AJ Dance Legacy

MIGUEL MIGS&LISA SHAW/MASTER KEV

J Day’s Intro

She arrived fashionably late, very elegant and very soft. The portrait of finesse. The acute epitome of a real woman, a working woman, and a single mother of three. The sexy siren stood at least six-feet three inches in noir spiked stilettos deadly enough to kill. Dressed in a sheering white and pencil thin black line dress, with a wrap around the neck cut to die for that revealed hidden treasures between two hills, the svelte form sashayed upstairs with stylish grace. Her two-doe eyes shimmered and sparkled like the brightest of all diamonds, so sharp and ever so clear, against the contrast of the red strobe lights dancing on the stair’s metal guardrails. Two strong eyelashes, highlighted with baby blue shadow, flirted dangerously while batting at high speeds. Scarce cosmetics were used only to enhance her natural bronze pigment that captivated the room of lusty eyes. Blessed with silky black glossy hair tightly pulled back into an exaggerated mane that traveled down to the mid-section of her back whooshed from side to side in one impressive sweep. She showered the room with a precious gift-the gift of love. She hugged the family and greeted strangers with a bright smile and a host of pearly whites. Candy coated pouted red lips pronounced, “Why thank you” as she offered brief gratitude with a distinguished German accent fit for an Afro-German queen. The essence that defines a woman. It was her day. For it was her earth day.

MIGUEL MIGS & LISA SHAW

Two weeks earlier the stage had transformed to some type of freak fest-an exhibitionist circus of superfluous magnitude. It was a global bazaar for the town’s clowns and characters to showcase mindless behavior. A night when people went out to, “just go out.” Within the lounge an oppressive weight of oxidation balanced the air that watered eyes and filled lungs with unsavory whiffs. Flashing neon red strobe lights nervously jumped and anxiously skipped in spastic patterns across the upper tier marked by dark walls covered in black smoke barely visible due to sweaty flesh packed tight within the room. People danced. People conversed. People smoked hookahs. People paraded about as if beauty queens. People wearing sneakers stood on the dance floor. People waved to standees across the room. People conversed in the language of drunken debauchery. People groped, on off-rhythm counts, practically falling to the carpet-less dance floor below. Others locked lips and swapped spit with animated tongue thrusts. Young blondes whisked their heads with a wink of an eye as if some dog were to wag its tail their way.

There was a type of pretentious overtone screaming louder than the West Coast house music pumping from the all-new turbo sound system. The “Guidos” threw money to impress dates. The scantily clad threw cleavages to entice dates. The techno-acid washed room of translucent onyx, purple pastels, and red hues reeked of sweaty desperation-the kind so pungent it washes off after two showers two days later. A pack of young multi-ethnic girls with blank expressions dressed in the “little black dress” paraded around with neon green fluorescent bans chocking their necks while mocking modern day slavery. Not to mention, the young impressionable girls seemed to grow younger with each passing minute. There they were stumbling up the carpeted stairs into some young boy’s arms dressed in some designer label suit, purchased from some mall, while people tried to dance mind you. There it was the pulling up of mini-skirts revealing more legs or more ass. Whatever was revealed was way too much.  Nothing in this Babylonia made since. At least not to the sober mind.

There was no refuge, no place to find such sweet solace amongst the revilers, not even out doors which was plagued by summer’s sarcasm of humidity. Instead, disheveled chaos danced with unorganized noise as both laughed in the seasoned faces of the “I’m too old for this shit.” There was the sound of patty-tap claps thundering loudly from the all-new turbo sound system that brought to mind the sound of raves gone by. But this party was for the young, the young minds pretending to throw what they have in the faces of the have nots. The velvet roped off VIP section showcased such delusional trajectories. It mattered not if one could purchase pocket breaking drinks or platinum credit charged trinkets because for most in the place that was pointless. Many of the gathered dancers were in the house to experience the musical makings of San Francisco’s legendary DJ Miguel Migs along side house diva vocalist Lisa Shaw.

Michael Steward aka Miguel Migs, a tad bit underdressed for the raucous occasion, worked underneath the “No DJ Request” sign.  While songstress Lisa Shaw mingled with guests after her first arousing vocal performance of the night. The room abuzz with much activity and way too many conversations seemed jovial and had personality. Thankfully Miguel pumped and tweeked deep thumping bass lines that drowned out most of the excessive chit-chatter. The Petal Pusher medicated the room with a prescribed dose of funky soul that offered temporary relief from the room’s toxicities. Miquel’s recommended allowance of therapeutic beats jumpstarted the heart with a rush of blood and commanded feet to spin around in circles. The healthy west coast ointment soothed the soul and provided bountiful relief to severe heartaches and severe pains. This was the good stuff. That addictive house that could raise the dead and give soul to the soulless. If this jack didn’t move the groove then nothing could.

The ever so spirited party girl, Lisa Shaw segued into a catalog of house classics. The songstress belted out the playful, “Those Things,” the intoxicating, “All Night High” and the vibrant, “Make Things Happen” to a cheering audience of “yays” and “arrghhs.” After her lively fifteen minute second performance of the night, a sizeable portion of the crowd abandoned the carpet free dance space for other toxic tastes. This was perfect timing and made for a perfect dance as Miguel jumped into a barrage of old school sing-a-longs. The Jungle Brothers played. Marshall Jefferson played. Tramaine Hawkins Sang. Altogether, side-by-side they played as little school children playing on the playground at recess in a sand box. “I’ll House You” mixed with “Move Your Body” and “Fall Down” were reworked with updated beats that instantaneously refreshed old school record crates into modern wav computer files. Thankfully, all hope for humanity was not lost as the Naked Music Label founder played his latest release, fresh from the studio, featuring 1980’s soul singing sensation Evelyn Champaign King’s “Everybody” that drew everyone back to the dance floor for one last dance. Those blistered drunk with alcohol or those high as kites with plastered smiles on face seemed to not mind as they stumbled to keep pace with the disco beat. For all it’s worth the night was not a complete and utter disaster. The night’s savior, west coast funky house music, might not have been remembered the following morning by the intoxicated but for the sober the night would live on as a music filled success in the land of the immoral. Oh, by the way, Happy Ten Year Anniversary, Halo Lounge.

MASTER KEV

Three hundred and thirty-six hours later, the lounge contained no frantic pace, no chaotic buzz, just a sweet savored scent of serenity that greeted each guest at the crossroads of the lounge’s steel front door structure and the white partitions in the sparse front foyer. A cold draft blew across the upstairs bar highlighted by lines of pastel purples to the dimly lit DJ booth tucked neatly away in a dark little corner and from there to the lower level bar aglow in onyx located on the first floor. Yes, it was going to be a different night, one of more peace and of more love, less crowds and less noise. The DJ equipment whistled whimsical melodies over deep house beats-through the lounge’s all-new turbo sound system-to the few attendees scattered about, those positioned at the bar ordering cocktails, and others posted on the dance floor in brief conversations. DJ’s Stanzeff and BE played musical ambassadors playing that kind of soul that moved the feet. At times their valiant efforts yielded lukewarm results because the crowd seemed stuck in neutral-sitting on noir couches and noir chairs moving nowhere in particular. The abandoned carpet-free dance floor seemed emotionally lonely. It screamed for at least one or two feet to prance around on its concrete face with fancy footwork.

Ninety minutes later, the night’s openers made way for the night’s headliner from NYC.  The DJ booth was crowded.  The gathering audience of dancers secured prime real estate on the cement floor and welcomed the special guest from the Big Apple. Kevin “Master Kev” wore a black baseball cap with black tee and approached the musical arsenal with tight precision. READY. AIM. FIRE. The goatee DJ bombarded the dancers with an assortment of thick thumping beats pitched well over 120 BPM, folks that’s beats per minute, to a dizzying cacophony and this was only the first song. But it was not the headliner’s fault nor the night’s openers. Sometime earlier, after DJ Stanzeff played Soundgarden’s, “Black Hole Sun” remixed by Master Kev and production partner-in-crime Tony Loreto the sound coming from the speakers grew muddled and more muddled over time until it became very bass heavy-this is when the bass overpowers the other elements of a song, i.e. vocals, instruments-till the songs became undistinguished. Sadly, the all-new turbo sound system seemed ill equipped to keep up with the frantic pace of Master Kev’s beat em’ and smash em’ up mix master style. The venue’s air quality was a filthy mess, not with hazy carcinogens but of muffled vocals, muffled beeps, muffled burps and muffled drums. The former Musiq Soulchild, currently called Musiq, sounded drowsy with vocals so low they were a faint whisper while finger snaps fell from the sky to slow things down a bit. From there the mix picked up speed with the night’s highlight beaming bright from British band Sade versus Netherlands tech-houser Henrik Schwarz with “Pearls and Headphones” a friendly hybrid remixed by the renowned Hani. Then for more bang, Son Of Raw a.k.a. Dennis Ferrer’s, “Black Man In Space” was dropped into the concoction that added the extra bounce to get that booty off the couch and onto the dance floor. DYNOMITE!!! Outta nowhere dropped the parent of house music-Mama Disco. The transition so hard and so sudden threw the dancers for a giant loop and not the loops made on ice rink competitions. The dancers rebounded and screamed with joy to the smash-ups of Brother Johnson’s, “Stomp” and Michael Jackson’s, “Off the Wall” both songs produced by Quincy Jones.

The carpet-free dance space ballooned with excitement that burst into bubbles of confetti energy. Even the birthday party, clearly packed with non-house heads, separated in the unmarked VIP section joined in on the fun. The group’s birthday girl danced barefoot with a Floridian, also barefoot, in ballroom circles and couples two-step. Too bad the drunken youngin’ of all smiles, mind you, carelessly bumped elbows and haphazardly spun around into other dancers trying to get their groove on. “Excuse me(s), I’m sorry,” littered the playing field. Maybe the apologies would have deemed more acceptable had she not kept up the bumper car syndrome for several songs thereafter. “That is why I don’t do hip-hop clubs,” framed another darling gifted in the art of dance staring fervently with eyes of fire into the intoxicated heart of the barefoot crash dummy. Later, the drunken starlit was to be found passed out sleeping on a noir leather couch in the VIP…..

Overall the party jingled with the intensity that elevated the crowd into orbit. Along with Master Kev’s help, the crowd of fifty plus touched the halo of wonderment. It was one of those nights, not rare but not common either, where the stars shined bright and the moon beamed soft rays of light upon the dance floor. This was only the beginning and only the warm-up to what was to follow next……

The Tale of Two

Photography by Carlos Bell

GOTSOUL?!?

“Can You Dance To My Beat?”

Gotsoul? Does it have soul? Do you got soul? Really! Is that a necessary question? Nope, not when you’re JoJo Flores.

Perhaps, Montreal’s JoJo Flores must be one of the best dressed DJs on the international circuit. The guy with the school boy physique looked sharp. Neatly working a black short sleeve button down, with a tucked in black tee that would later reveal the Gotsoul logo-think Clark Kent with the S on his chest-and slim leg black denim all topped off with a brown fedora and you’ve got one of the best dressed music purveyors in the place. The kind of urban look fit for men’s dress magazines than rock music fanzines. The dress is very important. It can signify a DJ set’s aesthetics. The feel and sound of an audio soundscape. JoJo’s neat and clean flair categorizes the same in his musical sets avec a tight precise technical DJ mixing style. One could tell there was thought behind this fashion choice as well as thought behind what would be played musically. Be it, song transitions-mixing in and out songs-or various mash-ups-taking two entirely different songs and blending their elements to create a new song. The music was on point.

JoJo’s flawless baby face revealed that he was ready to play and with a demeanor that he could hang with the best of them; the masters, the classics and the legends. The award winner dropped that kind of soul that can’t be ignored nor denied. Armed with a bag of arsenal, the tech savy-I’ve got my own smartphone DJ app-dug deep in his bag and pulled out trick after trick. The Canadian’s educated musical range spanned from house, deep, classics to disco that accommodated any and every taste in the room. Not one musical palette left the building hungry. Maybe, hungry for more, hence the encore request circa three in the morning.

Three hours earlier, Flores intermingled Norma Jean Bell’s classic, “I’m The Baddest Bitch (In The Room)” the jazzy house number that pulled the alumni house heads away from the bar and out of the bathrooms and unto the floor with the latest, a cover of Adele’s, “Rolling In The Deep” a deep house treatment via John Legend’s interpretation. House vocalist Kenny Bobien’s, “I Really Do” (Culoe De Song Mix) falsetto fluttered across the room on heavenly wings while neo-soul sensation Marsha Ambrosius moans and groans thumped in hormonal croons. By the next hour the Gotsoul founder was knee deep [and comfortable] playing afro-house. Yacoub’s “Da Na Ma” (Manoo’s Mix) with its gentle acoustic guitar lick plucked over soft handclaps as Telepopmusik’s lush vocals pleaded, “Love Can Damage Your Heath”courtesy of Abicah Soul & Dennis Ferrer fame. South Africa’s Queen of House, Buice’s, “Not Fade” the heartfelt ballad that felt all too right swept the dancers off their feet.

Then the classics! Oh my, the classics. Four consecutive anthems raised the soul’s mantle. With enough pockets of space to dance about the tribesters screamed with accolades, “Work It!” “Arrghhhs!” “Play That Ish!”

“Call Yourself A Friend” escaped from the speakers as a looped “You Dig Where I’m Comin’ From” introduced First Choice’s, “Let No Man Put Asunder” but this time with Mary J. Blige on vocals, a sax filled instrumental of “I Can’t Get Enough” made feet dance while Gamble & Huff’s Philly horns blew throughout the room.

What a night as the best dressed music maestro quizzed the crowd with Blaze’s (acapella) “To My Beat.” Needless to say, the crowd answered, “yes” and proved they could dance to the beat as they also proved they “Gotsoul.”

Photography by: Carlos Bell http://carlosbellphotography.wordpress.com/

HOT & LOUD

Turn up the volume and let the bass drop. That’s what Baltimore’s legendary DJ Spen, decked out in a black ensemble of a basement ball cap and MF (Muthafunkaz) tee delivered to Tambor. The venue’s walls contracted and the floor vibrated as four count beats gave birth to dancing feet, snapping fingers and raised arms. Not only did the thumping beats pronounce their arrival but so too the room’s temperature. The room was sooooo hot that even hell telephoned to complain.

Oh well, all is so when the venue’s owners push the regularly scheduled party (Tambor) from its regular residence from the larger air conditioned main room into a smaller side room with non-working air conditioning. But that’s another story saved for a later time.

Thankfully, the torrid temps could not thwart MuthaFunkaz production head and Code Red recording label owner, DJ Spen’s ambitious efforts from bringing additional hotness to the premises. Spen slayed the incense-scented room with heavy doses of hitting beats of four count bangers with enough bass to rattle the eastern hemisphere or at least, the eastern side of the building. Above all, two facts remained clear the entire night. One, Spen made his presence known and two, he strategically commanded the room to feel the spirit of house music. The song writer/music producer/DJ put a hurt on the mixer’s loops and cue knobs to repeat vocals and dub beats in a dizzying effect and a dazzling display. Only a true DJ from the old-skool can work a mixer like that. This time around though, there were no sound distractions or sound interruptions that caused the music to go out during the energetic set.

As the music’s volume progressively increased, so did the house anthems that kept coming like the never ending dog days of summer. In between DaJae’s reworked, “Brighter Days” (DJ Spen Muthafunkaz Anthem) and a disco dub of Brother Johnson’s, “Stomp” the tribesters found hidden inspirational nestled between glorious beats.

Several gospel house tunes reigned during the night that won critically acclaimed praise. “He May Not Come When You Want Him but He’s Right On Time” repeated its sweet sentiment of encouragement to hold on steadfast for your blessing is right on time. Then came gospel music’s chart-topping sister sensation, Mary Mary with their current offering, “Walking” a soulful house treatment that had people’s feet stomping as Pastor Shirley Ceasar meets house music kept the crowd cheering, “Hallelujah.” The newest release from U.K.’s Fanatix featuring Assurance, “I Trust You (Psalm 143)” taught the dancers how to trust through difficult times or at least dance through hot heat. However, the scorcher of the night came from BeBe Winans’ 1998 epic, “Thank You (Masters At Work Mix)” that caused the people to lose their minds and even got Tambor’s Stan Zeff dancing on the floor.

Overall, for those that could stomach the heat, the NRG in the room flew off the meter and combined with the hot temperatures became a fusion of combustible energy. Looped vocals and thumping beats echoed with the kind of intelligence that puts the soul into house music. With upfront beats played at a slap in your face pace, this party was not for the faint of heart or the soft of ears but for those that like to bathe in sweat and hear their music loud.

Photography by John Crooms

JOE CLAUSSELL

“He’s warming up. Now, he’s starting to play,” yelled Mrs. Thang

What is a musical maestro called when he/she plays on a stubborn acting sound system? A PISSED off DJ.

This Tambor might have gone down in history as one giant, “technical difficult.” The culprit mainly attributed to the bass heavy sounding sound systems refusal to adhere to quality sound control standards. Several speakers dropped the sound at various stages throughout the night. Even before the night’s headliner took stage, sound difficulties arose during resident/founder Stan Zeff’s musical set as a speaker on stage failed. There, on stage, stood two sound technicians perplexed at finding a solution. With a quick jolt towards the opposite direction of the room one technician clad in all black bolted towards the venue’s motherboard that controlled the acoustics. Sadly, this marked the beginning of the end.

Was there a sound check? “Yes,” stated an online post on a social networking site.

So what went wrong? No one plausible answer abound. Instead, various interpretations offered various answers. One individual blamed the in-house sound system while another individual smiled and ignored the questions all together. Certainly, this seemed not like the Tambor that endured four venue changes in eighteen months and had out grown minor sound technical issues to secure a residence in the world of all things deep house music.

What complicates matters is that the event featured NYC’s Body & Soul, Sacred Rhythms master Joe Claussell the living instrument. What a wrong time for sound difficulties to prevail. Never does a DJ ever want to experience audio issues but this certainly should not be the case when an iconic DJ is up to bat. Joe Claussell settles for nothing less than the best in acoustic sensibility. The humble icon competitively rises above his peers by dismissing tired DJ techniques of mixing in and out of songs and standing statuesque as if wanting a pigeon to poop on his head and waiting for fan adoration. Instead, the tried and true DJ/producer/label owner/record store owner with no-ego (mind you) animates his sets with acrobatic jumps in circles on stage while operating the musical switchboard by tweeking the hell out of the mixer’s knobs as if to rip the controls off the face of the metal hardware itself. Dang, talk about heated energy.

How inspiring to watch a rarity work pulsating the air with unrestraint animation. So, let’s go into this world of unparalleled energy from the mastermind of Joe Claussell.

The loft space marked by the smell of fried buffalo chicken wings gave way to the smell of salty perspiration throughout the hours. The night’s anthem from South Africa’s deep house ambassador Black Coffee featuring the sultry haunting vocals from singer Thiwe’s, “Crazy” (Manoo & Francios A Deep Journey Mix) (played for the second time of the night) jumpstarted the capacitated room packed tight with musical tourists. There were visiting tribesters from South Carolina, Florida and even Seattle Washington. Folks bomb rushed the front of the DJ stage to snap pictures on camera phones and videographers with their video recorders in tote to film the living instrument at work. Manoo’s & Francois A’s ten plus minute afro-house kicker wooed those from the back of the room to the front of the room as hypnotic rhythms swelled the space to make happy feet. One of the maestro’s unique mixing techniques was the ability to play one song for fifteen minutes. Joe Claussell can take a song, start the song from the beginning and loop the track for a mere twenty minutes saturating the audience with musical marinate. The ability to ride a track and interpret every note played, every kick drum beat and the highs and lows of instruments through body movements and those facial expressions (let’s not forget those frowns and stank faces) is sheer talent. The ability to make a song speak a new language comes from the soul and to allow the audience to interpret its meaning is a God given gift amiss in the modern world of celebrity DeeJays.

Literally, the crowd went “Crazy” as Joe dropped the EQ’s, pitched the sound decibels out of this world and had the audacity to bang the bass on the crowd with fierce diligence. The people grew mad yelling at the top of their lungs understanding the impacting language of translation.

From there, Stephanie Cooke’s, “Love Will” (Roots Vocal Mix) with its Caribbean flavor brought all dancers to the floor once again possessed by screams with arms outstretched in the air as if in a revival church service. The music even disappeared to allow the audience to sing a cappella “Love Will/Love Will” before the soft rhythms returned to the mass.

Three songs into the brief troubled set a beautiful Georgia peach from Atlanta seemed to be rushed on stage to perform as several sound technicians converged on the sound system’s mother board in the room’s right rear. Draped in a multi-patterned gold ensemble, the current southern fried vocalist introduced herself as Miranda Nicole and her song, “Kissing You.” As she spoke into the microphone the acoustics sounded so distorted her high pitched voice came across as a high pitch squeal. With her mouth open wide, the soft soprano tried to work the room. However, the accompanying back-up music that rocked the room overpowered Miranda’s soft whispers. leaving the listener confused as to what she sung. If the listener, already not familiar with the tune, had no way to determine what was sung. As so, the make or break performance fell flat on a few deaf ears.

Once again, South Africa’s deep house reins came to the rescue. After the highly anticipated performance that proved a highly disappointed spectacle, several handclaps ripped from the speakers to the delight of scattered praise. Zakes Bitwana with Xolani Sithole on vocals, “Clap Your Hands” reigned supreme with no technical difficulties. A few songs later, as Joe’s body possessed by sacred rhythms acted out movements to the crescendo groove of a heavy track laden by Hammond B-3 organs romping over deep percussions (surprise) the music goes completely kaput. With arms raised in the air the living instrument displays disgust at the situation, the musical moment of spirituality has been compromised not only for the master but the followers.

Those standing near the stage took note of Joe’s frustrated visage and felt a chilly presence. It has to be noted when a professional DJ is not happy, it translates into his/her musical set and the audience can sense the same through the music. Yes, a few salty murmurs were heard throughout the room. However, during the unexpected interruption the night’s all-stars, the AUDIENCE’s enthusiastic synergy saturated the frustration in the air. The people so busy screaming barely perceived the issues at hand. The crowd overlooked the dilemma and stood ground with unconditional support. Not once did the crowd give up. As a matter-of-fact, the tribesters rhythmically took Joe’s hand, helped him to stand in the midst of the ashes and encouraged him to continue the musical journey with screams of unadulterated praise and approval. That’s what a party is all about.

Approximately 30 seconds after the mishap, African drums arose from the deep and the people danced. Not only did they dance they danced harder and screamed louder. Sensual flesh weaved from left to right in dynamic movements and if fortunate enough one had ample space to maybe spin around in circles. The room packed tight like a sweaty stench army barrack housed all of the foot soldiers. It was at this juncture of bodies meets souls that caused the crowd to beat with unconditional support. People were so wrapped up in heaven that there was no time to be preoccupied with minimal sound distractions. Above all, the need to have the best time prevailed throughout the arena.

By 2 am the stage exploded with a BANG!!! As if a heat seeking missile tanked the elevated platform, Joe Claussell really showed Tambor what he was all about. The energy in the room pulsated with musical contractions giving birth to unspeakable ecstasy. A sheer magnetic force of rhythms pulled dancing bodies closer to the stage and if not onto the stage. Even Joe’s vessel weaved and bopped deeper than it had ever during the night like a heavy weight boxer avoiding jabs in a world title fight. Those swift movements seemed to signal the coming storm of a musical assault that was about to slay the room with harmonious vengeance. The winds of change blew about the 5600 feet space, taking all prisoners within its path. Gone were the earlier plagues of sound difficulties exchanged for free flowing musical interaction between the living instrument and dancing vessels. Joe was in the flow. He continued to spin the mixer’s knobs by tweeking the EQ’s and dropping the bass on those able to stand. The combustible hearts of men and women violently leaped from chest cavities and exploded with fire. Screams of joy resounded as whistles shrilled and hands waved in the air. This was Tambor and there was no stopping the Joe Claussell train.

The musical rumble continued with Miranda Nicole’s, “Kissing You” (Libation Mix) also the night’s anthem that played for the second time in two hours. The blissful track of warm pads over choppy beats played for about fourteen minutes. In mid-song after the classy piano solo, the single was looped and started over from the beginning which pleased the crowd.

Josh Milan’s lusty, “Your Body” took Joe and the audience to cloud nine. What a high! Sweat rags waved in the hot air as shirts fell to the floor and stilettos were kicked off feet. Then came the Detroit Experiment’s, “Think Twice” (Henrik Schwarz Mix) with that pulsating Detroit Tech that drove the people mad. Not one mouth was closed as bodies were thrown in the air to a repeated piano riff while saxophones raged war over beating tech synths. The song’s steady melodic build-up could not cease a war’s army from the musical assault. By the song’s end the room resembled a war ravaged apocalypse.

Then the house lights were turned on that revealed sweat ridden faces and disheveled hair do’s or hair don’ts. Thankfully, that wasn’t enough to get Joe off the musical decks as he decided to save the best for last. Detroit’s soul crooner, Kem’s, “Heaven” (Marlon D and Groove Assassin’s Club Mix) galloped on a white horse and raptured all the saints to heaven in a twinkling of an eye. All the saints that were still left dancing on the floor rejoiced for this was heaven at its best.

Had it not been for the audience’s unrestricted praise and unbridled support the night might have flopped. However, the courage to draw strength from the inner spirit prevailed like a mustard seed of faith. Truly, this unrelenting character defines what special nights are made of. For the most enduring of all facts prevailed, various tribes of people harnessing the power to capture the essence of the DJ’s heart to catapult sacred rhythms into the universe.

All photographs by Carlos Bell for Carlos Bell Photography

FABIO GENITO VERSION II

The Party

This spring night belonged to the dancers.

Much can be said about Italy’s Fabio Genito’s spirited set that delivered robust afro-beat/latin/90’s house/current deep-house/funk/soul and disco flavors of heated beats marinated on a fruit-based laptop connected to a smoking mixing deck. After a rousing opener by Tambor’s founder and resident, Stan Zeff, the packed room of bodies was ripe with anticipation for some Italian delight.

Fabio appeared on stage decked out in a dinner vest, a popular cartoon sketchedduck on a white graphic tee and low-riding blue denim. With the music silenced, the room fell to an uncomfortable hush. Suddenly, an a cappella tenor arose from the DJ stage like a soaring phoenix. The raspy voice from none other than vocalist Michael Watford cried for much needed “PEACE & HARMONY.” Actually, “Michael’s Prayer” blasted from several Peavey speakers and JBLs positioned about the room and not from the DJ stage as earlier thought thanks to the wonderful sound system by Kevin Donovan. Immediately, cued from CD player two, tribal beats fell on the densely populated room that greeted several curious visages. Slowly, dancing feet began to sway left to right. Then as afro-beat gave way to tinged latin percussions the same feet salsaed front to back.

Throughout the night, special tech EFX of flutters, reverbs, fade-ins and fade-outs reigned supreme. The mixer’s “kill” switch dropped bass lines. The mixer’s knobs were tweaked to unbalance EQ levels and enhance the highs and lows of several tracks played. For those with sensitive ears these overstated techniques might have seemed gall. But it was all good. Even the frequent musical build-ups and break-downs during songs kept dancing feet on their p’s and q’s. Sorry, folks there were no miss-steps here.

Afefe Iku’s, “Mirror Dance” raced into action at high speeds after a few EFX shutters of infections afro-beat. Front there afro-beat transformed into straight up Chicago house with Steve “Silk” Hurley’s presents The Voices of Life with, “The Word is Love (Say The Word)” (Silk’s Anthem of Life Mix) that made way for some great disco dance moves.

Dynamic movements sprung to life as a huge dance circle formed in the epicenter of the rectangular dance floor. Dancers showed off various acrobatic poses while fancy footers showcased lightning speed footwork. Several video recorders and numerous cell phone owners ran to the arc to capture the extemporaneous footage. At that moment, the crowd exploded with eager applause as the room’s energy boiled over.

From there, Chi-town house gave way to Motown soul. Stevie Wonder’s classic, “My Love Is On Fire” lit the room with nostalgia as dancers slid and spun in circles across the floor.

Immediately, thereafter, a pumping four-count club thumper leveled the speakers. The beat much too hard for today’s deep house felt more from the likes of Chicago’s golden house music era than the current climate of South Africa’s beating cowbells. Sure enough the classic goodie came from UK soulsters, Simply Red remixed by a native Chicagoan. To keep the blue-eyed soul in effect, George Michael’s, “Careless Whisper”(Abicah Soul Remix) with vocals hovering barely above a faint whisper seemed to fall on deaf ears. Realizing the response or the lack thereof, the song was quickly mixed out during the second hook before the song had time to simmer. Unfortunately, by this point the MeDEEPerraen DJ transitioned in and out of songs so quickly it left little time for engaging listeners to catch the groove. Other snippets included Tambor’s prior guest headliner, Timmy Regisford along with Adam Rios interpretation of “At The Club,” Ultra Nate’s, “Free” the gay anthem that had all the shirtless pumping fists in the air, singing with joy and 1999’s favorite Moloko’s, “Sing It Back” (Boris Musical Mix). Wait a minute was that Bob Marley and Wailer’s, “Exodus?”

While the aforementioned were cut short, other songs were left to play in their entirety. Shaun Ecoffery’s, “Days Like This” (Spinna & Tickla Mix) played as the vocals were “killed” to allow the audience to sing, “I Love Days Like This/Yeah/Here Comes The Sun” at the top of their lungs. The people cheered with praises as the next song, Element’s of Life featuring Lisa Fisher and Cindy Mizelle’s, “Into My Life (You Bought The Sunshine)” showered dancing hearts with love. One Tambor family member even hopped on the DJ Stage and gave a personal performance to Mr. Fabio. The latest hit from Reel People featuring Darien on vocals, “Sure” (Frankie Feliciano Classic Vocal Mix) sounded refreshing with its sing along melody that paved way for what was to come next.

The night’s musical journey cusped with a hair raising live performance by Atlanta’s own Robin Latimore’s cover of Gladys Knight’s & The Pips, “Neither One Of Us” re-titled, “First To Say Goodbye” remixed by South Africa’s DJ Micks. The jazz songstress belted out heavenly vocals over rapturous beating percussions driven under warm pads that sent the audience into the stratosphere. Not to outdo herself, Robin threw in some classic references singing Crystal Water’s, “Gypsy Woman” with the crowd and chanting “It’s Time For The Percolator” by Cajmere. Needless to say, the people ate up the performance like authentic home-cooked pasta.

To jumpstart the mix again, the disco break of Michael Jackson’s, “Get On The Floor” punched through the JBL’s to reveal an exclusive re-edit of the icon’s disco dance floor anthem. Other dance floor killers came courtesy from Germany’s dance musician George Kranz, “Trommeltanz” or “Din Daa Daa” that shut the party down (with that same Tambor family member back on stage waving her arm and swinging that derriere in the air) and the night’s final house number from the fabulous Sweet Pu$$y Pauline’s, “Work This Pu$$y with the XXX male emasculating material too explicit to explain on this page.

Once the venue’s house lights besieged the darkness there were still thirty or so dancers spinning in circles and two-stepping to Michael Jackson’s, “Rock With You.” Back on stage, Fabio appeared hesitant to give up the limelight as the clock unfortunately signaled 3 am. There, seemingly nervous Stan Zeff stood by Fabio’s side bidding adieu to the night’s guest at the request of the venue’s owner. However, there was no need for concern as the dancers had a wonderful time of Italian delight at Tambor’s expense and would soon take the dance outside underneath the starry March sky and that rare, beautiful supermoon. Once again, thanks Tambor and Fabio for the dance.

Photography by Carlos Bell Photography

MASTERPIECE

What does a master create when he/she weaves the magnetic fabric of the human voice coupled with unparalleled musicianship that exhibits a body of art and defines soulful house music? A masterpiece.

Famed New York City’s club-night Shelter founder, Timmy Regisford crafted a moving mosaic of music that wooed music loving disciples to the dance floor or at best to the club. Fresh faces arrived from up and down the east coast and even from neighboring Canada to enjoy the sights and sound of the acclaimed international DJ/producer/artist.

Timmy the song master, not merely content with playing songs/tracks with the norm mix-in and mix-out DJ mixing technique blurred the litmus where a cappellas dance with beats. Many of the night’s vocals juxtaposed the new-skool, Maroon 5 with the old-skool, New Edition that rocked to beats by Sting’s International Mix of Peven Everett’s, “Church” or Quentin Harris’ galloping drum loop remix of Leela James, “My Joy.” At times, the master maneuvered between three songs at once, on two CD players and a mixer without the help of a laptop (mind you). One layer of vocals piped over a thumping beat used for the intro that segued into another different beat as was the case with Peven Everett’s, “Burning Hot” (Timmy Regisford & Adam Rios Mix) meets The Detroit Experiment’s, “Think Twice” (Henrik Schwarz Mix). This overlay created a euphoric sensation of a never before heard remix. Folks we’re not talking mash-ups here, but a master DJ working the very DNA of songs to the core displaying rare artisan endeavor in today’s youth-driven DJ culture. Such skills only a master of the trade could teach to contemporary apprentices.

With a melodious marriage of a cappellas and club-ready beats the maestro transformed Tambor into a tectonic hot spot. So prepare yourself as we embark on a magnificent journey into Timmy’s masterpiece.

By 10 pm several New York City Shelter devotees, as well as Tambor family members form a small line in the above average temperature for a winter’s night, eagerly waiting to discover what lay behind the venue’s brick and mortar wall. A soundscape of deep beats pound the concrete pavement that welcomes each and every guest. They arrive from NYC, Virginia, the Carolinas, Tennessee, Florida and even as far away as Toronto, Ontario. However, before entering the sanctioned master’s studio, their event tickets and door fees are collected, examined and processed by two utterly classy, lovely ladies working the front door. Their cash register sings cha-chings as its tray opens and closes making merry melodies.

Once inside the master’s studio, a potpourri of activity buzzes about like a busy production factory. Several bartenders clad in black tees scurry with delight to concoct flavored libations for bar patrons. Here and there, sound technicians make sure every speaker pumps at optimal volume and every thinly sliced licorice wire is tightly secure and properly plugged into power outlets. There are guests buzzing about to and fro trying to secure prime dance floor real estate. A few souls dare to dance as others warm up by stretching leg muscles in dark corners. Up front and center stage the opening DJ BE puts the love in the air that paves way for the arrival of the night’s headliner, Timmy Regisford.

An hour into the experience, Timmy, with braided hair and wearing a winter white shirt with denim, appears on stage to craft his colorful musical mosaic of vocals-meets-beats.

To start off the epic magnitude, we hear Timmy brilliantly brushstroke the vocals of Donnie McClurkin’s gospel anthem, “We Fall Down” with Zakes Bantwini featuring Xolani Sithole, “Clap Your Hands” which the people indeed do before Ce Ce Peniston’s, “Finally” (Choice 12’ Mix) arrives which plays over streams of deep house beats to unabashed screams and mouths open in song.

The next scene develops into a whirlwind of flurries exploding from several speakers and subwoofers strategically placed around the room. The beats- the beats are crazy. The funky yet fresh thumps range from afro-beat to house. They keep coming like looped instrumentals punching quick jabs at the audience. During the excursion of four counters, Jill Scott’s, “Spring Summer Feeling” vividly paints the room spring green while Maroon 5’s, “She Will Be Loved” excites the heart with rushes of lush dark reds. Both vocals perfectly ride over deep beats that make for happy feet.

An hour into the vibrant body of art, what a few bet would never happen, actually happens. Timmy reveals yet another masterpiece, this time by removing the white shirt he wears to reveal a sculpted mocha Trinidadian physique equipped with protruding pecs and chiseled biceps to a thunderous applause. Oh my! Cameras fly in the air to capture a snapshot or film the spectacle like tourists at an art museum marveling over a famous nude statue which would never happen because electronic devices are banned. Just as so, maybe one day people in nightclubs and concerts will favor dancing more than playing with their electronic toys.

Surprise! For the disco lovers, Sylvester’s, “You Make Me Feel Mighty Reel” rains 1970’s glitter and gold on the house heads below. The people cheer with unbridled restraint. Plus, the old-skoolers, which was about 90 percent of the room, really enjoy the rare treat. To the crowd’s delight, more nostalgic music follows that possesses the people singing with camera-ready pearly white smiles plastered on jovial faces. But what happens next truly unifies every soul in the packed room that proves this is a true master at work. 1980’s pop phenomenon, George Michael’s, “Careless Whisper” (Abicah Soul Mix) slowly comes alive to thunder over the crowd like dense cigarette smoke as Timmy mutes the chorus to let the crowd sing the hook. Boy, do the people show off as they shout, “I’m Never Gonna Dance Again/The Way I Danced With You.” Imagine an entire army of voices chanting at a concert in Madison Square Garden and you get the picture. The crowd goes into a rushed frenzy as people jump up and down in the air as Timmy drops the bass and music back on the crowd with George resuming singing duties. The remix continues with its highs and lows of steady build-ups that work the crowd into more hysteria. People dance about in dance circles, as arms fly in the air while others spin around doing triple spins on baby powder concrete. The true underground sound captures the soul and its grip was far from letting go.

From nowhere, Larry Heard’s, “Can You Feel It” thunders through the room or maybe it’s Robert Owen’s, “Bring Down The Walls,” to a generous applause. The looped beat precedes the unprecedented 1990 hit, Quincy Jones’, “Secret Garden” the quartet featuring the late Barry White, El DeBarge, James Ingram and Al B. Sure! performing vocal duties.

The collage of 1990’s male soul ballads meets house music continues with Joe’s, “I Wanna Know” the heartfelt Aaron Hall’s, “I Miss You” and the inquisitive New Edition’s, “Can You Stand The Rain” all of whom one time worked with Timmy as Artist & Repertoire at MCA Records. But where was the group Guy?

Throughout the masterpiece the wave of musical euphoria presents the uplifting Dennis Ferrer’s and Kenny Bobien’s, “Grateful” driven by a church choir and Sunday service handclaps. Peven Everett’s, “Feeling You In and Out” (Shelter Mix) makes for perfect couples two-stepping with that organic sound of organ chords and nominal drums. “Don’t You Worry” by Timmy’s protégé, Quentin Harris with Georgia Cee on vocals delivers just enough tech of automated beeps and zippy vrooms over soft percussions reminiscent of an industrial factory assembly line churning out manufactured pop. But wait! Hold on for one minute. Was that Copyright featuring Song Williamson’s, “He Is” (Ferrer & Sydenham Inc Vox) thrown in for good measure?!?

Soon, a scatting piano riff tickles the room packed wall to wall with bodies. It’s the sound of The Detroit Experiment’s intro to their 2003 house banger, “Think Twice” remixed by Henrik Schwarz that sends the dancers once again into dance-teria. But wait. As if that weren’t enough. Timmy, the catalyst, paints the room fire red as Peven Everett’s, “Burning Hot” (Timmy Regisford & Adam Rios Mix) falls like fire and brimstone on the house heads below over The Detroit Experiment’s build-up of blaring horns and trumpet solo. Heads tilt back, eyes close and mouths open wide as if to drink every beat the master pours. The energy in the room boils over like volcanic ash spewing from a mountain top and falling to the ground below. At the song’s peak, when Peven sings, “Every day I Need You” and holds the note for twelve counts, Timmy drops the vocals and segues to another beat as the masterminded mix rides in a totally different direction. The congregants lose their minds and go out of control. They uncontrollably dance and shout at the top of their lungs. The spectacle resembles some catastrophic aftermath of distraught victims plagued by paranoia. There’s just no describing what lies before the naked eye but disheveled mass destruction.

Hold on! Wait one minute as though that weren’t enough. A looped slice of Dennis Ferrer’s, deep-tech “Hey Hey” welcomes UK soul singing sensation, Shaun Escoffrey’s vocals like brilliant sunrays on a fog ridden rainy London day. The master crafter implants, “Days Like This” (Spinna & Tickla Mix) into the heart stopping music mosaic that floods the heart with joy.

Of course, an artist has to John Hancock his/her work of art with a stamped approval and this the master does with looped cursive “TR” or “Shelter” initials by playing the self-produced “At the Club” (Timmy Regisford and Adam Rios Mix) and the decadent Jill Scott’s, “Crown Royal” (The Shelter Mix).

Last call and the venue’s closing time fades into the star-filled night. 1970’s soul classics are exchanged for earlier thumping house music. Near the end of the highly anticipated event, much of the crowd leaves or is in the act of leaving as a few hardcore dancers and stragglers keep the dance floor company until the very last note or until the club’s staff throws them out-bummer.

To sum up the experience in mere words would be an understatement. Shelter kisses Tambor was on the tips of tongues. Timmy’s carefully crafted music exhibition was for the hardcore, not the faint of heart. More so, the created work of art depicted a musical styling meant for music lovers with discerning ears. The task of creating a euphoric blend of addictive energy immersed in soul erupting confetti was accomplished. Alas, the completed masterpiece revealed; a true master playing timeless soulful house music.

Photography by John Crooms

FREEDOM SATURDAY

“Nothing could prevent me from getting to my beloved Tambor; not foot play-off traffic, not the homeless man standing in the middle of the street, whom I almost hit with my car, nor the accessory I left at home for my outfit.”-AJ Dance

The wall behind the DJ stage flashed with cutting edge avant-garde images of brilliant techno-acid washed colors from extreme music video clips combined with haunting Tambor images that provided a dazzling landscape of visual sensory. From the room’s rear near the upstairs VIP section to the room’s front wall behind the DJ stage, the venue’s entire space shuttered the darkness with such visual spectacle. Tambor was not only about clear crisp acoustics but high definition visuals.

Once again the time to celebrate freedom had arrived and Freedom Saturday was off to some adventurous start. The tribesters had much to celebrate as Tambor had provided a full year of unparalleled parties that continued to grow beyond mere humble expectation. Upon entering the heated loft space from the night’s frigid temperatures, one was confronted by the venue’s spacious dance floor which seemed barely inhabited with dancing souls. Where was everyone? It was after midnight.

Thankfully, Stan, still behind the CD players and mixer, caressed the crowd with Timmy Regisford’s and Lynn Lockamy’s “At The Club” to hoots and hollers. The sound system, heard outdoors, pumped deep bass grooves that thumped under scattered beats that welcomed dancing feet. It wasn’t much longer till The Dominican Republic’s Ezel dressed in a green vintage tee and blue denim marched through the doors with crate in hand up to the DJ stand ready to set Tambor ablaze with musical flames.

Ocha Records’ founder Ezel started the party off right with the Top 10 single of the past year on one of those electronic music download sites with the self-produced, “In My Life Time.” Lead vocalist, Tamara Wellons’ voice swirled through the air until greeted with a thunder of handclaps. The ever steadily growing crowd was ready to dance, and that they did. From there, the DJ/producer led the crowd on a deep, soulful journey through the Ocha and Yoruba Records catalog. “Pride,” the ladies anthem by Osunlade presents Nadirah Shakoor followed suit with more uplifting vocals over stripped down beats. Next, spicy, Latin sounds with progressive-house flair simmered the crowd that ate the tune up like fresh mango salsa. Everyone went wild, showcasing salsa and cumbia leg work. Suddenly, with one of those start-and-stop DJ techniques, a broken beat punched through the room. It was Ezel’s Remix of “Rock With You” by the late, great Michael Jackson. The room erupted in sheer pandemonium as the crowd sung the lyrics and imitated MJ’s signature moves. Hee Hee Hees and Oouuu’s echoed sweet sentiments throughout the room. From another stop/start mixing technique, “Days Like This” (Spinna & Tickla Club Mix) from East Londoner Shaun Escoffery bounced into action. Once again, the tribesters screamed loudly with joy. But, it was the night’s unexpected that ripped the roof off the building. In a twinkle of an eye, Karizma featuring spoken word by DJ Spen, “4 The Love” (the Pepe Braddock, “Deep Burnt” sample via Freddie Hubbard, “Little Sunshine”) dropped from the sky with vengeance. There was not one closed mouth in the room as bodies jumped in the air, arms twirled above the crowd, and heads bobbed up and down with nods of approval. This was house music at its best! There was no stopping the DJ’s energy that now had a video camera filming his every move of body thrusts and head jerks. To follow suit, Oveous Maximus’, “I Apologize” had the crowd rapping, “I’m so sorry/I’m so sorry/I’m so sorry/I a-po-logize.” Thankfully, no apologies needed be made for this warm pad percussion driven Ezel remix. After the DJ switched up music styles a bit, a Teena Marie tribute classic swept hearts full with nostalgia of old-school delight. Once again, the Yoruba Soul catalog scored with ”Cantos A Ochun Et Oya”, Marie St. James, “Closer I Get” (Club Mix) and Floetry’s, “I Want You” (Remix) hits, all helmed by none other than the man himself, Osunlade. Atlanta, Georgia made its presence known with the NDATL release of “I Got Life” by Kemetic Just and Terrance Downs on vocals. Already an anthem in town for the past six months, the newly digital release resurrected the tribesters to life. From there, the crowd was treated to a house selection from Markus Enohson with James Ingram, “Day And Night”(Alix Alvarez Mix) a song seamed fresh from the 1980’s. The night’s musical assault continued with a dive in the deep tech waters of banging beats and tech effects before Stan Zeff returned to the decks to dry off the crowd.

After several pictures with family members and the Ocha star, Stan cooled the room off to comfortable temperatures and kept the crowd rocking with “Clap Your Hands” before closing out the night.

Once again, Tambor captured the soul with the beating drum provided by the music soundscape of Ocha’s Records founder Ezel. The room, not packed shoulder to shoulder, provided much space to freely drop to the floor and freely bounce around with joy. After all, this was Freedom Saturday.

Photography by Carlos J. Bell

Burning Hot!

As the crowd gathered center stage to cheer Peven Everett on Sexy Santa strutted around the dance floor decked out in eye candy cane gear. Then it happened, Peven took to the stage dressed in head to toe black, small in stature but ready to deck the halls with vocal havoc on merry ears. Needless to say the tribesters were filled with joy.

Within an hour Peven Everett zipped through a conglomerate of hits that left the tribesters burning hot. From “Tongue Kissing” to “Take Away My Sunshine” Peven left no stone untouched. First, the ladies and there were plenty of them, were aroused with a soulful serenade of “Girl of My Dreams.” Next up, the packed house of tribesters were treated to, “I Need You” as they went wild and sung, “Stuck” along with Peven before he returned the favor and crowned the crowd, “Special.” From there “Burning Hot” scorched the room like a disco inferno to rapturous delight as Peven pronounced, “Your honor/I ain’t supposed to be here” as if reliving a previous court hearing. With unbridled restraint Peven delivered a flawless, “Can’t Do Without” to warm screams before he turned the “Heat Up” with that groove thang or should it be said those pop-n-lock dance moves that came from nowhere. Talk about true showmanship. After free styling to “Bonanza” blond ambition Billie Jewel took the stage and delivered, “All The Time” a feisty little number worthy of Teena Marie fame. Shortly thereafter, Peven returned to the stage for the final knockout right before FunkJazzKafe beckoned the heavenly encore, “Gabriel.”

Truly the live performance was first rate. Like little tikes on Christmas morning all received their wish list, a soul parade led by Mr. Peven Everett the vocal grand marshal.

Photography by John Crooms

SILENT BUT DEADLY

OK, if u sleep on THIS SET, u WILL SOOOOOOOOOOO regret it!! Jihad is what i call SILENT, but MASSIVELY DEADLY!! & to those who DO come…ALL i can say is: BE PREPARED TO GET ROCKED!! ~ ? ~ -Mama House

The night’s headliner quietly assumed DJ duties after Shea Soul’s “Perfectly” vocals came to a complete stop and the baby powder lay spread all across the dark but not empty dance floor reminiscent of a first snowfall in November. Like a computer virus, Tambor’s special guest was silent but deadly according to several reports posted by house head enthusiasts. Therefore, many filled Tambor’s new home, eager to experience the music of a notable Jersey DJ/producer/remixer/songwriter.

Early in the musical journey the crowd warmed to Anto Vitale’s, “Theorema Del Faya” (Tea Party Vocal) which yielded worthy results. It must have been Kenny Bobien’s night because not one but two forgettable love songs were played by the gospel crooner. Thrown in for nostalgia, the early 1980’s post-disco, “Time Warp” by Eddy Grant pumped with a deep as hell bass line underneath a three-note synth backed by fluttering vocal riffs. If royalties were paid every time a DJ played the synth-pop classic in a club, the reggae star would be a millionaire. The catch me off guard, “I Wasn’t Kidding” (Scott Wozniak Remix) by Angie Stone followed suit. Although very refreshing with its club ready, big room beat and swirling sythns, the remix deemed a poor choice. However, another Angie/Scott collabo would have scored much higher marks with the crowd. In comparison Culoe De Song’s winter ballad of Black Coffee’s “Crazy” seemed rather fit for the sober occasion. However it was the current club banger, “At The Club” by Timmy Regisford featuring Lynn Lockamy on vocals with church organ, deep rolling bass and punching “beeps” reminiscent of 1980’s video games that brought down the house. Definitely, one of the better stand-outs played during the baunausic set. “Club Royale” (Shelter Mix) wrecked havoc on the crowd ready to tip their drinks in the air as Nadirah Shakoor’s girl power, “Pride” played for the second time during the night, resonated throughout every female’s heart in the room. On one of those electronic/dance music sites the current number one download, “How Bad Do I Want Ya” by Chicago’s Soul Element with somber vocals by another Chicago-ian Peven Everett, closed out the remainder of the night.

Sadly, this was the most predictable Tambor; musically wise. The music was blah, blah, the same played at any other party. The music seemed too assuming with not enough jolt. The mixing, although technically precise, lacked personality. The tired mix-in song and mix-out song routine yielded little to innovate or inspire new dance moves. Instead, the same finger-snapping, two-step, back and forth sway seemingly prevailed throughout the night without as much as a single sweat stain felt underneath the armpits or on the lower back. The only reason for the damped clothes at the end of the night was due to the three layers of clothing worn; an undershirt, a plaid shirt and velvet vest. If not for that the party would have been left completely dry and for once, musty free.

Photography by Luis V for DEG