Posts Tagged ‘Lars Behrenroth’

LARS BEHRENROTH 15.06.13

June 16, 2013

LARS BEHRENROTH

Happy Father’s Day

 

You’ve got to love the event pages on social media websites.  The best is the website, yada-yada-yada, that tracks who is going to attend an event.  Read the dozens of posts to hype the event.  Check out the several comments to hype the posts.  Thumb up.  Over one hundred people click, “going.”  Nowhere near one-hundred people attend the actual event, not even ninety or eighty….the drastic drop grows depressing.  There goes the digital age’s accuracy of tracking and surveillance.

 This ain’t no stairway to heaven but a stairway to a hole-in-the-wall.  The thought references the steps that lead to the entrance of the venue’s smaller room.  Even sadder, is the missing accessible ramp for the disabled.  Walk-if you can-through the open door, greet the Tambor Party’s awesome twosome.  Purchase a Tambor tee, members: ten bucks, nonmembers: fifteen bucks, in the tiny foyer adjacent the men’s and women’s rest areas.  Enter the main room.

-Witness the makeshift DJ stage.  Listen to the sound system pieced together by the hands of manual labor and view the neon strobe lights playing a game of cat chase mouse, without succumbing to a seizure, underneath a Pro lighting setup. Tambor deserves an A for effort.   The party is a DIY initiative.-

There is still something off kilter about the smaller space.  The vibe is off.  The room is dark, too dark, for a Tambor party.  And the room is too small.  Whiff.  The air smells stale.  A chill hangs overhead.  And, no, this chill does not blast from the AC or industrial fans.

Where is the love?  Is the love at the bar?  Can the love be found upstairs in the VIP area?  Perhaps, is the love at the merchandise table in the hall that separates the larger room from the smaller room?  Where the larger room is Tambor’s home, the smaller room is Tambor’s gloom.

23:15

Several months ago, one post on yada-yada-yada asked, “What is the house music song you never want to hear played at a party?  One female dancer commented, “My Name Is” by DJ Zinhile.  DJ BE, hard at work, plays the Alpha & Omega Drum Arena Remix.  Where BE fails, he trumps with Atlantans ChiProfess and Kwi B’s, who have yet to arrive at the party, “We Are Black Love.”  The Tambor Party’s number two keeps the music Afro for the remainder of his set.

 23:30

Several family faces are absent.  Where are the people who complain they want to hear different music played?  Where are the virgin ears that have yet to experience this month’s guest DJ?  Furthermore, where are the 80% other folk who attended last month’s Tambor Party?  “The night is young,” Optimism answers. “Surely they are on their way.”

 00:00

An impressive montage of pounding drums, hissing snares and hi-hats abruptly fade.  The event’s guest DJ, dressed in a blue V neck that exposes his chest fur, stands center stage. Cue the music.  A Spanish guitar plucks strings over Balearic beats.  The song is the perfect nod to summer nights in Ibiza.  It’s a rather soft-opening statement.

“Whomp.  Whomp….Chomp.” The sound is bass heavy.  A weight reserved much more for trap & dubstep’s aggression than deep house’s spiritualism.

“Can you hear the Tambor bass?”

Stanzeff.  Yes.  Not only do the people hear the bass, they feel the bass.  Apparently, Lars interprets Stan’s inquiry as an opportunity to pound the shit out of the bass.  He drops the bass, filters the bass and explodes the bass on several songs to come.  Lars is that eight year old child mistakenly left in a music studio, playing with the controls, sliding crossfaders, turning knobs, and pushing buttons that light up bright colors while he grins mischievously.  Behind the decks, he is a mad scientist.  Lars concocts further antidotes of claptrap rarely heard in these parts.  Voiceovers and sampled vocals float haphazardly over the loudest percussions imaginable.  Lyrics collide into digital beeps and pongs.  The faint of ears need protection.

Several standees-wearing the color white, the party’s unofficial shade, stand glowing underneath a black light,-wonder where the music marches towards.  Several dancers, too busy dancing can care less.  The music must be trusted.  The DJ must be trusted.  The medium must be trusted.   The west coast maestro understands.  He silences all doubts.

“We Are Sons of Yoruba of West Africa”

“We Are Sons of the Great Divinity” speaks the South African producer and vocalist, Bluelle on “We Are Africa.”  The crowd agrees.  Lars has their attention.

Sonic jolts of bass shake the ground.  A synthesizer chords slices the air.  The voice of string instruments stutter.  Electronic bleeps burp on ones and threes.  Heavy percussions thump, tick tock.  Seismic shifts of sound evoke a melodious flow. A sample of Common Sense’s “Voices Inside My Head” pits the lyrics to the drum.  Viewing the surroundings suggests common sense lacks as several people appear to hear voices inside their head.

Vrooom.  A white Panama hat blows by.  Actually it’s a female, all smiles and entirely too happy, skipping by.  An unknown lady dressed in all black molests a male dancer, without permission, and proceeds to tango.

“There is too much going on.”  Natalie Cole comments.  Oops, that’s not Natalie Cole.

Look.  There onstage.  Have you seen a DJ on bended knees play music?  If anyone else isn’t having the time of their life, then Lars is having the time of your life for you.

“Happy Father’s Day!” DJ Stanzeff shouts out.

Lars, the graying father and loving husband plays his mad scientist’s bravado.  The bass disappears.  He teases the crowd. He throws out the bass and snatches it back. Finally, he fully drops the bass over a tribal thumper of soft handclaps and a tambourine shrilling against stark minimalism.  A male’s falsetto flutters into ears.  His heavenly voice commands “The Only Way.”  The anthem rings loud and clear.  The Ralf Gum featuring Kenny Bobien single (Artistic Soul Spiritual Touch Mix) inaugurates Tambor’s policy that this event is for all races, creeds, colors or origins.

Kudos to the different shades of faces, who rarely attend a Tambor Party, that show up and represent.  Right stage, B-boys crop a circle for dance offs.  Rear room a dance duo performs syncopated choreographed steps.

A deep bass line wobbles against synthetic warps plowing over soft pads that crescendo into an orchestrated hotbed of deep tech.  A voice calls “Hey” that steadily echoes to a soft whisper.  The Russian born, Ghana bred, current Limpopo SA resident, Kojo Akusa track (Posh Mix) has one B-boy spinning around in circles on his head with no hands.  The dancer receives a small applause.

 Lars descends not only deeper into the heart of Africa but through time; a fall that finds him almost entirely too entrenched in the sound of shrubbery from yore.   Instant House’s “Awade” (Joe’s Jungle Sounds Dub) hashes stark bongos fused amid a sexy sax with an airplane flying overhead and more yells than a Yeezus track.  At this point Lars digs deep, a move that might scare the breakers afar. Perhaps the tribal emphasis stems from the Tambor Party’s philosophy of all things the drum.  Notably, the sound quickly oscillates to further global influences.

Ceila Cruz”Elegua.”  The late “Queen of Salsa” or “La Guarachera de Cuba”award-winning voice soars on the Orisha tribute, remixed by Jose Marquez a former Tambor guest DJ. Orchestrated viola strings crescendo to a dramatic climax.  The music breaks.  An all too familiar bass line punches with the ringing of a cowbell.  The crowd recognizes one of the most sampled bass lines in popular music.  They revel with regard.  The music time travels back to the Reaganomics era with assisted fuel from Eddie Grant’s, “Time Warp.” During the party’s peak hour, the DJ/Deeper Shades producer/remixer drops the lows, the mids and allows the highs to scream at a pitch reserved for canines for thirty seconds.  This is the Lars Behrenroth experience.

Consider Lars Behrenroth hails from Germany, the land where music chemists crafted the industrial sound.  Midwest America, Detroit and Chicago especially, go gaga for industrial tech but the South-not so much.  The L.A. resident is no stranger to the A, having played in the town eight times in six years, an astronomical accomplishment for any DJ.  Like an extended family of cousins never met, so is the ever expansion of the city’s deep/soulful house community.  Many freshmen heads are unfamiliar with Atlanta’s adopted cousin.  Salutations must commence.  His music is assertive, bash and unrelenting.  Yet, his music can be all fluff and full of sex.  Take, Botswana, Meropa Park’s “Live A Lil” remixed by Canadian Suges, a promo from The Deeper Shades of House imprint.  The dancers let loose.  Ponytails drop to reveal long manes.  Hips swing left to right.  Arms stretch into the air.  Heads bob.  Smiles stretch wider.  Dance moves become sexually suggestive techniques of foreplay.  This is how sexy house sounds.  And the Deeper Shades label owner, no stranger to making love to the music, gets down.  He dances a little. He drinks a little.  He gets his groove on.

What catapults this German turned American citizen above his peers?  It’s his WTF moments where the Deeper Shades founder triumphs.   His ability to dig deep, pull out and drop a piece of music that explodes like combustible gas.  The philharmonics run.  The people run.  They run not from the dance floor but to the dance floor.  “I totally forgot that song existed.” and “Where did he pull that one out from?”  People ask.  Yes, Lars throws curveballs.

 The crowd never sees coming Georg Levin featuring Clara Hill’s “(I Got) Somebody New.”  The decade-old classic played on heavy rotation on the city’s HBCU jazz radio station back in the day.  Jazz Nouveau.

Lars loops the mid-tempo track in mid-song.  The next track of tribal drums plays.  He steadies himself, hands and all.  The crowd stares unaware of what takes place.  The man of the hour matches the grooves.  He clocks his time.  He turns the Bozark knobs with an acute acumen of skilled precision.  The two tracks slowly consummate.

“Take your time.” One dancer shouts from the crowd.

“Take your time. Work dat….”  With a punch of sound “(I Got) Somebody New” resounds from nowhere.  Surprise!  Lars creates an Afro infused spontaneous mash-up of the two songs.  Eyes and ears are stunned.  The room is on fiyah.  Thankfully, the two industrial fans positioned at the ends of the DJ stage cool heated bodies.

“Who’s got my bass?”  The ever gregarious cousin yells.  He looks around like he is about to bomb the room.

“Where’s my bass?”

He teases the audience with words.

“We got it.” One dancer responds.  And with that…. “BOOM!” The bass falls on the dancers with vengeance. Lars pulls the cowbell to the forefront on Floetry’s, “I Want You” remixed by Tambor’s previous month’s guest DJ, Osunlade.  Voices yell, fists air punch and bodies erk and jerk with excitement.

Lars drops acid! That is acid house.  For the old-school heads, A Guy Called Gerald’s “Voodoo Ray” stirs memories of the late 80’s nostalgia.  A time when Roland 808’s and Roland TR-909s were rad.

Having taken Tambor for a wild and whimsical whirl of tech, the Men of Nile’s “Watch Them Come” brings the guest DJ’s time to a close but not before one last tribal thumper.

A white Tambor tee and white pants glides onto stage.  Tambor’s daddy, DJ Stanzeff guides the sound.  He is up to something.

That eight year old kid is still having too much fun, turning knobs and pressing buttons.  To watch him play is both exhilarating and exhausting.

“Bop, bop, bop.”

“Bop, bop, bop.”  The drum pounds louder and louder and louder until, his finger rashly presses the Bozak’s loop function.  A belt heavy of drums unleashes its power through out the room.  The crowd loses their minds. The force of Marlon D and Boddhi Satva’s “Power of the Drum (Marlon D’s Tribal Deep Tribal Mix) is unstoppable.  Sadly, Lars is stoppable.  DJ Stanzeff stands ready to play.  However, Lars won’t let go.  He continues starts the drums over from the top and BANG.

 “Tambor, let’s give it up for Lars.  The people give a rousing applause.  “We will have him back soon.”

 02:00

Several months earlier, a Chicago DJ posted on yada,yada,yada, “Even if Jesus remixes this song, I never want to hear this song played again.”  The song: Dennis Ferrer’s “Hey Hey.”  DJ Stanzeff opens his set with the Osunlade Edit.  The majority of the crowd is entertained and sings “Hey Hey” in return.  They must be drunk.

Again, why is it that 80% more people attended last month’s Tambor compared to this month’s party?  Answer. The DJ.  Sadly when an “I haven’t heard of that DJ” who brings a fresh approach and plays a justified sound, people play ghost.  Of course, a sizable crowd represented.  Yet, this Tambor fell short of its mandate.  This was a must attend event.  No excuses.  Lars deserved better.  He deserved an authentic Tambor experience; the larger room, a more engaged audience and eager fans that attended to support.  After all, this is Lars freaking Behrenroth playing at Tambor.  A rarity.  And if you didn’t know then you should’ve asked somebody.

Visuals and Words by AJ Dance

LARS BEHRENROTH 22.06.12

June 23, 2012

LARS BEHRENROTH

“HELL YEAAAAH!” The white chick screams in a black party dress. The overly intoxicated blonde blows kisses that flutter and dissipate before its arrival to the DJ in the DJ booth.

“YEAAAAH!” She squeals again with the fervor of a high pitch hyena’s howl. Was she about to throw one hand up in the air to make the AC/DC hand gestures while bopping her head up and down reminiscent Beavis and Butthead?

“YEAAAH!” She explodes. This time around she fixes her eyes on her comely companion; a gay guy. Wait a minute, the two aren’t together? Oops. Ms. Thang swings her long blonde locks from left to right. Bashfully, he ignores her boisterous attempts and keeps dancing. She reaches out and holds his love handles. He’s not having it. Nervously, he turns his head to his right for an apercu and wonders where he can run to hide. Nonetheless, he’s trapped by the throngs of people. He savagely ignores her attempt by moving his feet at a quicker pace swaying from left to right. The party girl brushes her two hands across his pectorals. He’s still not having it. Then out of desperation she bends over unto the floor and there you have it folks….white panties plastered against a pasty thigh.

This tomfoolery marks the effrontery makings of the drama that ensues in front of the DJ booth. Why is it when a headlining DJ plays the first song everyone appears out of thin air and charges to the front of the DJ booth when the space is already chockablock? PEOPLE. PLEASE, use a bit of judgment. Is your vision that impaired you utterly fail to recognize there is no room in the inn? Does a, “NO VACANCY” sign need to be slapped across your face? Are you that ASININE? Or maybe you just don’t give a F*%$. The notion that there’s enough room on the dance floor does not apply, in this case, to the interior of the restaurant shaped like a shoebox. PEOPLE. Please, arrive earlier during the party to secure prime real-estate on the dance floor. On the contrary, that’s the joke. You PEOPLE don’t show up to dance. Instead, you PEOPLE take up space and stand on the floor as “WTF” star-struck DJ whores. PEOPLE. C’mon, are you serious? Please, stand elsewhere or be prepared to be pushed elsewhere. End.

Now back to the regularly scheduled program.

After one summer night’s noctilucent performance of thundering sounds, sporadic flashes of lights and the crying of tears, the Sound Table started the party. The music ushered KOT’s, “Finally” with Julie McKnight on vocals that stirred the nostalgic of minds. From four sound ambassadors stationed throughout the eatery thumped prestigious harmonies of the bittersweet nectar of house music’s bygone golden-era. A sugary concocted coat of cheers and melt-in-your-face dance moves played spectacle to curious palettes. What was this entire ruckus about? It was for the beloved sounds of soulful house music. The music that conjures the ability to speak the heart’s native tongue traversed through the woven tapestry of dance. In a world of soulless microwaveable consumption the pure sounds of soulful organic electronics proved gloriously epicurean.

It’s after 1pm and local legend Kai Alce has concluded one impressive classic house journey transcending time and space. Finally, the party’s guest headliner, the Deeper Shades of House creator, appeared in the elevated DJ booth marked by a neon green back wall that brilliantly painted the hearts of those gathered; deeper shades of green. From the exposed brick wall to the bar’s wooden countertops, eyes of awe and fists held tight to the heart, projected themes of DJ worship. Had the DSOH hero transformed into a new DJ demigod? The west coast resident had spellbound the crowd’s every essence of atomic energy and sculpted it into a combustible force. That force was so potent and ready to explode like musical confetti upon the backdrop of clanking cocktail glasses against porcelain small plates. The time had come for the musical styling of the honored guest and distinguished fellowman; Mr. Lars Behrenroth.

It’s always a great time when “Mr. Good Time” Lars Behrenroth plays. Lars no longer a stranger of the city has taken on extended family status. He’s the more-than-welcomed family member that when he arrives in town receives a royal red carpet rollout or at best a home cooked meal of the tastiest grilled cheese sandwiches. The gregarious cousin was in town to celebrate and share the ten year anniversary of his Deeper Shades of House imprint. That vision has spawned an Internet podcast, music label, community website and brand merchandise of tees and armbands. The brand had survived a turbulent decade when music formants transitioned from digital to clouds, when major underground dance labels ceased operations and turntables succumbed to mini-storage pods. This epic milestone; survival of the fittest, was alone worth the celebrating.

The Deeper Shades maestro started off with a jazzy underground house number. Psychedelic harmonies met chill Ibiza grooves that danced over a mid-tempo four-count. However, the floor warmer did little for the crowd. Soon slashing synths sliced in three-count syncopations through the soundscape as the wobble of beats sent seismic shockwaves through the space. Omar’s, “Lay It Down” (Andre Lodemann Mix) capitalized on the intellectual stirrings that sets parties into motion. The night’s money shot came courtesy of Lars in action boldly going where few DJ’s dare conceptualize. The choppy four-count disappeared and the music’s volume dropped down to a soft whisper. With the bass muted, the highs pitched, the vocals were filtered to a hypnotic warping of cacophony. Oh shit. Was Lars about to strip? Was he about to “Lay It Down” so long and hard that certain men’s magazine would deem this “porn-house?” In mid-sweat, the Deeper Sex of House persona slowly leaned to the right with his right shoulder cocked in mid air (preparing to go in and to make you scream). His broad upper torso gyrated in a slow wind of circular motions as he slowly and gently stroked the groove. He bent his knees and dropped a couple of inches downward and went inside, into the groove that is. A sexual innuendo oozed from his aura as he seemed to perform rhythmic thrusts of copulation with the music. The crowd at this point was all screams of ecstasy lost in unbridled lust. Most panted for breathes of fresh air as they were worked over to the point of exhaustion. Lars with eyes glued shut, covered his upper lip with the lower lip and protruded his jaw that pronounced pure cocksure. Nothing could break such stiff concentration. He was in it to win it and he wasn’t coming out until the crowd wet themselves, with sweat that is. The man was in baby-making mode and pleasing every orifice of the body. He grimaced, and made “the stank” face as if his groin spontaneously exploded with the joys of his labor and he was rewarded with the best gift, an orgasm, of the house music kind. At that point, on one precise count the beat alongside the music slammed down on the crowd and all were fucked uncontrollably out of their minds. Faces rolled backwards. Heads dropped towards the floor. Arms flung in the air. Bodies bounced up and down aplomb fleshy poles. “You Play Dat Ish!” was heard over orgasmic screams. This was one big orgy and one man had “Laid It Down” and impregnated the mutha. This was baby-making music, of the house music kind. Damn and this was only the second song.

After the fu*ktastic climax, the vibe settled into classic house music territory. After the steady annoyance of dance floor antics and shenanigans, in the back of the restaurant where dinning tables mingled with their counterparts; dining chairs, sat vacant prime real-estate. Once the dinning tables were pushed towards and almost out of the bay windows and their counterparts the chairs moved to separate locations, a band of house music’s finest aficionados turned the party out and danced the night away. It took little time for the eclectic music producer to segue into the deep rhythms of afro-house with a sample of Wyoma’s lecturing vocals on At One’s, “African Healing Dance.” Next up, Chicago’s Very Own, Glenn Underground’s, “Indians Bagpipes” caused the party’s second ruckus. A spectacular display of leg thrusts plunging through the air, writhed bodies kissing the floor, fancy footwork shuffling on wooden tiles and dignified African dance interpretations that mind-boggled spectators of diverse ages, ethnicities and genders. The imagery provided a defining moment to the phenomenon known as underground deep house music. As if their souls were groomed by exotic Indian rhythms joyously dancing over soft handclaps the spirit of dance sprung forth and brought smiles to those watching on the sidelines. “You Play That Ish” screamed one soul on fire. Soon after, Deeper Shades Recordings remix package of South African outfit Liquideep’s, “Feel It” (Andre Lodemann Mix) kept the action alive as the patrons on the dance floor slowly ebbed. From “gangsta house” to “sexy house” the deepness continued with a sample from Argy’s, “Upon Ourselves” as Bajka’s spoken vocals soared over, Liquideep’s, “Feel It” (Instrumental) of soft chimes and deep percussions. The night belonged to the musical spirit of Glenn Underground with another deep interpretation, “Mental Piano Dub” from his “Simple Black Resurrection” EP. A nod to opening DJ Kai Alce seemed appropriate as Kai used to bang the anthem at parties that sent people into dizzying fits. That night, likewise, the tune stirred up an intensive exploration of emotions of self lead by the swirling of piano keys over cowbells. On a somberly note, enough to sober a drunk, the 2004 classic from the late Nkemdilin “Kemdi” Amadiume singing on Handcrafted Soul’s, I’m Still A Dancer” provided nostalgic of days and dances on dance floors gone by. The mid-tempo number was the last house song played in the cross-pollination of classic house killers meets afro-house deepness.

Once again, Mr. Lars “DSOH” Behrenroth attacked the deep house world of deep house heads and left no stone untouched. The rather outspoken cousin stayed true to his roots and delivered a powerhouse set sure to please the mental memories of many for years to go. Happy Birthday DOSH with hopes for another fruitful ten years.

Photography by AJ Dance

LARS BEHRENROTH/JEREMY ELLIS 10.02.12

February 11, 2012

LARS BEHRENROTH/JEREMY ELLIS

In the air there was a movement brewing called the Great Divide. The Great Divide could be seen in the distance on the horizon. An obvious choice would soon have to be made. However, the choice would not be made now but at a later time. Why make a decision today when the decision can be made tomorrow? No verbiage could offer a satisfactory explanation of how the Great Divide had plagued the mind like the media obsessed with an upcoming presidential election. Was it a matter of political parties? There was the left. There was the right. Was it a matter of colors? The blue left and the red right. Was the choice a matter of seating arrangements? Left side seats or right side seats? Obviously, no. The choice had more to do with the purview of club land and music tastes than any political party, their color or seating arrangement. The decision narrowed down to hear in the left room the more soul/hip-hop sounds from the first time appearance of a musician or to stay in the right room and listen to the more soulful/deep house sounds from a mainstay DJ. Over the course of weeks the final grain of sand dropped in the hour glass of time. Which door would be opened? Uhmmm.

My night with a Detroit electronic freestyler and a German DJ.

The night was about as varied as the music itself. However, the two music maestros from two different music worlds actually shared more in common with slight nuance. Both of the aficionado’s music influences can be traced back to that Motor City soul. From Motown to Detroit Techno both melody makers marked the night with registered selections. There was the piping hot soul/hip-hop exploding from techno wonder Jeremy Ellis in the right room named Space2 and from the room to the left in the restaurant, Lars Behrenroth belting out deep house served over a hot plate of tech beats. This was some serious ear culinary to serve in a place known for its tasty expressions as well as eclectic music palettes.

“This is why I need to wear a hat; so I can hide,” observed one female dancer wearing a multicolored head scarf studying the mayhem about to take place. Overall, the majority aged 30 and over crowd provided that much needed safety net on the dance floor but there was the usual mischief of activity. Three twenty something blondes baring semi-bare flesh gyrated up and down trying so hard to display some type of faux lesbo threesome that the group lost footing and stumbled halfway to the ground spilling libation onto the floor. One misguided female thought the event was, “Dancing With The Stars” as she paraded around the floor, dancing with every guy in the room as if she was the Queen of the Night.

Following the visual view of a low-rise denim wearer with a budging feature next door into the dance space of Space2 revealed some hint of guilty pleasure. In the room next to the restaurant, testosterone plaid long sleeves hid tee shirts as the curvaceous in cocktail dresses stood hypnotized by a stage of electronic gadgetry. Not only were the usual suspects of two turntables, two CDJs and one large mixer present but also a long black rectangular box with huge squares made to look for punching; the Akai MPC.

Self-titled, “Freestyle ElectronicaJermey “Aryo” Ellis had the entire room under a spell of tempting soul/hip-hop/broken beat that had all mouths dropping to the floor with drool. Something a brew was cooking as the red-haired bobbed maestro wrapped in a winter green scarf crooned, “Hey Baby” with that blue-eyed soul that made panties wet. What was this? A pin could have been heard dropping in the crowd. What an eerie silence. Not one body danced. Not one soul moved. Every eye budged out from the sockets with that vertigo visage stricken right before some terminal illness. You would have thought the president had walked into the room and offered every guest free healthcare. This dazzling display was surreal. How could anyone command such musical mind control?

The scene back in the restaurant was of the opposite kind. Bodies writhed in fluid rhythms spelled for a “Dance by Different Music.” Fancy footwork came out of the closet to warm up the concrete floor. As the night progressed from evening eatery to late night dance club, long wooden rectangular tables were shoved alongside an exposed brick wall to make way for the party people rushing to dance.

4Deep alumni warmed up the floor with an onslaught of hors d’oeuvres. The latest addition, Kevin Latham opened with Berlin born Georg Levin’s, Late Discoveryand the hit maker Louie Vega’s Root Mix of I Love The Nightby French producer Rocco and the legendary vocals of C. Robert Walker as original member Kevin Nowell drenched the party with soulful caviar from vocalist LT Brown to Zakes Bantwini’s, Wasting My Time(Dan Ghenacia Mix). Following in the funky but soulful footsteps, founding member DJ Carroll A.K.A DJC delivered a forgotten jam, Don’t Give It Up(Lawnchair General Mix) by DJ Hal featuring Jay Thomas on vocals and the much needed inspiring lyricism and power house vocals from Inaya Day with DJ Boris Duglosh presents BOOOM’s,Keep Pushina 1990’s classic dub that had the audience reaching for the top.

After the far too short 4Deep reunion it was time to hear the night’s main course. The Walk A Milelabel release owner Lars Behrenroth sporting a brown Deeper Shades of House tee, approached the DJ booth’s music hardware with that expertise reserved for top chefs. The volume decreased on the funky house to make way for afro-house. From the crisp sound system came an address of deep beats that engaged the environment. Fingers snapped, feet danced and screams penetrated the air. The set was off to a delicacy start. Over the course of three hours, Lars transitioned flawlessly between bold flavors of afro-beat, freshly prepared melodic vocals, bitter deep-tech and rich old-school tech house. Eddie Grant’s Time Warpsautéed perfectly with Musaria’s, Momentfeaturing Memphis vocalist/songwriter Saturna who by the way was in the house and pleasantly surprised to hear her voice simmering through the makeshift club. Just when Lars couldn’t experiment any further with deep eclectic flavors, out from the kitchen came a sexy chocolate dessert; a profound house instrumental of “Between The Sheets” by The Isley Brothers that steadily built into a climatic taste explosion that closed out the night around 3:30 am.

At last the Great Divide had been conquered with more time being spent in the Deeper Shades hospitality than on the stage of Mr. Freestyle Electronica. Despite clandestine efforts, the majority probably were more involved in experiencing the Detroit native’s rarity than feasting on the German producer’s treats. Overall, the night went down with success, besides the running back and forth between rooms to dance, stand in awe, dance and stand in awe. There was so much music to behold in so little time. Here’s to next time keeping all the festivities in one room, under one roof instead of having to face a two-headed dilemma. Unlike the current political landscape, let the music UNITE and not DIVIDE.

Cover and first photographs of Lars Behrenroth by Andre Lozano/All additional photography by Chris Marley

LARS BEHRENROTH 21.10.10

October 22, 2010

ALL GREAT THINGS COME TO AN END

“He keeps on blessing me/Blessing Me”

These were the lyrics to the party’s opener played by Lars Behrenroth at Connect’s final party. Connect a monthly party held every first Thursday night that for six years had been instrumental in bringing house music back to the city’s forefront during the nitelife’s, “drought years.” Maybe not so much as bringing house music back as it did to keep house music alive during those “drought years.” Had it not been for Connect, the fervent sounds of deep/jackin’/house music would have indefinitely died for it were these parties that kept the torch burning bright for dance enthusiast. Unfortunately, all great things must come to an end.

Six years earlier Connect started out as a small monthly bringing funky house DJs from around the country mainly the mid-west and southeast states to play at its parties. The barely 25 years of age founders, Mike Zarin and DJC were known as the underdogs in the underground house music scene. Many local house music elders questioned their motives as to why the two would start house music parties during the city’s anti-nitelife stance and a hard hitting house music recession. However, over the years these critics were silenced as Connect’s parties thrived. During this time Connect tried to find its signature music sound mainly focusing on the Chicago/west coast jack sound of choppy beats and tech effects played over repeated samples. Interestingly, two years later Connect drowned in the deep waters of deep house music that became synonymous within the city. From there Connect transformed into a wreaking force, bringing in top-tier international talent and throwing amazing underground house parties. People flocked to the Thursday night monthlies in support to see their international favorites. Connect was ablaze until the great recession.

It was then when Connect had to scale back on out of town/international talent. The cost of airfare, lodging expenses and DJ fees became too much. So when the international talent left, the amazing parties stopped and with it went the crowd. Connect became a bygone-the party easily swept underneath the rug and easily forgotten. Its fate doomed.

One wouldn’t suspect this to be a closing party the way German bred/Los Angeles transplant Lars Behrenroth tore up the motherboards. His head rolled around in circles as he spun the mixer’s knobs to control the groove. His upper torso bounced up and down and rocked from side to side when he was really feeling the groove. At times between mixing songs his hands flew straight in the air as if he were at a futbol game cheering the winning team. This was the power of house music.

Lars sprinkled a few Connect favorites into the mix. There was Romanthony’s dubby, “Let Me Show You Love” that had yours truly singing along and the late 1990’s Chicago classic from Voices of Life, “The Word Is Love (Just Say The Word)” the Silk’s Anthem of Life Mix. Lars laid the afro-house vibe thickly on the crowd before transitioning back to house mode before closing out the momentous night. After a heartwarming goodbye from founder Mike Zarin, Lars took to the microphone to announce the last song, a jazzy house number about love and thanks. Then a female’s beautiful soprano voice resounded throughout the room. It was the voice of Denice Williams singing the R’n’B 80’s soul hit, “Free.” Yes, the time had come to say thanks for the many blessings bestowed upon Connect and to set Connect free.

Photography by Luis V fo DEG

LARS BEHRENROTH 04.09.09

September 5, 2009

Photography by 4Deep Archive

LARS BEHRENROTH 01.05.08

May 2, 2008

Photography by 4Deep Archive

LARS BEHRENROTH 03.05.07

May 4, 2007

Photography by Miss Valentine