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“WTF!” Location to be emailed the day of the event by 7 pm. “Really?”
“That’s like the raves from old.” A friend mentioned over the phone. Yeah, the raves of old that your friend did not fly over 3,000 miles to attend. You think to yourself when riding from the airport. Your thoughts lost on the whereabouts of the discreet venue. As the minutes inch closer to the said time, an uncomfortable emptiness is felt. A general admission ticket purchased online reads location: TBA. Trust is treated with caution. But life is an adventure. Right?
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Later, early morning, in East Los Angeles, where censored street meets the dark night. There sits a Castle Grayskull, an imposing menace of painted fiery walls and gray slab. Within its teeth of gates, there appears a dungeon? Warehouse? Multi-purpose space?
“Who are you here to see?” A face of dermal fillers, stretched eyes, with platypus lips asks.
“Robert Hood.” You respond as a chilly gust of wind hits your head.
“Ah.” The stranger pleasantly replies. “Daddy Techno.”
These days, influencers are booking Detroit’s vanguards faster than people can get into one of the two green Porta-Potties placed in the open space vestibule. “Excuse me.” You say trying to step over shoes. While thinking of Washington D.C.’s Hast du Feuer to Atlanta’s Alleycat to L.A.’s Minimal Effort-all are keeping Detroit Techno alive and Black.
Akin to entering deep into the bowels of the venue. There the darkness pumps the pulse. Strobes and speaker stacks. Aligned against white walls aglow red. Peeping over snapbacks, shoulders and tousled bobs. Can anyone see the music selector? There is no elevated platform to ogle the sound selector. Yet, all the ravers face forward. Their hand held phones filming the red.
At fifteen minutes to one, two figures stroll together. The taller grips the shorter’s hand as if protection from walking in the valley of death. Both wear black. They appear as shadows before disappearing into a glowing orange room.
Thirty minutes pass as a deejay beats acid, techno, and the craze of the moment, hardgroove. That bounces off walls as the acoustics sound a bit hollow.
Welcome to Into the Woods. The premier boutique event and music label for techno purists bridging the gap between Detroit and the City of Angels. The collective has thrown underground raves since before the pandemic. Hosting such luminaries as Theo Parrish to DJ Minx and the late great Mike Huckaby. Tonight’s Official Movement Detroit Pre-Party is the hottest ticket for those who like raw techno from the city with the greatest talent-Detroit.
Look around, dance spaces are multi-tiered. Front and center are those who stand and stare. In the mid are the roamers. The peripheral is for the outliers. Those few elders and millennials who understand their purpose to atten&DANCE. Their fingers snap, shoulders pop, and sneakers glide as if wearing over-starched garments. Into the Woods is no different with one eerie exception. Everyone wears the same skin color. Red.
From the stage lighting positioned adjacent the deejay station where the music comes to a slow halt. A rousing cheer levels the atmosphere. Before the room goes green for the headlining act.
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As the first “ontz” kicks louder into existence. The sound is weighty, heavier and amplified. His feet slide across the smooth concrete. His body creates the energy. Soon, you too begin to tap, snap and swivel. The energy of the dance invites. Where movement and energy collides. This is the apex of purpose. His moving inspires your movements. Little does he know.
Alex Preston’s “Hunching” is a fire starter. The disco/house bangs with intention. A rapid boil of toms, snares, and highs simmering to a percolating crescendo.
Suddenly, figures draped in coats, jackets and one guy swallowed in the most oversized sweatshirt spill into the main room like water bugs scurrying indoors from the cold.
“We don’t need no music.” A voice shouts, courtesy Dale Move’s “Praise,” released on Wh0 Plays. Question. Is the masked duo Wh0 that hot or is Floorplan contractually obligated to play their music? From playing Chuck Roberts’ “The Poet” to Marshall Jefferson & Ten City’s “I Love Me” (Extended Mix), Wh0 is weaved throughout a Floorplan tapestry.
“Man, thanks for dancing.”
“No thank you.” The dancer from earlier, he gives you a half hug. “Yo, it’s tough for me to dance tonight.”
“When things are tough that is the time to dance.” You encourage him with earnest eyes over Mochakk “Jealous.”
The techno thumper Floorplan’s “Like Dat” causes your porkpie to fly off your head. Oops. You remove your jacket. Sweat drips down your temple and rolls down your chest on Floorplan’s recently released, “What A Friend.” You are a ball of sweat. That often happens when dancing to Williams Kiss’ “Like This.”
When the tempo slows to a sexier groove on Camille Doe’s “Alright” (Extended Mix) dancing feet are thrown off. Like a whirlwind falling from the rafters, “Lovin’ Is Really My Game” refrains into existence. The beat drops heavy on the techno heads. The exclusive Floorplan Edit of Ann Nesby’s beloved cover is disco’s revenge on Saturday night. Come Sunday morning, the atmosphere swells with handclaps, organs and a Gospel choir singing “We Give Thee Honor” (Extended Mix). This is Floorplan at their peak.
Floorplan’s legacy is marked by milestones. From Robert Hood’s storied beginning as a member of Detroit’s Underground Resistance. Hood prophesied the coming of minimal techno. The movement that spread across raves faster than dial-up modem speeds. In the 21st century, reinvented as the alias Floorplan, the ordained minister banged hits on his regarded M-Plant imprint. Before his daughter, Lyric joined ranks as the century turned teenager. Ever since, the father and daughter has crafted the blueprint that makes heads dance to varied sounds, be disco, house to techno. The Hoods stay booked and busy. Always. Producing anthems to touring global stages. They minister their brand. That hand clapping, toe tapping, gospel techno makes many wave their arms in the air and others question.
“Can you open this?” A familiar voice asks over Mark Knight & Darius Syrossian featuring Prospect Park’s “Get This Feeling.” “Well dang.” Ms. “Daddy Techno” seems to pop up everywhere. As her fingers fiddle with a small baggie of the White Devil.
Hydrate time. You brave the line of ten deep to purchase water from the friendliest bar staff. While in line you overhear Agua Sin Gas & Antoine Clamaran’s “Everybody Pumpin’ 2023.” The cover does not live up to the 1994 original, Todd Terry’s “Jumpin'” featuring Martha Walsh and Jocelyn Brown but Clamaran’s effort perfectly segues into The Bucketheads’ “The Bomb! (These Sounds Fall Into My Mind).” The Kenny Dope classic is fire.
Much like those cartoonish red rubber boots that went viral. A blonde-haired mustached youngster wears a pair when dancing to Frankie Knuckles presents Director’s Cut featuring B. Slade’s “Get Over U.” The perfect ending to a most telling narrative where music is ministry.
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After a round of goodbyes to the steppers and gawkers, you exit Grayskull. Into the cold you step, breathing deeply. You can’t help but to think. And who said Techno is not God’s music?
wrds: aj dance
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Tags: #dancefloormagic #housemusicexcellence, deep house, Detroit techno, Floorplan, Gospel House, house music, house music dancing, Into The Woods LA, LA CA, Los Angeles, Lyric Hood, Movement Detroit Pre-Party, rave, Robert Hood, techno