“What’s Happening to Orlando?”
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Already a random guy wearing black shades, his armed pinned behind lower back is being escorted by security from the premises. That’s sad. Cause the Enoo Napa Remix of Matto Cole’s “Nabay” that is playing is fire! WTTW, if you decide to be kicked out of a club, choose to leave on one of the plethora of horrible tracks played. Otherwise, welcome to the Celine.
Where the outdoors comes indoors. Where spring is in full bloom 24/7. According to the wall décor of faux bluegrass and faux pink magnolias scaling down walls. The life size picture frames covered by plant life makes a perfect step and repeat. And that’s only the room’s rear adjacent the bar. Further ahead, center room is couches for the very important people. Entertained by a line of service women wrapped in silver dress holding sprinklers and carrying one oversized champagne bottle. Walk left or turn right, take the steel staircase to the mezzanine and rooftop bar. Dare not tread the space front and center the DJ stage as hundreds of bodies are smashed. People form a human chain just to maneuver through the throngs of sweating orifices.
Phoenix, the word is splashed across visual boards onstage. A quick Internet search reveals the opening act was birthed in Arizona and bred in Florida. His weighty bio reads: stage name Phoenix Jagger, DJ of eleven years.
The intelligent light show of green and purple rays is brilliant, the music not so much.
Phoenix’s playlist of ups–and-downs and sharp turns with hard knocks bruises the forehead. The thyroid cartilage twitches as the four-on-the-floor pounds harder every thirty seconds. Why must people who play music believe the louder the volume, the better the sound?
A crew of four deep arrives. Mr. Millennial flashing a million-dollar smile, dressed in black, and wearing white Crocs asks, “what’s up?” and fist bumps an older stranger, an out-of-towner wearing a black fedora and blue wide-leg denim. Immediately, the youngster spins around in circles, toe tapping and finger snapping to Groj’s “Sith.” His lady, dressed in all black, stares kindly. Their friend wearing asymmetric hair sporting a black cross body bag tests the dance floor. His woman, already in action, her hips gyrate round circles as her long black dress brushes the floor. The four are all smiles.
Dancers know where to congregate with fellow dancers.
The music is best on Super Flu’s “Acumulee.” The Spanish spoken auto-tune with driving afro-percussion morphing into tech house, sounds hijacked from a USB belonging to the DJ scheduled next to play. Damn it! Eli & Fur’s “Night Blooming Jasmine” (Rodriguez Jr. Remix) drops and disappoints. Luckily, the people love it.
Again the smartphone comes out for another Internet interrogation on how bad can music get. “Sorry I’m invading your space,” one lady in a white strapless top apologizes. If only she knew.
Thirty minutes after midnight arrives. The party’s international must-see is nowhere to be found. Anxiety grows. Moments of doubt surface. Is he behind the stage? Is he underneath the stage?
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And then…. Within view two figures stand on the elevated platform. One ebony, the other ivory. Both are wearing lightly colored t-shirts. Ah finally, the man of the hour is nigh. His name is
BLACK COFFEE
Nathi Maphumulo AKA Black Coffee sells out! According to the app selling tickets, general admission sold out. And the venue brags it holds 1000 patrons. That means 2000 ears are zealous to hear the voice of South Africa.
That voice has spoken volumes over sixteen months. Philanthropic acts, corporate investment endeavors, live-stream performances, online interviews, releasing a twelve-track full-length, with sporadic tour dates. That flies and lands the party in O-town, Central Florida.
A dancer speaks the language of music through movement.
The volume drops low. The acoustics are unsteady. The opening track chugs along uneven tracks. The sound is off until the blowing of a trumpet washes the room blue.
When Native Tribe featuring Tina Ardor sings “Jahera Na” in Swahili tongue. Da Africa Deep Remix paints a tropical paradise of glowing smiles.
A woman throws her sleeveless arms in the air and head nods left to right in approval. She mouths, “Bana baya lela” to Suka’s “Mano Mano,” the party’s most received song yet.
And when the beat drops and the bass line explodes on Saint Evo featuring Lizwi’s “Mntwana” at 5 minutes and 09 seconds, the atmosphere is otherworldly, vivid movements of arm waves, bent over backs and stomping feet possessed by strange rhythms.
There by the leather white couch, Million-Dollar Smile entertains his lady. He extends his left arm outward and then his right arm outward, elbowing in sharp motion. His right knee pulls upward and then his left knee lifts to waist. He exactly interprets the movement from a 1995 music video. Tellingly, he grew up watching Janet Jackson and mimicking Tina Landon’s choreography.
Ah, a dancer knows when to stop dancing and when to give praise.
“You going to Black Coffee?” Asked a six-feet fella in the hotel lobby earlier that evening. Currently, he parades by with his lady in hand; both dressed in all white, towards the dense jungle in front of the stage.
As South Africa’s Sun-El Musician, Masaki, Claudio X Kenza’s “Chasing Summer” swoops into the soundsphere, it is the electro sputter heard on &ME’s “The Rapture” that is realized in crystalized Hi-Def.
“You’re evil.” A brunette with insinuating brows incorrectly insults one of the most welcoming women in the venue, a blonde who gasps at the remark. Perhaps the snarky brunette has a “Need To Feel Loved,” sings Delline Bass on Reflekt’s (Sebastian Dutch Ushi Mix Bootleg). Track number eleven on Black Coffee’s latest Subconsciously, his collaboration with David Guetta featuring Delilah Montagu’s “Drive,” skids and crashes.
Can Black Coffee rebound after playing two vocal wrong turns?
A dancer is challenged by the music.
“Hey, I saw you walking past me the other day,” sings the hip swiveling woman from earlier. Black Coffee featuring Bucie’s “Turn Me On” (a cappella) scores!
The music continues further ascension with the dancehall tinged Pupa Nas T featuring Denise ‘Saucey Wow’ Belfon’s “Work.” The Master At Work classic that might be the reason why the awesome twosome recently re-launched their label to a new generation drops one dancer to his knees. His back lies on the floor, his arms outstretched behind him as his thighs pull inwards. Did someone ululate? An inch away, Mr. Millennial performs amapiano legwork as his Crocs shuffles across the cement. A voice cries into the air. “What is happening to Orlando?”
A dancer knows when he/she is in the flow.
“Ricor, ricor, ricor,” the beating of claves and the rattles of the shekere are what the people came to hear. Heard under the groove of djembe drumming are other establishments of club music. Beeps and chirps. Heart pumping four-count thumps. Experienced by slicing synth jabs on Karyendasoul’s “The Journey,” that turns into punching wooden slaps every three counts on Monique Bingham’s “Deep In The Bottom (Of Africa).” The beat goes hard. Anyone surprised? The delivery comes from the prolific producer who once stated he does not make music for clubs. Black Coffee might no longer make music for the clubs, but he plays music for the clubs.
A dancer discerns prime real estate.
More space is needed to move. More space is eyed in the distance. Dance to the room’s rear by the entrance/exit door for fresher air and where the floor is layered with water. Oops. Be careful as wing-toed shoes slip when dancing. The room’s temperature scorches as perspiration drips off arms. One dancer is close to overheating while wearing a nose and mouth covering all night. Perhaps he is the only patron masked up. Even Black Coffee plays mask free.
A visit to the bar for hydration is a must. Mmmm. The bartender is a shirtless, sculpted and scrumptious Zac Efron-esque pouring tequila shots for patrons.
“Let’s goo!” On DeMajor featuring Lizwi’s “Traveller” a sista shows up, rump shaking and all. “FEEL IT.” The fedora-wearing out-of-towner commands over the Kususa & Quetornik Remix. The sista’s brown torso locks-and- pops before she bows her head of chopped blonde curls as her white kicks stomps. This is the power of dance.
A dancer understands when to let go of self and when to let the rhythm take control.
Fish Go Deep & Tracey K’s “The Cure & The Cause” (A cappella) plays as the music disappears that leaves dancers stranded singing, “Don’t take your love away.”
“I have to work tomorrow,” a voice whispers. The time arrives to bid adieu to the crew of four dancers. “Thanks for the dance,” says another voice accompanying a fist bump. “Be safe.” Mr. Million-Dollar Smile replies before exiting the door. The time reads..
0200
Again the beating of claves and the hissing of a cabasa recharge the soundscape as vocalist Celeda sings, “Music Is the Answer (Dancin’ And Prancin’). The Danny Tenaglia a cappella stretches over Karyendasoul’s “Digital Analog” (Edit). Where underneath the Loser/Lover neon sign, the sista now dances elevated on an end table. She entertains a group of ogling eyes and drooling tongues.
Beating four counts segues into Culoe De Song’s “Y.O.U.D.” equipped with superfluous beat drops as Mr. V commands, “Jus’ Dance” (a cappella).
As Afro house comes to a hushed silence, evoked is the call and response of reggae. When Bob Marley & The Wailer’s asks “Is This Love?” One man responds enthusiastically shouting every lyric. That brings the party people back down to Magnolia Street. Within four walls now besieged with ultra blinding lights. “Eeeekkk.” Security scurries by bumping against shoulders.
But the party’s WTF is playing Gloria Gaynor’s “I Will Survive!” Perhaps Coffee’s conclusion surmises threefold: the song is over-reaching; yet shout-outs those surviving these pandemic times, or it’s his last ditch effort to get everyone to bust-a-move. After all, Black Coffee is the perfect ending to International Dance Day.
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wrds: aj dance
visual: aj art
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Tags: #dancefloormagic #housemusicexcellence, afro house music, afro tech music, Black Coffee, dance music, dancing, EDM, Florida, house music, International Dance Day, Orlando, The Celine