ADULT SKATE: THE TRADITION EDITION
The debauchery eludes no evidence of a slain civil right’s leader holiday celebration on the eve of an historic Fifty-Seventh Presidential Inauguration. Yet it is. Olympic occasions such as these might call to mind dutiful citizens bound in prayer, reflection and sobriety. Not so-in the city too busy to hate. For the past few years, once a year, one party does it right. Adult Skate- the spot where you find bodies fully clothed in dance of the finest soul and not where nudes frolic on eights. The Tradition Edition provides Soulantans with clarity. A rhyme for the reason. The right to party. After all, this is the city too busy partying during a three day holiday weekend to even care.
Follow the wall of painted marching feet and a pair of roller skates down into the belly of the beast. There you might discover unexpected impressions. The once shady hole-in-the-wall has undergone a sub-level gloss. Artistic interpretations-seemingly too innocent for the underground-align murals painted in primary bold and subdued hues. Painted lines of symmetry play escort. The walls speak. Their message instructs each person’s activity. Look no further than the wall adjacent the stage painted of dancing silhouettes for explanation. Eye the painted dancers to the painted symmetric boxes to find the DJ headquarters. The king-size DJ booth can handle a god-complex DJ and his twenty plus entourage’s exclusive roped-off experience. Remember the former DJ booth propped high above the flying saucer dance floor, against a wall, by a step ladder with no roaming space and very little to if any breathing space? The sober challenged provided many of laughs trying to enter the minuscule infirmity. If only the black poll in the center of the dance space were removed then the space would enter into the echelons of upscale. Even the bathrooms are polished a luster shine of their former shade. Hopefully gone are the apocalyptic size cockroaches that crawled atop the old sofas exchanged for pest-free plush. Although the Modern Jazz Quartet Concourse may look remixed it has not lost its license to dance.
The belly of the beast bops and bumps. Bellows of boisterous bass lines signal all nations to groove. They get down-the house nation, the soul nation, the disco nation, the b-boy nation, the rock nation, the funk nation, the hip-hop nation, the indie music nation, the rhythm nation-a vast network interweaving and intermingling as one.
DJ Kemit, in mid groove, spins vinyl on the one’s and two’s. Yes, that is two turntables and a Bozak mixer. Actually this is a 90% acetate party. Records will skip. Grooves will be scratched. The crisp sound of vinyl will chirp. This is organic and not archaic sound reproduction.
Producer Ralf Gum shakes maracas. Vocalist Monique Bingham sings “Take Me To My Love.” The dancers go on and on and on and on and on and on as they try to catch up to 125 BPMs. Enter Osunlade’s “Envision” (Yoruba Soul Mix) who guests on the DJ of the hour’s “Transform” for conscious clarity. Cue Kenny Bobien to take the hand clappers to church with a classic Frankie Feliciano Ricanstruction rendition. Feet dance. Fingers snap. Hips sway. Smiles overtake faces. Voices sing “Father.”
Cullen Cole the chef of music culinary delights. Nineteen-ninety’s house music is the menu. Cullen serves that signature house sound with a kick and a spicy side of bang. This concoction is not for the faint, those that play down the beat in their house sets, but for those that take the BPMs up a notch. Cullen’s house music tastes better served hard than soft. Adult Skate’s guests gather and feast on such delicate soul. Oh my do they ever gobble up the tasty treats as wine glasses over flowing with golden bubbles are thrown in the air for a toast. Cheers to underground house music! It’s a bombastic feast of oral audio. Cullen mixes; a Rhode organ for salt, saxophones for sweetness, and electric synthesizers for acidity, house music’s flavor combination. Not everyone can digest such delicacies. Something erupts. A foul odor chokes the air. Is it bad gas? Or someone serving hash for desert? Whatever the culprit. Mouths hack. Neck scarves become oxygen masks.
Suddenly, the needle on the record skips. Someone forgot to clean off the vinyl? The dancers miss a beat. The music jumps counts. The dancers are thrown off. Jaws drop. The question-What would a DJ do?-hangs in the balance. Hard-pressed visages confront unbelief. A wreck will occur if something does not yield. DJ Cullen stays the course like a blond-hair blue-eye Messiah. He does not allow any casualties. He eyes his flock. He counts his sheep. He rides out the storm and speaks, peace be still. Dark clouds roll back. The sun shines again. The music continues its mission without distraction. The dancers continue their dance. All is well. Listen closely. The room breathes a sigh of relief.
Kai Alce goes in deep. The local legend’s musical statement sounds off focus and more sporadic at intervals. Orchestrated strings climax to a dizzying high. Questions swirl around the room, “Is it time for disco? One answers in grief, “If so, it’s time to leave.”
Actually, the NDATL label head keeps it Strictly Rhythm with Hardrive’s “Deep Inside.” The intro sounds of warm pads, minus drums. Sixty seconds later, the kick drum kicks at 124 BPMs. Pearly whites flash. All are happy. The mismatch of songs and beats continues. Such happenings keep the crowd frantic but on their feet and guessing. What’s next? Donnie’s “Olmec Save Us.” (Yoruba Soul Mix) Yes! Black Rascals featuring Cassio Ware, “So In Love” (Shelter Remix)? Yes! As time approaches 3 am, Kai Alce pulls out the freedom season’s anthems, Kemitic Just’s, “I Got Life” with Terrance Downs on vocals and the ladies anthem “Earth Is The Place” (Restless Soul Peaktime Mix) by Nathan Haines featuring Verna Francis. Too bad the room is nearly empty of souls that have evaporated into January’s cold night’s air.
This tradition edition felt far removed from a MLK celebration. Had it not been for DJ Kemit sprinkling into Cullen’s cuisine-let freedom ring from Stone Mountain of Georgia-those gathered might have forgotten what this occasion marked. Other ingredients amiss were classic soul, disco and afro-beat. House music out shined them all. If you were not a fan then you were chopped. True fans, actually, left the party high.
Perhaps, Dr. King might not have endorsed this debacle of behavior. As one darling eloquently commented, “That didn’t stop her from lighting a BIG one.” SHM. It’s just another night in the city too busy partying to even care.
Words and photography by AJ Dance
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Tags: Adult Skate, Atlanta Georgia, Cullen Cole, deep house music, DJ Kemit, Kai Alce, MJQ Concourse