AJ Dance Legacy

The Chicago Invasion Continued…..

The party’s reigning champion went to Chicago’s South Side disco. That disco, the soundtrack to the uninhibited 1970’s, caused pandemonium in front of the makeshift DJ booth. A small crowd of forty-plus year olds had gathered and waged animalistic war. Imagine moms and pops imitating wild African animals in heat.

CHOSEN FEW DJs

A distant voice whispered, “This is the house music crowd and they come to get down.” In line the city of Chicago was the buzzword. Lips praised Chicago. “In Chicago we do this. In Chicago we do that. South Side Chicago….. Remember when in
Chicago…..” Surely 98% of those in line had once carried Midwestern demonyms.

Several BEMBE enthusiasts surveyed the decorated room of cloth banners hanging with “That Gyrl Inc.” posters and judged, “The crowd was light.” In fact so light, more pockets of empty spaces danced than people. For sure that would all change once the night’s headliner dressed in an ochre Ocha tee would take to the musical controls.
Disappointedly…….

“Tell me. The Sound Table has an upstairs,” mentioned friend number one to friend number two gathered at a burger joint for Sunday brunch.
“Why yes but the upstairs is used for dining purposes only.” Explained friend number two.
“Oh my,” friend number one gasped. “You all dance in that tiny space?!?”

The room was dark. But far from silent. Afro-house music played background soundtrack as hazy oxidations danced in a faint orange spotlight. The special guest DJ with tattooed sleeves stood before a folding table. In his hands were five exclusive playing cards. Would he fold? Or would he continue to play to win?

“He doesn’t look comfortable,” suspected Tambor’s……

Much can be said of an intoxicated DJ behind the music decks. While some DJs under the influence BOMB their sets-train wrecks, pressing the incorrect control knobs and spewing explicitness at the audience-others are functional and can hold their ground. For example, alcohol doesn’t prohibit CASAMENA Recordings label owner and founder, Carlos Mena from dropping BOMBs on the lovers of black music.

The ever outspoken Peven Everett is like a box of chocolates. You never know what you’re going to get. However, one thing is certain the ringmaster will keep his backup band in check. Even if the band is made up of some of the city’s finest local musicians. Clad in a black Matrix style full length jacket hanging inches well below the waist, a spring colored golden collared button down dress shirt, black draped pants and Peven’s favorite athletic shoe brand; black with gold insignia Pumas, the maestro evoked style.

Invocation means to call upon the spirit of a deity. And on this night the ancestors answered the call. The congregation of those gathered heard angelic voices of sharp high notes float amongst their midst. The fancy footwork of the living danced with the graceful oscillates of motley spirits in perfect harmony that had transitioned from this world to the next many moons ago. The ancestors lived on; they lived on through song and they lived on through dance of the ancestral soul.

1980’s neon headbands, candy cane stripped leg warmers and gold trimmed aviator sun glasses danced underneath the soft red glow of a shiny disco ball. It was 1984 and the freaks came out at night. Boston boys, Soul Clap travelled the timeline of soul in a funtastic spaceship of funk. From 2003 Outkast’s, “Speakerboxxx/The Love Below” to

Ian Friday stepped up to the colorful control decks of shiny knobs and glossy crossfaders. The musical dashboard sprung to life in the twinkling of an eye. Its control panel announced, “ALL SYSTEMS A GO!” For what seemed as a few trivial seconds transformed into minutes of sound explosions. Speaker boosters exploded as subwoofers revved up the room’s RPMs (Revolutions per Minute) into combustible energy. By far this was the best musical opening statement from a DJ since who knows when…..