AJ Dance Legacy

DERRICK CARTER

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What is Chicago’s obsession with Mary J. Blige?  Chi-town’s Emmaculate, Terry Hunter, and now Derrick Carter have remixed her latest chart-topper.  Carter’s version jumpstarts the party with kick drums, hi-hats and the Queen of Hip Hop cooing “Good Morning Gorgeous.”

And gorgeous, they are.  The femmes and doms are out!  For Atlanta’s 51st Pride Celebration.  The must-attend Queen Butch’s “The Last Ball” closes the weekender.  Queen Butch dressed in all black leather.  His furry chest exposed, unzipped biker jacket, fitted pants, and tipped beret brings the boys to his backyard.  Their painted nails, protruding eyelashes and ass less chaps.

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The Karizma Effect

When darkness is fully realized and the moon is only left to guide you.  The humidity registering at 65% sticks to your shirt.  Ewww.  A truck is parked the wrong way on a one-way alley street.  The driver, a woman is passed out at the steering wheel.  Across the street is a lanky man perched  on the sidewalk.  Sleeping.  His face covered with a black hoodie skull.  This is just another Friday night in these streets of Atlanta. 

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A Wet Dream, A Prescription, A Block Party Part 1
15.05.22
Indigenous House

Years ago, forefather Tony Humphries told the press, Baltimore house music was underrated. The legend then went on to compare if the music coming out of Baltimore came out of NYC, the Baltimore sound would be more highly regarded. Years later, this sentiment rings true. Just look around.

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A Wet Dream, A Prescription, A Block Party Part II
15.05.22

Indigenous House Interlude

Someone give Tori Cooper her flowers. Give em’ to her now. Who better to serenade the annual honorable individual of Indigenous House than Candy J? She is Sweet Pu$$y Pauline to you. The original Queen B is in the house. Talking. Her raspy “Oooohhh” and “Chyle” with that Detroit drawl, is instantly recognizable. Talk about the who’s who of house music. Legends are everywhere at the park. (more…)

THE CHAMPIONSHIP GAME

Late night, the temperature reads a chilly 43-degrees, up in these streets, at the intersection of Ivan Allen Junior Blvd and Marietta. The soul awakens. From muffled thumps of bass heard in the distance. The hypnotic groove guides the body ever so closer to the pulsating nucleus. A black building. Covered windows. Littered with paper flyers. Destination affirmed. The pearly whites appear on the doorman’s smile. ID? Check. Ticket? Scanned. Proof of vax? Test? Or mask? Yeah. This is going to be one of those nights. Sweaty. Dirty. Nasty. Just #discoandhousemusicexcellence to purview. (more…)

There It Blows.

Overboard! A forceful gust of wind blows a fedora off a head. A giant plastic A-frame sign collapses. The cool draft blows against the perspiration on the lower back as the body jumps and spins 180 degrees. Sneakers effortlessly slide across the smooth cobblestone dotted red and brown. Breathe deeply. The cool crisp air filling the lungs feels not only refreshing but excites the savory glands. Hungry? Dance with friends nearby the vendor selling plant-based bites. Thirsty? Dance your way to the vendor selling liquid spirits? Anyone, for an orange sweatshirt to keep warm? Dance toward the rear entrance canopy where branded apparel is sold cash free. But be cautious dancing in front of giant sub woofers. That emits booms and bass loud enough for big-field festivals.

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OSUNLADE

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Twenty-five dollars cash to park! GTFOH. Betta forget about street parking too. Onward the parking quest continues. When music spills over brick edges onto black asphalt. Where groups of melanin hourglasses wearing lemonade braids with sneakers tread. Along the historic of avenues – Auburn.

This is just another hot boy summer Saturday night in these streets. Or is it? As twenty minutes later, the parking conundrum is solved. However, the question remains. Next trip drive solo, again? Or pay $90 round-trip to be chauffeured in a rideshare? Things that make you go “Hmmm.”

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Thommy “Turn It Out” Davis

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His shirtless majesty showcasing chiseled pectorals is in beast mode. Playing heavy four-count thumps that erupts from giant black cabinets. And dancing in front of those speakers will cause hearing loss for days to come. “You’ve waited all week to dance,” proclaims a diva loudly rapping over a beat that slaps. Standing on the pavilion’s ledge is one man who leans into the ear of another and speaks, “More like [we waited] a year.”

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All Hail, the King.

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Interlude

The music comes to a silence. There is an interlude of talking into a microphone from the founder of Indigenous House and the master of ceremonies. Yasss chyle! Most people are aware that Indigenous House is LGBTQIA affiliated, sadly most people are unaware the event is not called house music in the park.  More words are spoken about acceptance and monetary donations. But more entertaining is reading the statement tees over here and over there, the best reads: “The dance floor is my happy place.”

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Carl Craig

The Realest Muthafucka Alive

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“Tonight, there are no chairs.

No tables.

This is not that night.

Tonight, is for the dancers.

Hmmm. What’s the music [called]?”

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