AJ Dance Legacy

LOUIE VEGA & ANANE

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? (more…)

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.  

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

LES FEMMES FATALE

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

LOUIE VEGA & ANANE

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