Time to Holy Ghost Stomp!
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“DO YOUR PARENTS KNOW YOU SMOKE?”
Everyone standing in line can’t help but to overhear.
“I’M INDIAN. He continues, “YES.”
Why must their voices yell directly into your ear? From behind you a queue stands twenty deep.
“AT LEAST, THE LINE MOVES QUICKLY,” Agrees the guy who must be heard above all else. His accent hurls across the frigid air on a balmy Friday. Underneath dancing stars, in the warehouse district of Langdon, Washington, your ID is checked and your body patted from bottom to top. Twice!
Enter the door, underneath the glow of reds and blacks, bodies beeline right. Into Room Three, there stands a hundred youth, all smiles, wholly entertained. You ogle the outrageousness outfits. Sadly, none are on display.
The best dressed goes to the young sista. Her head crowned by a blue and white cowboy hat. Her curves hugged in a leather blue ensemble. She is having a Beyoncé country moment. She side kicks to the “Ba, ba, ba, da, da.” Trumpets squealing like giraffes wounded in the Sahara. When, “dup, dup, dippity, dup” thumps from bongos, the rhythm pulls to fore the keys, strings, and voice. MC Keith works the crowd, “Pump, Pump it Up.” D.C.’s legendary Trouble Funk mesmerizes onstage. They’re blowing wind instruments, beating percussions and swaying synchronously as linebackers on the defensive end to “Grip It.” Again, go-go is having a moment in the nation’s capital. And Generation Z gets the bag.
2400
A frenzied dash is made left pass vendor Thrift Lord$, through a wood-engrained hallway into Room Two. Just in time, a twenty-something years youngin’ steps onto a platform booth that houses shiny knobs, crossfaders and USB ports. From the front stage to the rear VIP area, the “umphz and whomps” wobble to a crescendo before capsizing into heart-pumping 124 beats per minute. That pulls crop tops and granny pants onto an elevated stage. Their fists tomahawk the air. As a bevy of souls jump upward. Into the air, the burst of energy excites! The gathered mass anticipates this moment. Floorplan’s “What You Need” blasts into the sound sphere.
Aretha Franklin’s “Respect,” is reimagined and reinterpreted for 21st century dance spaces. The late Queen of Soul is not the only diva to represent. Within minutes, the late Queen of Nitelife, Loleatta Holloway wailing “Dreamin’” is “bomb!” Mochakk’s “Jealous” drops with rolling build ups and jabbing highs. As living legend, Janet Jackson even makes a sound cue. Her 2001 classic, “All For You” is refreshed as an interpolation called “Alright” by Camille Doe. Music selectors, if Janet’s original vocals aren’t playing, please, don’t play that ish.
Vision a space, absent of light. Sweat drips down exposed sheetrock forming holes. Flashes of bright illuminate every so often exposing pipes escaping the ceiling. The ground is concrete. At points, smooth enough to even glide over as your sneakers crisscross cemented craters with a cast of characters who are total strangers. This brick and mortar is abandoned. A shell of its former glorious self. The place where luxury automobiles cranked off assembly lines and rolled onto Concord Avenue. The venue now crumbling. Charred ashes scattered across weeds. Yet, ravers are seen everywhere. Uplifting and rebuilding the premises through beats and bass. Generation X dancing with the ghosts of the past. Fast forward to tonight, the crowd cheers as Chicago’s Cajmere’s featuring Dajae, “Brighter Days” (Underground Goodies Mix) plays. Technoheads are transported back to those underground raves of 1990’s Detroit. When the beats were heavy. The drums kicked harder. And the music slapped. Back when Robert Hood was a member of the prolific Underground Resistance.
Tonight, the Forefather of Minimal Techno, Hood joins his daughter Lyric, onstage. The two unite as the techno outfit Floorplan. Ever since 2016, the family duo plays side-by-side, tag teaming sets from Coachella to Dekmantel. Tonight, he drops Floorplan’s “Like Dat.” She plays William Kiss’ “Like This.” In the mix, both are musical chefs. Each knows when to add extra ingredients. Also, each knows when to pull back. All the ingredients simmering at the right time, not a little more, not a little less. Feel the rush of beats. Bathe in the bass drops. The BPMs deliver. There are no gimmicks. No over-production hype. The music speaks for itself.
Time to Holy Ghost stomp.
Room 2 is awash neon purples and gold beaming on ball caps and shining in pupils. A brilliant techno display illuminating the dark represents the Light in the Hoods. The ordained minister brings the Word to the world. In comes “Praise.” The Bristol based Dale Move track loops, “We don’t need no music. Give God the Praise.” Floorplan is at best playing that sanctified and filled with the Holy Ghost techno.
“Eww.” In a room with all these people, someone rips one.
Underneath a hanging speaker cabinet you smell the unsavory and view the action. The impact slaps. The decibels hit hard. But you love it. Albeit, Room Two becomes a dumping ground. An infestation of figures entering from Room One with dancers Urban Artistry powered by Charity Sound and others exiting for Room Three with Bri Mafia & Trilla Kay powered by roamer events. Forget about two-stepping, let alone shuffling. People are at the bar. People filling cups at the free water station. People drinking mocktails from glasses. Watch out! Below, a little person twerks. Her hips gyrate to “Like This.” She picks the best song with bass and boom. No one pays her much attention.
There you stand, stuck between the free water cooler and the no nonsense security guard. Cause if something pops off you want to be safe.
And something does pop off. A crowd encircles the middle of the floor on “Down To Earth” from Armand Van Helden & Mark Knight. There must be a dance off. Is someone shaking their ass? Nope. A few seconds later, the burly security guard hauls a kid with overgrown dreads, pinned across his chest, out the front door.
This Is Not Your Father’s Rave
For every outta pocket incident at a rave, raves have forged head way into the 21st century. Surprise! 30 plus acts. Menstrual products. Nacan. Safer spaces? Upon entering the venue, each attendee must adhere to a one minute address on the latter at Initialize conceptualized by Hast du Feuer. Founders Olivia Osborne, Kabir Khanna, and Madeleine Johnson have created not only safer spaces-shout out to the security staff guarding each room, the halls and everywhere in between-but inclusive spaces to showcase their love for electronic beats across the District of Columbia. Hast du Feuer translated, do you have fire?-ethos is two-fold; to expose local talent adjacent worldwide superstars spanning genres and generations and to bring attention to global events through philanthropy. Free Palestine.
Even wellness for ravers @happy.tuesdays agree, people should stop facing the deejay booth. Like zombies. Their eyes fixated ahead. Upward. At the Techno Prophet segueing into The Bucketheads’ “The Bomb,” that brings the loudest response in two hours, B. Slade’s “Get Over U” (Director’s Cut Remix) and Patrice Rushen’s “Haven’t You Heard” (Joey Negro Extended Disco Mix). The excitement should incite all bodies to dance! Another Floorplan best is taking the classics and adding a touch of modernity with sensibility cool. Robert and Lyric are sounding better than ever. Their impact cemented in electronic music history shows no signs of stopping.
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As the next music selector steps up to bat, it’s restroom time. There you stand in front of door number three. After a minute, the door swings open and you are pointed to wait in a long ass line. Where ten souls stare into glowing screens. Ah, hell naw. Off to the next party you go…..The Ritual.
wrds: aj dance
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Tags: Detroit techno, Floorplan, go-go music, Hast du Feuer, house music, house music dancing, Initialize, Lyric, M-Plant, rave, Republic Hall, Robert Hood, techno music, trouble funk, Washington D.C.