Mark Farina
22:00
On the final Saturday night of the year, the weather out doors is entirely too cold, too wet and too rainy. Mother Nature’s dramatics is enough to keep people indoors, buried underneath blankets. However, there is one person who can command people, from across the city, out of town and even out of state, to brave the wintery bliss; to trek through puddles of water and be drenched in rain, to assemble together under one roof. The individual……… will be revealed later.
If ever there is a house music, or funky house music, prohibition this will be the gathering place. A makeshift bookshelf in the back of pizzeria is strangely out of place. Truly, there is more than meets the eye. At the painted encasing one utters a password. A smart looking gatekeeper pushes up his framed spectacles against his shaved head. He carefully examines the guest list. Suddenly, he radiates a bright beam of whites that blind like a deer caught in headlights. His tatted sleeve leads to his hand which scratches off names on his clip board. The ecstatic guests are now permitted entry without cover charge. Step underneath the clandestine threshold. Be amazed by the backroom for guests to partake of beloved booze, spirited conversations and dirty dancing. Shoes are stepped on. The fur of wool jackets and bare shoulders are brushed against as the spirited journey towards the front of the room. Nothing says bar time like hearing the ringing of cash registers open and close. The liquor pours freely. The liquor pours frequently. The face of President Alexander Hamilton exchanges hands. A tweed vest and baby blue colored button-up dress shirt darts back and forth between liquor shelves. The bearded bartender is dressed damper enough to bartend at a five-star establishment. In the midst of several brunettes engaged in laughter, there he stands, at the rustic bar. The man who the people have come to see the legendary DJ, Mr…….
Mark Farina is a world-renowned DJ/producer who needs no introduction. The San Fran king of funky swing is no stranger to the city, having played in town a few months prior. However, the affable star has never played a secret show in the city, in a room that has a prohibition era feel with its hanging lamps, blue painted walls, and wooden floor.
Mark, with drink in hand, breaks for the makeshift wood DJ compartment at the front of the room. Dressed in a black Gramaphone LTD 2843 N. Clark, Chicago, IL tee, he cues Chic’s “I Want Your Love.” Nineteen seventy-nine disco morphs into “onze, onze, onze,” house music. The pulse of the party picks up pace. All are happy. Dancing feet rush center room for prime-real estate which is occupied by a blonde bombshell wearing black-rim glasses performing squats while a guy sporting black headphones hogs corner space. Someone should hang a no vacancy sign. However, everything is all good. Love is in the air. There is love for the dancers, music, the guest DJ and especially for the organizers of this rare treat.
Forty-eight hours earlier event promoter Lil’ Steven, who lives and is in Santa Fe, created the last minute word-of-mouth soiree. The event was hushed. The location was hushed. There was absolutely to be no posting of the event on any Internet social networking sites. If so the exclusive shindig would be entirely cancelled. A glance around the room reveals the darling machines that assisted Lil Steven’s execution. There is Houseb4titties texting, “A Okay.” The Mrs. Rachel Pryor Hoffman provides hostess duties to Mark. Event coordinator, Jory Johnson, AKA DJ Sublime, is nowhere to be found but his presence is felt. Restaurateur Ryan Baker dances back and forth, playing hype man. From Macon, GA, Tim provided three CDJs for Mark to helm. Even former Twijit Recordings, Daniel Gresham shows face. DJs from old appear along side DJs of the new guard. Honestly, this many house alumni have not gathered in the same room for ages. This is a house head reunion.
Meanwhile, Mark continues to show-off his Epicurean taste of the finest house. There is swing house with its gravitating push and pull. Sprinkled between funky house gems are diamonds like Teddy Pendergrass. But the party’s spotlight falls on one Midwest metropolis. Chi-town’s Peven Everett’s “Stuck” kick starts vocal house. The Windy City’s Lil Louis, under the moniker of Black Magic, “Freedom (Make It Funky),” blows the house down. “I have this record on vinyl. I brought this song at the record store that I used to work at over twenty years ago,” testifies one native Chicago house head. Her pearly whites hang suspended from ear to ear as Jamie Principle’s raps, “Baby Wants To Ride.” The Frankie Knuckles produced classic is not only one of house music’s early international hits but a Chicago house mainstay. “Is It All Over My Face?” The music disappears as the crowd yells, “Hell Yeah,” just the way Chicago audiences sing. The Loose Joints classic has the crowd, “Love Dancing.” Just as the hits keep coming, so do the drinks. Mark toasts a cheer. The bubbly must place Farina in x-rated mood. The room is smoking hot, and not just from the glowing amber of cancer sticks spewing a chocking stench into the air. The Mary Jane kicks into high gear. BT Express’ “Peace Pipe” gets everyone so high people appear wanting to dance on the walls. By now everyone is playful and falling over one another. Handshakes, high-fives and hugs become norms. Suddenly, Mark drops the bass, fades the mids and tweaks the highs. His ten fingers dance across the mixer’s cues. The music builds to a heightened anticipation. The crowd stands on the edge of their toes. But, Mr. DJ takes his time. The crowd continues to wait with extreme eagerness. This one man show puts a hurt on the people. Ready and steady his right index finger and thumb slowly pulls the cross fader. And then he….BAMS! Mark smacks the crowd with the Nightcrawlers “Push The Feeling On.” The MK Dub with chopped vocals causes the crowd to go apeshit. Mark does it again. He has a knack for teasing the audience. Hands fist pump. Mouths sing the melody. Bodies burst into sporadic fits of dance rage. Even, a dance circle crops in the center of the room. B-boys turned B-men wearing ball caps and checkered plaids, hand spin and freeze. Their bodies, stuck in mid air. Spectators cheer on the acrobatic stunts.
01:30
Sadly, the time has come to bid our great friend, adieu. He must move on to greener pastures and play his alterative guise for an eclectic crowd across town. Not before he leaves, he takes the microphone and utters a muffled thank you and a goodbye. If that is what he says. Nobody seems to mind; everyone must be wasted.
This party was straight-up blue lights in the basement. The mushroom jazz curator paid homage to his Chicago roots. The majority old school playlist would make Southside Chicago proud. Suffice to say, seventies disco, eighties soul and early house music is the architect that has built Mark Farina’s house. After all, Mark Farina can move away from Chicago but you can’t take the Chicago out of Mark Farina.
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