Helluva Surprises and WTFs!
At 4:05 am, stepping onto Florida Avenue, seen are flashing lights and heard are sirens slashing the chilly air. Police cars, first responders, and emergency vehicles barricade the road. Bystanders stare from street corners. Finger-pointers stand down 7th Avenue. Whatever happened doesn’t look good at all.
Much like the drama unfolding on the capital’s street in real-time mirrors the drama that began hours earlier. A night of helluva surprises and way too many WTFs.
WTF #1. Inflation is a crime. Someone tell Washington DC. A night clubbing will break your bank account. The price to party is getting out of control.
WTF #2. A ride-share home at 4 am is $53! Compared to the earlier ride-share to the club that cost $16.
Earlier, standing at the outdoor window of the venue. You view your electronic ticket and read the price including fees and taxes paid was a whopping $12. What a steal? When the time on your phone reads 12:25 am.
“You missed the midnight deadline.” Says one most uninterested and annoyed employee ever. Her face turned away from you as to not acknowledge the fire in your eyes. “You have to purchase a new ticket. She continues. The new ticket price is $30!!!
WTF #3. She points you to the nearby ATM with a $3 surcharge just for using the bitch.
And coat check is $3 as the tip jar stares back at you.
“Woosah.” You breathe deeply, releasing the gentle flow of a long sigh.
You softly utter, “You are here to experience the legend that is David fucking Morales.
0037
Trek upward the steel-case stairs to level two. The door swings open and the club is alive with aswarm. But not packed to capacity of brushing shoulders and stepping on wing-tipped loafers in the dark.
Surprise! David Morales is waving his arm in the air, playing “Freedom” from Taola. The Manoo Mix is a light floor warmer where queued next, Kerri Chandler’s “The Calling” (Club Qu) electrifies.
So does the Louie Vega Re-Touch of “Another Day In My Life” emitting crystal clear through hovering amplifiers controlled by hands on deck in a sound booth. But a glance about the premises reveals another telling. Heartbreakingly, most of the multi-aged visages care less about the Full Fat audio. Their dilated pupils staring ahead. Shoulders shoving people aside. Disrespectfully. The youngish are savages. Club Flash is a war zone.
“Move out the way. Move.” A guy darts for the trash can. Bends over. Vomit spewing into the black bag lined receptacle. The linebacker built drops to his knees. “Gaaaa.” He hurls another load as “Earth Song (What About Us)” plays.
Back onstage, the New York born, Puerto Rican Morales premiers his new remix of Karen Harding’s “Free To Love,” song number six from Louie Vega’s “Expansion In the NYC.” A much needed declaration to hear in these troubling times. When the LGBTQIA are senselessly losing their lives violently in safe places for being themselves.
His David Disco Juice Vocal plays in full, 10 minutes and 47 seconds before ending in applause. The crowd having just enjoyed the anthem or being thrilled it’s over.
The surprises continue. “Apaga La Luz” Tony Touch yells. This version is unreleased. A deep tech number of punches and jolt contrasting against LED reds and blues beaming across the room.
Surprise! Ultra Nate walks by towards the elevated DJ platform. You tell her David is playing her universal anthem. “Free” and on the fly remix pitted against Hardrive’s “Deep Inside” to loud cheers.
Nope. Chiseled chest David wearing a ribbed-black long-sleeve does not once disrobe. But the bevy of gays swaying, swapping saliva, and squeezing ass cheeks are nearly naked. Nipples. Sculpted abs. And boxer briefs overshadows the right side of the room.
Their meager dance is all shuffling feet, half-spins and two-stepping across a soiled floor. Everywhere, bottom soles stick to the floor making that unzipping Velcro sound when walking. Can we get some baby powder and the floor mopped please?
WTF #4. Playing a Robert Owens song is clever. However, playing the track forever before disappearing into another song and reappearing in the soundscape goes nowhere.
“I smell crack.” A broski yells over the pinkest song played thus far that conjures memories of early episodes of “Sex and the City”- David Morales & Elle Cato’s “And I Am Telling You I’m Not Going.” The atmosphere is now consumed by poignant burning chemicals.
0230
WTF #5. Ron Hall’s “Talk to God ‘Bout It” (Spen’s Sunday Service Re Edit) playing on loop for seven and a half minutes is ungodly. Enough already.
WTF #6. And why is David Morales not playing?
WTF #7. Actually, where is David Morales?
Oh, there he sits between Baltimore’s Deep Sugar diva darling Ultra Nate and a new music selector playing “Mary” by Take 6. Yawn.
WTF #8. The music doesn’t get better. Playing Afefe Iku’s “Mirror Dance” mixed with the bass line from The Grand High Priest’s “Mary Mary” is lazy.
WTF #9. “Gypsy Women?” No comment.
Finally. The Late Queen of Soul Aretha Franklin singing “Respect” before MFSB’s “Love is the Message” pivots the moment.
0300
As King David stands and helms control of the musical journey once more. Understandably, at age sixty, the GRAMMY winning deejay needs his rest break from playing WAV files from time to time.
And that is why you trekked over one thousand kilometers to Washington D.C., your bank account now on broke, to witness the King of House-NYC, David Morales. Breaking news! Last night the self-proclaimed originator of Chicago house music suffered a “major stroke” according to sources online. Mr. Jesse Saunders, also age sixty. In this apocalypse, people are transitioning left and right. And just not baby boomers. Teenagers, Millennials, and Generation X are leaving this planet in multitudes. The time to give living legends their flowers is now. Crown them Kings and Queens of their crafts now. We know not how much time they have left, or know how much time we have left, for that matter, in this life. So let us dance loud and proud.
To the current soundtrack of royalty’s rebirth. Sometime earlier this century, Morales awoke. King David! Reinvented. Reimagined. & Remixed. Gone was his glitter 90’s reign – Def Mix, NYC and Red Zone, that he cares not to discuss. His presence shifted. His golden years established. Where his Diridim sound and music label rules. Outsourced from his residence in Italy. Where he leads his parishioners to Sunday Mass on Twitch. That causes sweat to drip. Much like tonight. His Majesty desires you to “Get Down” to his soundtrack of his originals and his remixes. The music evangelized at Sunday Mass. The “Never Looking Back” music producer sermonizes through his music. The Extended Mix featuring Lea Lorien on vocals gives you your groove back. “Strings” slowly builds like a pressure cooker waiting to explode. View the Queen, Ultra Nate head bopping to her, “I Can Dream” contribution to Morales’ “Life Is A Song.” His latest full length release in nearly ten years. Chalked full of collaborations with heavy hitters and new comers in the dance world of soulful house music driven by his Latin roots and entrenched in Afro vibes.
That more than half of the kool kids attending know nothing about. And let’s just ignore the fact the vibe is off. Finding space on the floor to breathe and release takes hours.
0322
The moment when Afro thumping percussions calls upon the ancestors and their descent is captured in movement, the dance space opens. Allowing outstretched hands to grab the heavens, to shake the sound sphere and captivate gazes. Bodies in motion are one with the rhythm.
That explodes into “Don’t Look Away,” David’s remix to the Afro Warriors & Dorivaldo Mix featuring Miranda Nicole’s Tambor Music release.
But when the bump of those 808s drop. Yo, it’s over. The drum stutters. The hip-hop loop sequenced over heart pounding thumps. The bass bops beneath a tambourine. The rap. “Make Music Everyday,” Mr. V spits. “Everyday Of My Life” sounds so refreshing. An invigorating motif of hip-house at its best.
WTF #9. There goes that Robert Owens song playing again. King David is really trying to make this track work.
“Do you mind moving?” The linebacker from earlier asks, now seated on a sofa lining the wall.
“Sure,” you reply with no hesitation.
“Oh no. I mean thanks for moving out the way when I had to vomit earlier.”
Achieving an illustrious career that spans forty plus years is no small feat. King David proclaims his longevity playing “Still Here,” his assist with another royal New Yorker, King Louie Vega, both appropriately crowned Kings of House-NYC production featuring powerhouse Julie McKnight. The David Morales Disco Juice Mix causes you to feel like the last person standing on the dance floor, pondering the glass half-full or glass half-empty idiom.
Was this party one of the worst experiences ever?
Or was this party one of the best experiences ever?
Should your friends have attended the party?
Or are your friends the luckiest bastards ever because they did not attend the party?
All you know is your head is effed up and your back account is broke. Too broke to purchase a mojito, instead you opt for a glass of Adam’s ale at the free water station at the bar.
Although King David is one for never looking back, his playlist throws back. Way back, when NYC disco ruled the world. Take the party’s closing opus, the Elle Calo assisted “Holding Me Touching Me,” (Extended Mix). The Glitterbox release is juxtaposed between vocal house and pink disco. Again, a song that falls on deaf ears of the kool kids who try to take a group photo before security swoops and stops their posing and smiles. They know nothing about, nor care to know something about Barbara Tucker’s “Stay Together,” Lood featuring Donnell Rush’s “Shout-N-Out” (DJ Dub), and Loleatta Halloway’s “Love Sensation,” albeit a ccapellas played to sing at the tops of lungs. Yet, the King of House stuck true to his heart. Playing not the music kool kids want to hear but playing the music kool kids need to ear.
wrds: aj dance
King David grphcs: aj art
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Tags: #dancefloormagic #housemusicexcellence, afro house music, dancing, DAVID MORALES, Diridum Recordings, disco music, flash club, house music, house music dancing, Washington D.C.