lurks eyes that glow with fire in the dark.  A force flies from the speakers.  Knees crash onto the concrete.  Acid house spews its vengeance.   

BLACKOUT.  One dancer is stretched out between a speaker box and a railing. 





Visuals & Words by AJ Dance





February 16, 2014


A Different Energy


Through hazy vision and dim lights the stage appears as one giant schmooze fest.  Louie’s stage manager is not attentive.   People dart to rub elbows with the “Hollywood of House.”  Do you even know who Louie Vega is?- people dance on stage.  Pearly whites, handshakes and bear hugs overpower the music.  The Hollywood couple must have messaged all of their mangs and dames to hobnob onstage.  Their bleached blond bangs and soulfro frocks are completely strange, never having graced a prior Tambor.  

When Anane puts down her bedazzled gold phones she grabs a Fambor faithful for a dance.  One by one, more and more lovelies join the awesome twosome.   Onstage rumps shake in the air.  “Cerca Di Mi” never sounded so sexual.  

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An unusual amount of sex straddles the air.  And the potent seduction only increases with ritual mating calls.  When Africa’s Busiswa references queens and her royal highness on the DJ Zihle acclaimed “My Name Is,” actual freaks run to the dance floor.  Wet bodies frottage.  Hips gyrate.  Groins gravitate.  Arousal is felt.  The people are molested on the dance floor…by the music. 

The energy is not all defined by sex. The smoke free zone becomes a hotbed for cancer sticks to spew venom.  Toppling off table tops, aluminum cans piss carbs and cals onto the once covered baby powdered floor.  The room reeks of sweat.  The walls perspire.  The cement floor gives way to slippery puddles. 

A voice yells over Femi Kuta’s “Truth Don Die.”  “There is a different energy in here.”

Of course, this is a Moon Ritual party. 

“Just what is a Moon Ritual?”   

A phenomenon not easily defined but worthy of experience.   

Back on the platform, myths become future folklore.  Local legendary DJs, transplants via NYC, perform an impromptu “I’ll House You,” another adlibs, “I Get Deep, I Get Deep, I Get Deep.”    

Somewhere in the ritual’s final minutes, Louie shines his spotlight back on the real stars of the night, the dozens of people still gathered on the floor, by playing Stevie Wonder’s “Another Star.”  He teases the crowd.  “Is It All Over My Face?” Fifty voices chant. “Hell Yeah.”  Loose Joints has the hanger-ons love dancing.  Louie loves “Days Like This.”  He smiles.  Then he tells the people to “Stand On The Word.” That’s funny.  Sunday morning church service is only hours away.    

All the while, Louie never utters one word into the microphone.  His voice is amplified through the music he plays, a projection that allows him to stand taller than his stature and outshine the brightest of his contemporaries.  This is the power of the Vegas, to make anyone and everyone feel like a star for the night.  From old friends to new friends.  From dancers to wallflowers.  From music makers to music breakers.  From Beverly’s hills to Georgia’s red clay.  Louie’s world is all about stars.  

Visuals and Words by AJ Dance


October 17, 2010


Around the room, African Queens draped in pink-except for the big breasted which were reduced to wearing brown tees- displayed staunch allegiance to fight breast cancer. Every shade of pink from neon, traditional, to faded and every pink pattern from solids, stripes to polka-dots were within view. If one was without the night’s monochromatic theme of hot pink Tambor tees for the Queens and brown Tambor tees for the King’s they were available for purchase in the dining section of the club with all proceeds going to a breast cancer awareness organization. The room dressed with modest pinks and browns for a common cause displayed a unified vision of all tribesters dressed in one accord awaiting Tambor’s femme fatale.

This was Tambor’s first all female DJ line-up to aid the fight against breast cancer. Earlier, the first femme fatale, Miss Kai from Capital City decked in pink and green from head to toe, smoked the room with broken beat, deep house and full on house sounds. Miss Kai’s unique blend of genre hopping caused the early birds to work up a sweet sweat before the night’s main event and special guest talent.

At last the goddess stood at least six feet plus in pumps that allowed her to hover over the crowd like a spiritual deity. In another life she could have easily been a top model but tonight she was an ass- kicking superhero about to beat the shit out of breast cancer. Her six foot frame half covered by a hot pink Tambor tee and blue denim with magical golden locks free and natural protruding from a perfectly squared face with soft doe eyes marked her arrival behind the DJ table. Mrs. Anane Vega was ready to wreak havoc and tear up the room with dirty tribal beats. Anane attacked like some comic book karate assassin with deadly kicks backed by deadly arm thrusts. She was a musical black belt; a singer, songwriter, songstress, DJ and music producer all rolled up in one that possessed unprecedented beauty only reserved for gods and goddesses. There was no stopping this Femme Fatale except for the brief second the music stopped due to technical difficulties (oops). Even then she picked up right where she left off- kicking ass musical style. She was out to leave not one soul unscathed by her musical fury. She wouldn’t stop till everyone in the room was transported to African dressed in loin clothes.

All was under her spell of majestic beauty and tribal assault. In the room the women lost their minds to their fearless musical leader and the men lost their minds beholding such beauty. Never had the tribesters witnessed a goddess from the islands off South Africa kicking ass with splendor.

Anane jacked the room with stellar beats and the occassional vocals. Some time during the heavy bass hitting night, a female’s vocal appeared from nowhere singing, “Give It 2 U.” It was the voice of uber-diva, Ultra Nate flawlessly fluttering over an orchestra laden Quentin Harris house production with no effort. Without notice, low chants of, “Oh man, Oh man,” echoed throughout the building. The male vocals seemed to rise from the ground as haunting ghosts taking everyone by surprise. It was Black Coffee’s, “JuJu” the percussion driven re-edit equipped with finger snaps that sent the tribesters into pandemonium. However, not to be outdone, Anane dropped the vocal killer, “Plastic People” the first single off her debut composition. The deep house tune with penned lyrics, “Plastic People/I See Thru Your Evil” illustrated the hearts of haters with evil intentions to do the innocent wrong.

Evidently, Anane the night’s main attraction felt relief after her “Afro-Tech” set soaked with heavy beats and tech effects took to the floor to dance during the night’s closing number-a song from another native West Coast African islander. Anane two-stepped in circles with several loyal tribesters that were all greeted with pearly smiles and hearty hugs as the song concluded. Everyone seemed especially happy to be embraced by the glamazon from the land afar. Thank God she was not aloof but possessing grace and humility not the kind of attitude one would expect from a musical ass-kicking femme fatale.

That night, breast cancer got the shit knocked out of it. Unable to stand, the ailment fled the room in an embarrassing defeat. Take that. Once again, Tambor won the battle. This time with help from Les Femme Fatale. The End.

Photography by Carlos J. Bell

Video by Ari Johnson/courtesy of Stan Zeff


May 21, 2010


It had been five whole years since Louie Vega played at the mega niteclub Compound. This moment had taken too long to come and this moment would not to be missed for anything in the world.

The room, quickly surveyed, revealed a pathetic abandoned emptiness. It reeked of a lonely silence except for the music played by Louie Vega. Yes, the legendary Mr. Vega hailing from Miami via Bronx was already on the 1’s and 2’s. The lack of bodies present presented a major problem as the cell phone displayed Friday, 12:05 am. The abundance of prime dance space proved highly unusual for a house music legend’s set. Fortunately, the floor wasn’t completely empty. There had to be at least ten house disciples already in mid-dance. Statuesque and poised stood several onlookers against walls in astonishment as if unsure of what they were to do in a dance club with a wide empty dance floor that beckoned to be inhibited.

Back on the decks, Louie delivered arsenal after arsenal of hits that destroyed the crowd. The few left standing hooped and hollered with such extreme aggression it caused the room to rock with jubilation. Then like fire from the sky fell the crowd’s favorite, “Twisted” Louie’s rework of a dance diva’s classic. Around the club people twirled in the air and spun in circles to the lyrics, “You’ve got me twisted on your love.” How appropriate as people yelled the lyrics in sheer delight. This felt more like heaven than a niteclub; a kind of twisted heaven where the wooden dance floor transformed into streets of gold.

After a short transition of tweaking the mixer’s knobs, Louie stepped aside. Interestingly, Louie exited the decks to make room for his wife, Mrs. Anane Vega. Was he really finished? He’d only been on deck for 45 minutes. That wasn’t long enough to be teased by such quintessential tunes.

Within a moment’s breath, Anane set up shop. WOW, what beauty! You’ve got to be kidding. What can she do on those decks that Louie hasn’t already done? Sure she can stand on stage and look good but what about her skills on the steel? With rapid dissension, Anane moved between the 1’s and 2’s with a soulful bounce as if ready to drop a new born child into the crowd. Behind the glamazon played an amazing black and white concept video of her new single. What ingenious marketing.

Then the build-up of anticipation occurred that aroused an energy that took prisoner one-by-one the followers on the dance floor. Suddenly, the people were arrested with a penetrable force not from Anane’s untouchable beauty but from what was to come. What followed was an auditory delight of deep house and afro-beat that descended upon the crowd as holy water. What was this sacred force that cultivated every being in attendance to jump and behave like wild unrestraint animals at a petting zoo? The room went crazy. Literally, the atmosphere transcended into an otherworld of talking African drums when the club’s walls fell down and gave way to Africa’s Amazon jungles.

For the rest of the night, Anane slew the room with her rhythmic conquest. The music brought out dance moves never before rehearsed. Legs were stretched in the air and arms swung to and fro as if in tantra positions. The music continued to stretch every vein, joint and muscle present in the room. Never had the crowd danced so deep in what seemed like ages.

Photogrpahy by John Crooms