AJ Dance Legacy

Collective Minds

“We don’t care about y’all.

If you over dance, we don’t have insurance to cover you.”

Perhaps, Baltimore’s DJ Oji should use a more suitable palette of words. After all, the festival’s attendees feel a certain way.  After their saga began hours earlier.

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The Karizma Effect

When darkness is fully realized and the moon is only left to guide you.  The humidity registering at 65% sticks to your shirt.  Ewww.  A truck is parked the wrong way on a one-way alley street.  The driver, a woman is passed out at the steering wheel.  Across the street is a lanky man perched  on the sidewalk.  Sleeping.  His face covered with a black hoodie skull.  This is just another Friday night in these streets of Atlanta. 

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A Wet Dream, A Prescription, A Block Party Part 1
15.05.22
Indigenous House

Years ago, forefather Tony Humphries told the press, Baltimore house music was underrated. The legend then went on to compare if the music coming out of Baltimore came out of NYC, the Baltimore sound would be more highly regarded. Years later, this sentiment rings true. Just look around.

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A Wet Dream, A Prescription, A Block Party Part II
15.05.22

Indigenous House Interlude

Someone give Tori Cooper her flowers. Give em’ to her now. Who better to serenade the annual honorable individual of Indigenous House than Candy J? She is Sweet Pu$$y Pauline to you. The original Queen B is in the house. Talking. Her raspy “Oooohhh” and “Chyle” with that Detroit drawl, is instantly recognizable. Talk about the who’s who of house music. Legends are everywhere at the park. (more…)

Uncensored

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Finally!

The four-on-the-floor pulls the body through a black frame door. Behold with eyes open-wide. The ballroom of real estate flanked by white walls. Where a mass of colorful cast is on full display. Your black sock sneakers, her green wrap pants and his “I Came Here To Dance With You” red tee, bounces up black stairs to the mezzanine where onlookers grasping vodka in plastic cups witness the pursuits on the ground floor below. Back downstairs, a sharp glance left, atop 4 feet speaker cabinets, sits a monstrosity stage. Where the action borders frenzy. As bulging eyes with dilated pupils gaze forward. Towards a shadowy figure who is barely visible. Her small frame stands hidden behind a white board. That illuminates with blinding black light reminiscent of lightning flashing across the darkness. Brilliant blues and purple LEDs play cat and mouse across the telos. Where screams and cheers thunder ahead. Welcome back to Celine Orlando.

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PARTY I

THE TOURISTS

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“LOUIE VEGA COME ON!” Yells an overzealous Vega fan holding a vinyl record.
“LOUIE. I WANNA HEAR SOME OF THAT HAL-LE-LUJIAH!” He sings.
“LOUIE PLAY THAT BLACK MUSIC.” He continues. “Then watch all these kids leave the room.” (more…)

Party II

THE PURISTS
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“COMING THROUGH. DJ COMING THROUGH.” Security courteously yelled. There is no shock that LV has an entourage of eight that trekked through the thick mass of privilege minutes earlier. After all, Louie is the host with the most. His charm oozing through the soundtrack he curates. His ability to make any cast of characters feel inclusive. The music he plays is diverse. Journey through disco, house, gospel, classic house, deep, dark, Afro/Latin, to ancestral. All the while, his playlists embody warmth. Never cold or distant. Calculated on the fly. Ethereal in essence. Spiritual to the core. (more…)

THE CHAMPIONSHIP GAME

Late night, the temperature reads a chilly 43-degrees, up in these streets, at the intersection of Ivan Allen Junior Blvd and Marietta. The soul awakens. From muffled thumps of bass heard in the distance. The hypnotic groove guides the body ever so closer to the pulsating nucleus. A black building. Covered windows. Littered with paper flyers. Destination affirmed. The pearly whites appear on the doorman’s smile. ID? Check. Ticket? Scanned. Proof of vax? Test? Or mask? Yeah. This is going to be one of those nights. Sweaty. Dirty. Nasty. Just #discoandhousemusicexcellence to purview. (more…)

There It Blows.

Overboard! A forceful gust of wind blows a fedora off a head. A giant plastic A-frame sign collapses. The cool draft blows against the perspiration on the lower back as the body jumps and spins 180 degrees. Sneakers effortlessly slide across the smooth cobblestone dotted red and brown. Breathe deeply. The cool crisp air filling the lungs feels not only refreshing but excites the savory glands. Hungry? Dance with friends nearby the vendor selling plant-based bites. Thirsty? Dance your way to the vendor selling liquid spirits? Anyone, for an orange sweatshirt to keep warm? Dance toward the rear entrance canopy where branded apparel is sold cash free. But be cautious dancing in front of giant sub woofers. That emits booms and bass loud enough for big-field festivals.

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OSUNLADE

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Twenty-five dollars cash to park! GTFOH. Betta forget about street parking too. Onward the parking quest continues. When music spills over brick edges onto black asphalt. Where groups of melanin hourglasses wearing lemonade braids with sneakers tread. Along the historic of avenues – Auburn.

This is just another hot boy summer Saturday night in these streets. Or is it? As twenty minutes later, the parking conundrum is solved. However, the question remains. Next trip drive solo, again? Or pay $90 round-trip to be chauffeured in a rideshare? Things that make you go “Hmmm.”

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