Posts Tagged ‘funky house music’

JOHN CIAFONE of MOOD II SWING 14.02.20

February 28, 2020

John Ciafone

2240

 

Over looking the sparkling lights sweeping upward Juarez Mountain, Mexico from the Durango Street overpass vicinal the ballpark stadium, the ear catches pulsating thumps from the distance. In Las Plazaz, the Union Plaza district of downtown, sneakers trek along the community painted mural sidewalk. Ah, within sight, sits the destination, a brick and mortar painted with neon pink letters that reads, Club Here I Love You <3. (more…)

Defining KERRI CHANDLER /ˈkerē , ˈCHan(d)lər/ 16.02.19

February 28, 2019

 

Touch the sky,” sings Dana Weaver. Those three words reflect the pulse of the dance floor. Orchestrated by the conductor himself, his hand lowers the tempo to 125 BPMs. Dancing feet shuffle in sync. His head nods with approval. His smirk reveals. In the mind of kaoz is control. Kaoz commands music to create mood. Kaoz transforms moments into dancing movements. Most importantly, Kaoz summons dancers to journey. Their destiny sealed among the celestial,
Atmosphere.
          Hemisphere.
                    Ionosphere. (more…)

DAVID MORALES 30.09.18

October 1, 2018

And David danced…..

When you are dancing in the middle of the floor in the spotlight and you spin around to find the legend, himself, Mr. David Morales dancing with you. OMG!!!!! After the soirée he high-fives you and returns to the DJ booth.  

video: toasatedink

DJ DEB, DJ TORA TORRES, STACEY “HOTWAXX” HALE, DJ MINX 24.01

January 28, 2018

The CONNECTION-BEHIND THE GROOVE

Friday nights in January beckon bone-numbing chills, but tonight’s warmth is piped through an immense boombox sandwiched between storefronts on the “Edge” of downtown. What scenes as more than a weekend get down serves two-fold. Proceeds collected at the door will donate to the MS foundation-courtesy Real Chicks Rock -and a born-day celebration for one of Atlanta’s own. (more…)

DETROIT SWINDLE IN WASHINGTON D.C. 27.03.15

March 28, 2015

DetroitSwindleMain

00:23 EST

The Break Up

Sojourn down a flight of stairs into the mouth of the cavernous. Welcome to a basement that wipes grime off its brow. Dark, dingy, and dank. The space has charisma and it speaks with charm. No selfies. No photobombs. No videography. Washington D.C.’s U Street Music Hall forbids. (more…)

DERRICK CARTER IN NASHVILLE 28.02.15

March 1, 2015

 DerrickCarterArt

Derrick Carter & His Flock of Retired Ravers

2300 CST 

I’m A House Gangsta

Playing a game of “excuse me(s)” while trying not to step on sneakers takes balance and observation. Brushing shoulders and bumping against tatted biceps is the only way to maneuver through T-shirts that read, “I’m A House Gangsta” and “Nashville.” Watch out! Dance circle front and center. A group of six bodies stands in a circumference as if they are mother hens protecting their offspring from outsiders. Within their love nest, a dancer sporting a red Mohawk performs an asymmetric handstand. Into view, a six-foot frame slides three feet as people jump to avoid the whirlwind. Positioned left stage is a hand raver, with one limb, showing off his skills like it’s a badge of honor. As additional b-boys and one b-girl arrive the circle grows and snakes towards the room’s epicenter. Burly hugs, smooches on the cheeks, and handshakes fill the void. As one out-of-towner eloquently explains, “Brown. White. Old. Young. Tall. Short. Fat. Skinny. Beautiful. Ugly. Look at the diversity in this place.” (more…)

LEGENDS OF HOUSE 1: KEVIN SAUNDERSON 15.11.14

November 17, 2014

Legends of House Techno meets acid house

Legends of House

Legend 1: Kevin Saunderson

 23:30

 “You can’t smoke cigarettes in here.”

“Yes you can.”

“But I really thought you couldn’t…..”

“Yep.  You really can.”

“C’mon you are killing me.”

“Actually, you’re thinking of the “drum” crowd that doesn’t smoke when they dance here.” 

 24:00

“Made In Detroit” tees, plaid shirts and black-rimmed specs canvas the room.  College students fist pump adjacent parents: sparse faces of ecru and olive dot among vast pallid visages.  Behind a black column, a bearded hipster sets his glass of liquor on the floor.  Underneath the smoky haze and pulsating strobe lights that leaves the floor green, a sea of pearly white pupils stare at a stage.  Missing are electric guitars, live drums kits, synths and a hairy mop with plucked lips screaming into a microphone.  Instead two CD players, a mixer and equalizer are the instruments of choice.  Behind the arsenal stands a figure-tall, dark, and dressed in black.  He is who everyone in attendance is ready to experience. 

A four-on-the-floor thumps at full volume before disappearing into the dark.  Warm pads springs to life.  Like the prodigal son, classic house comes leaping home.  Many appear, by the lack of fist pumps, to be vaguely familiar.  Only the dancing is fully engaged.  Time travels back to baggy pants and PLURs: the bygone years of Generation X’s rave soundtrack.  If classic chords beckon feet to move, warm vocals commands mouths to sing,  “Your Love.”  Mouths mimic lyrics, as to say, if memory serves correctly, I used to know every word to this track.  The legendary DJ opens his musical mantra with his back catalog that proves he shines with the great.    

Lest you are unfamiliar and fail to understand the significance, let us dust off the pages of techno music’s biography.   Kevin Saunderson was born, and up to age 9 bred in Brooklyn, NY.  His family then traded sights of the Brooklyn Bridge for the Ambassador Bridge having moved west, Midwest, to suburbia Detroit.  Kevin’s high school years proved pivotal as he connected with music enthusiasts Juan Atkins and Derek May without knowing they would soon craft the blueprint for an underground movement.  After a short stint as a college football player, Kevin departed sports to pursue his love music.  Thus, he became an in-demand DJ who traveled the world.  The label imprint KMS-Kevin Maurice Saunderson-established him as a burgeoning music producer of a distinguished electronic camp.  It was his group, Inner City that created a cult following with vocal techno “Big Fun” and “Good Life” fame. Fast forward to present day, Kevin Saunderson is revered as one of the founding fathers, pioneers and pillars of techno music. 

Kiddie-corner the room the bald DJ stands hunched over shiny hardware.  His black tee brushes against knobs and faders.  His fingers flip CDs, press buttons, and slides switches in a single take. The maestro preps to deliver his best scenario: a repertoire of genre-defining sounds. Deep house sojourns on The Journeymen’s “Close to Me”, deep tech on Culoe De Song’s “Y.O.U.D.,” vocal house croons, “I Need You” that stirs the crowd to realize they need Kevin Saunderson just as much, Andrez “Based On A True Story” (Dub Mix) stomps across the cement floor, “Chicago” that Northside funky house sound causes bodies to writhe in jackin’ jolts, “Detroit,” Kevin’s hood, as in Detroit Techno plays at 135 BPMs and higher as Ovenous & Atjazz’s “Soldiers” speaks over marching drums.  Kevin takes a step back.  He beams a blinding smile.  He is having too much fun.  His stacked frame sways from left to right to his mental metronome.  Suddenly the sounds of recognizable synths sweep the soundscape.  It’s the song that made Kevin and Inner City household names “Good Life,” (Techno Mix) a worthy dose of tech-soul that closes out the set.

Scores of hands ripple the air as a body triple spins and jump upwards.  Not one soul is musically immune to bouts of satisfaction.  This is the music that beckons discerning electronic music lovers journey from Florida and Tennessee.  Local neo-technoites and EDM enthusiasts were schooled on the humble beginnings of a global massive front.  The fifty-years young DJ educated the crowd.  In return he receives a heartfelt dancing ovation with thundering handclaps. 

Meanwhile the drink that the bearded hipster previously set on the ground falls sideways on the cement.  Pieces of sharp glass swim everywhere.  Aw great, a sticky dance floor.  Damn, no one thought to bring the baby powder.

Check out Legend of House 2: DJ Pierre

Words by AJ Dance

MARK FARINA 28.12.13

December 29, 2013

Mark Farina

22:00

On the final Saturday night of the year, the weather out doors is entirely too cold, too wet and too rainy.  Mother Nature’s dramatics is enough to keep people indoors, buried underneath blankets.  However, there is one person who can command people, from across the city, out of town and even out of state, to brave the wintery bliss; to trek through puddles of water and be drenched in rain, to assemble together under one roof.  The individual……… will be revealed later.      

If ever there is a house music, or funky house music, prohibition this will be the gathering place.  A makeshift bookshelf in the back of pizzeria is strangely out of place.  Truly, there is more than meets the eye.  At the painted encasing one utters a password.  A smart looking gatekeeper pushes up his framed spectacles against his shaved head.  He carefully examines the guest list.  Suddenly, he radiates a bright beam of whites that blind like a deer caught in headlights.  His tatted sleeve leads to his hand which scratches off names on his clip board.  The ecstatic guests are now permitted entry without cover charge.  Step underneath the clandestine threshold.  Be amazed by the backroom for guests to partake of beloved booze, spirited conversations and dirty dancing.  Shoes are stepped on.  The fur of wool jackets and bare shoulders are brushed against as the spirited journey towards the front of the room.  Nothing says bar time like hearing the ringing of cash registers open and close.  The liquor pours freely.  The liquor pours frequently.  The face of President Alexander Hamilton exchanges hands.  A tweed vest and baby blue colored button-up dress shirt darts back and forth between liquor shelves.  The bearded bartender is dressed damper enough to bartend at a five-star establishment.  In the midst of several brunettes engaged in laughter, there he stands, at the rustic bar.  The man who the people have come to see the legendary DJ, Mr…….   

Mark Farina is a world-renowned DJ/producer who needs no introduction.  The San Fran king of funky swing is no stranger to the city, having played in town a few months prior.  However, the affable star has never played a secret show in the city, in a room that has a prohibition era feel with its hanging lamps, blue painted walls, and wooden floor.  

Mark, with drink in hand, breaks for the makeshift wood DJ compartment at the front of the room.  Dressed in a black Gramaphone LTD 2843 N. Clark, Chicago, IL tee, he cues Chic’s “I Want Your Love.”  Nineteen seventy-nine disco morphs into “onze, onze, onze,” house music.  The pulse of the party picks up pace.  All are happy.  Dancing feet rush center room for prime-real estate which is occupied by a blonde bombshell wearing black-rim glasses performing squats while a guy sporting black headphones hogs corner space.  Someone should hang a no vacancy sign.  However, everything is all good.  Love is in the air.  There is love for the dancers, music, the guest DJ and especially for the organizers of this rare treat.

Forty-eight hours earlier event promoter Lil’ Steven, who lives and is in Santa Fe, created the last minute word-of-mouth soiree.  The event was hushed.  The location was hushed.  There was absolutely to be no posting of the event on any Internet social networking sites.  If so the exclusive shindig would be entirely cancelled.  A glance around the room reveals the darling machines that assisted Lil Steven’s execution.  There is Houseb4titties texting, “A Okay.”  The Mrs. Rachel Pryor Hoffman provides hostess duties to Mark.  Event coordinator, Jory Johnson, AKA DJ Sublime, is nowhere to be found but his presence is felt.  Restaurateur Ryan Baker dances back and forth, playing hype man.  From Macon, GA, Tim provided three CDJs for Mark to helm.  Even former Twijit Recordings, Daniel Gresham shows face.  DJs from old appear along side DJs of the new guard.  Honestly, this many house alumni have not gathered in the same room for ages.  This is a house head reunion.

Meanwhile, Mark continues to show-off his Epicurean taste of the finest house.  There is swing house with its gravitating push and pull.  Sprinkled between funky house gems are diamonds like Teddy Pendergrass.   But the party’s spotlight falls on one Midwest metropolis.  Chi-town’s Peven Everett’s “Stuck” kick starts vocal house.   The Windy City’s Lil Louis, under the moniker of Black Magic, “Freedom (Make It Funky),” blows the house down.  “I have this record on vinyl.  I brought this song at the record store that I used to work at over twenty years ago,” testifies one native Chicago house head.  Her pearly whites hang suspended from ear to ear as Jamie Principle’s raps, “Baby Wants To Ride.”  The Frankie Knuckles produced classic is not only one of house music’s early international hits but a Chicago house mainstay.  “Is It All Over My Face?”  The music disappears as the crowd yells, “Hell Yeah,” just the way Chicago audiences sing.  The Loose Joints classic has the crowd, “Love Dancing.”   Just as the hits keep coming, so do the drinks.  Mark toasts a cheer.  The bubbly must place Farina in x-rated mood.  The room is smoking hot, and not just from the glowing amber of cancer sticks spewing a chocking stench into the air.  The Mary Jane kicks into high gear.  BT Express’ “Peace Pipe” gets everyone so high people appear wanting to dance on the walls.  By now everyone is playful and falling over one another.  Handshakes, high-fives and hugs become norms.  Suddenly, Mark drops the bass, fades the mids and tweaks the highs.  His ten fingers dance across the mixer’s cues.  The music builds to a heightened anticipation.  The crowd stands on the edge of their toes.  But, Mr. DJ takes his time.  The crowd continues to wait with extreme eagerness.  This one man show puts a hurt on the people.  Ready and steady his right index finger and thumb slowly pulls the cross fader.  And then he….BAMS!  Mark smacks the crowd with the Nightcrawlers “Push The Feeling On.”  The MK Dub with chopped vocals causes the crowd to go apeshit.  Mark does it again.  He has a knack for teasing the audience.  Hands fist pump.  Mouths sing the melody.  Bodies burst into sporadic fits of dance rage.  Even, a dance circle crops in the center of the room.  B-boys turned B-men wearing ball caps and checkered plaids, hand spin and freeze.  Their bodies, stuck in mid air.  Spectators cheer on the acrobatic stunts.         

01:30

Sadly, the time has come to bid our great friend, adieu.  He must move on to greener pastures and play his alterative guise for an eclectic crowd across town.  Not before he leaves, he takes the microphone and utters a muffled thank you and a goodbye.  If that is what he says.   Nobody seems to mind; everyone must be wasted.   

This party was straight-up blue lights in the basement. The mushroom jazz curator paid homage to his Chicago roots.  The majority old school playlist would make Southside Chicago proud.    Suffice to say, seventies disco, eighties soul and early house music is the architect that has built Mark Farina’s house.   After all, Mark Farina can move away from Chicago but you can’t take the Chicago out of Mark Farina.    

CHARLES FEELGOOD 02.16.13

February 17, 2013

Where is the Love? 

The City That Abandoned Funky House

Bye bye.  The city’s funky house music days are done.  For a city that is too busy partying, it sure does know how to kill a scene.  Namely, funky house music, the sub-genre of house music.  For those that missed funky house music’s obituary and its home-going service in this city, please, read on.

Obituary

Our beloved funky house music transitioned to the heavens.  The music that once captured devoted hearts and lifelong fans in this city may be gone but its memories will never be forgotten.

 

Funky house music was the life of the party.  However, its sound was no one-man show but a contemporary that was influenced by the unexpected.  Its friends; boogie, disco, funk and R n B all contributed to its song.  Vocals, television theme shows and rap lyrics performed its message.    Funky’s love for electronic synthesizers, heavy samples and soulful bass lines defined its character and established its charisma. 

Birthed on Chicago’s North Side during the decade of excess, funky house was one of house music’s many children-ghetto house, juke house and acid house-to birth during the cities electronica renaissance. The noughties secured funky house music’s global popularity thanks, in part, to the westward expansion of Chicago’s house music DJs and America’s rave culture.  Funky hosue music continued its reign throughout the close of the twentieth century and into the early twenty-first century until it retreated into fragmented territories. 

Funky house music lived; edgy, energetically, vibrantly and full of life.  It paid no relevance to playing it safe or ever slowing down.  Its heartbeat pumped at 125 to 130 beats per minute.  Its pulse marched to the beat of its own drum loops of build-ups and breaks downs that resembled a kick-ass rollercoaster ride of drama.  This rollercoaster ride of drama is what kept many of players out dancing all night and playing its song till the wee hours of the morning light.  Much can be said for its demise however, one fact is certain, funky house music was loved.  Its sound is survived by parent house music and siblings, soulful house, and deep house. 

 

The funeral service schedule: 

Cory Benoit & William Caldwell 9 pm

Silk Wolf 10 pm

Mike Zarin 11 pm

Charles Feelgood 12 am

Cory Benoit & William Caldwell 2am till close

 

The Funeral Service

Can you hear the music?  When the single frame door with a putrid black paint job opened, an upbeat melody with pronounced four counts announced its presence.  The merry melody escaped captivity.  It blew outdoors where it froze in below freezing temperatures on the coldest night of the year of the snake.   

Up the stairs, “Please Stand By,” pass the lovely money collector, “Hi!!!”, pass the ID checker, “Yes, I’m older than 21” and around the corner…..

Startled!?!  The scene appeared to be a funeral that no one bothered to attend.  What happened?  Invites were distributed.  Social media websites visibly  promoted the event.  Yet, the faces of family expected to show played ghost.  The majority of the few faces, present, appeared frighteningly unfamiliar.  Had funky house music a mistress with relatives no one knew?  Damn funeral surprises.  Not surprisingly, the few supporters in attendance were scattered across the room. Only a handful bothered to dance.  A quick head count revealed only twenty bodies on the dance floor.  Throughout the room, the empty pockets of space outnumbered the guests.  

The stage was set.  Literally.  The sound system had moved from the catacomb in the room’s rear to center stage, in the front of the room, sitting in a coffin on a table.  The change of set-up occurred to accommodate two 18 speaker bottoms and a fog machine.  The fog machine sprayed the room as a faint whiff of carcinogens roamed by.  Shining underneath one of the two disco balls, the position of the coffin proved noteworthy.  Funky house music seemed to nod with approval.  Additional space onstage meant greater crowd intimacy and allowed the crowd greater voyeurism.

 DJ Mike Zarin, dressed in vintage 4Deep garb, rocked the casket of equipment energetically with a funky house tribute not heard from him since his early 4Deep days playing at Connect parties.  How appropriate, Tranzlife’s “Heart Attack” played soundtrack to the grief- stricken fiasco.  At least two supporters tried to make the best of the situation, responding with handclaps and out of this world dance moves.    

  

The hour hand ticked ever so closer to midnight.  The bug that buzzes with excitement dropped dead.   Without hype and little fanfare, the event’s guest headliner appeared onstage wearing a suave black leather jacket that would later come off to reveal two sleeves of tribal tats.  The man appeared armed and dangerous. 

The guest DJ, from southern California, bio reads like a champion of funky proportions.  The “Time To Get Ill” mixtape producer is responsible for putting funky house music on the map in the east coast cities of Baltimore and Washington D.C. alongside then partner DJ Scott Henry during house music’s heyday in the 1990’s.  His production and remix credits include a who’s who list in the electronic dance world that spans decades and garnered hundreds of fans.

Currently, his name is Charles Feelgood, yet a few remembered when he was simply, “Feelgood.”  To make the people feel good is what the maestro set out to do.  For the two hours that followed, Charles Feelgood would deliver nothing short than a stellar musical eulogy to his soul buddy number one, funky house.   

Enter the band Rufus & vocalist Chaka Kahn singing “Any Love” that partied over a bed of sliced disco house that ascended to heavenly heights.  A few that recognized the classic showed love with vocal praise.  Jamaroquai stopped by. The blue-eyed soul delivered the funk with “All Good In The Hood.”   Bay area bred, Oakland, CA fed, DJ Mes provided disco-drenched beats that bumped and wobbled not only the subwoofers, but dancing feet.  Rescue’s mega-hit, “Every Freakin’ Day,” that samples 1990’s R n B legends, Jodeci’s, “Every Freakin’ Night” proved too predictable during the tribute.  Feelgood’s D.C. buddies, 95 North’s alias, Johnny Corporate stopped by.  Their song “Sunday Shoutin,’” that samples Atlanta’s own Brick, “Living From The Mind,” put the church into the house.  People shouted and danced.  This spectacle would generate the most action the dance floor would see for the rest of the night.    Stop!  The four-on-the-floor gave way for a slower urban groove as guitar strings plucked over softer drums.  The red carpet was rolled out and the velvet rope pulled back for reality television’s latest diva, Toni Braxton’s “You’re Makin Me High.”  The 1995 Atlanta-brewed jam felt underappreciated and went unnoticed.  The dance floor’s census dropped, twelve to five.  Feelgood brought his hype men.  A man, standing over six feet, stood onstage and played music director with animated arm thrusts leading the crowd to sing Stevie Wonder’s “Do I Do.”  The 1982 scorcher, and the party’s “That’s my song,” played at high speeds, minus a house beat, with the song’s original drums and percussions left intact.  Certain segments of the song were looped for dramatic effects.  The re-edits only miss, Dizzy Gillespie’s arousing trumpet solo.     Again disco, George Benson’s “Give Me The Night” (Instrumental), constructed the groove to funky house beats.  Orchestra strings and blaring trumpets dotted the landscape of funky house’s grandmother the late, disco.  Fragmented vocals sliced in syncopated sound bites created a heated disco chant.  Basically, Diana Ross’ vocals sung “Burnin” over and over and over again.  Next Feelgood dropped the music to allow the vocals to play.  This is a DJ’s non-verbal cue for the audience to sing along.  The late Whitney Houston sung. “I Wanna Dance With Somebody/With Somebody Who Loves Me.”  The dispersing crowd showed no love.  More or less they seemed clueless.  The late icon, MJ’s chops were chopped on “Rock With You.”  The song was a floor burner equipped with hard core analog thumps that played proud and loud but Mike’s vocals abruptly disappeared without any reason.    Teddy Pendergrass “Get Up, Get Down” uplifted the party.  The late legend sang, “Do You Want To Party?” 

                  

Over walked a drunken female.  “C’mon dance,” she slurred.  By the end of Feelgood’s set her ass would smack the wooden dance floor.  Oops.  Yes, everyone would see it.  And sorry, no one would care to help her up.             

By two am, the handful of scattered few danced around like there was no problem or care in the world.  Actually, everyone felt good and drunk.  One person took being intoxicated too far; a woman dressed in a black blouse with black lace trimmings and blue denim had her head smashed down on the table asleep.  Sign of the times: funky house music was dead, at least in this city.         

Somewhere in the arms of time, the motto: for the love of funky house music, died.  As one pallbearer stated, “We tried.”  In the city too busy complaining, “Where is the funky house music and I feel like some funky house music tonight,” all one can do is to try.  Sadly, in the end trying was not enough.  The music sub-genre that once carried, through life’s joys and pains, on its back a family of loved supporters, dancers and DJs bothered not to show face or support.  Guess they bothered not to read the writing on the wall.          

Words and photography by AJ Dance   

WATTIE GREEN 30.06.11

July 1, 2011

 

Photography by Maggie May