Uncensored
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Finally!
The four-on-the-floor pulls the body through a black frame door. Behold with eyes open-wide. The ballroom of real estate flanked by white walls. Where a mass of colorful cast is on full display. Your black sock sneakers, her green wrap pants and his “I Came Here To Dance With You” red tee, bounces up black stairs to the mezzanine where onlookers grasping vodka in plastic cups witness the pursuits on the ground floor below. Back downstairs, a sharp glance left, atop 4 feet speaker cabinets, sits a monstrosity stage. Where the action borders frenzy. As bulging eyes with dilated pupils gaze forward. Towards a shadowy figure who is barely visible. Her small frame stands hidden behind a white board. That illuminates with blinding black light reminiscent of lightning flashing across the darkness. Brilliant blues and purple LEDs play cat and mouse across the telos. Where screams and cheers thunder ahead. Welcome back to Celine Orlando.
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“Excuse me. Excuse me.” You ask a lady young enough to be your daughter. “Is this the line to get inside the Celine?”
“Celine?” She replies with her Spanish accent. Making out the English falling from your mouth. “Ah. Sí. Celine.”
Damn. The line is twenty deep just to enter the premises. Thankfully, the temperature is a breezy 62 degrees. But WTH? Tonight, is Sunday! The second night of the new year. A work night. Yet, the Sabbath is unexpectedly too busy. Groups of age twenty-something women in mid-conversations, holding hands, and tripping over the curb trek north towards East Central Avenue. Young guys seated on low riding bikes pedal onward South Court Avenue. Wait. This is not Magnolia Street. Neither is this the entrance into the club used nine months earlier. Has the entertainment venue experienced a major renovation? Perhaps, new ownership? A peek inside the window reveals a black performance stage and people packed way too tightly. Just then, a group of three international faced guys and one woman walk to a side door. There she stands. Her tress pulled tight in tail. Her stature lither than seen in online high-fashion photoshoots. She is your shero! The reason why you stand behind twelve fresh and seasoned faces to enter the door behind that velvet rope. A gent bangs his hand on the glass. Then she and her entourage disappear into the brick and mortar. Where the ontz-ontz-ontz oozes out and escapes the open door. That shuts quickly. Praise baby Jesus!
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Once indoors, Harry Romero’s “Revolution” greets you with a hearty hug. The atmosphere is positively charged. There is something about the vibe. That is deeply awestruck. Beautifully harmonious. The energy. The shejay’s energy. The music. All flooding the room simultaneously. Bodies drenched and soaked in good vibes only. A smile seizes your face. Yep. This is going to be one of those nights.
When your body says, oh, you will chill out. Tonight, is all about the feels. Epic FAIL. Already, your two feet are sliding left to right. Then two-stepping forward and backward. As Cardi B spits “Bodak Yellow” to a looped “music…music…music” from “The House Music Anthem (Move Your Body),” by Marshall Jefferson, the forefather who needs no introduction.
Perspiration builds underneath your hat. Out comes the sweat rag. Wiping puddles dripping down the sideburn as you sing “leave your cares and troubles on the floor” to the a cappella of Honey Dijon’s featuring Anette Bowen & Nikki O’s “Downtown” playing over thick thumps courtesy Harry Romero & Erick Morillo’s “Bang.” Don’t fuck with the Harry & Erick Bang in Your Face Mix. That shit slaps!
But it’s the beat. That punches at 124 BPM. That kick drum with snare. With looped piano licks. Those disco orchestrated strings. That Chicago jackin’ house sound courtesy The SyntheTigers’ “Nasty.” The Harness Yoself Mix ignites the party. How refreshing to dance to music as this again? You ask.
Welcome back. Chicago.
Many men are called to deejay. Sadly, even fewer women are chosen shejays. There is one. She out sasses them all. Her name drips off lips. Like the juice falling from sweet honey dew on a humid day. She is Honey Dijon. That’s Miss Honey Fucking Dijon to you. Dressed in a hugging black top and fitted blue denim. Masked wearing a black N-95. Homegirl don’t play. A student who was trained by the masters. Chicago’s Derrick Carter and NYC’s Danny Tenaglia. Her path was forged. Manifestation realized. Serving as a music selector. A style ambassador (You see her walking on that Off-White runway). A music producer of her own merit. There are numerous dynamics to the world of Miss Honey. That has you wonder. BTW. When will “Black Girl Magic” ever be released?
“You can’t hit and run. I’ve got to be number one.” Sings the late Loleatta Holloway. That has your fists pounding the stage. As Jamie 3:26 & Cratebug’s “Hit It N Quit It” whips your ass. More and more! Harder and harder! Honey has you screaming. And when the music drops. Loleatta’s soprano is warped and stretched for miles. Dayum. The crowd loses their shit. One guy stands at the edge of the stage, his arms outstretched wide, shaking his head left to right. Chilling shrills are heard from a corner near the front entrance or is it the rear door entrance? One dancer is bent over screaming. Fists pounding the walls.
“I love the way you dance.” A fella standing six feet something, whispers to you. He continues. “You aren’t doing that same shuffle. Hmmm. Is that what it’s called? It’s the old-school moves you do. I just love it!” He beams bright wattage before accompanying away his lady in arm.
Enter the door. Lady Fierce wearing a checkered newsboy hat, white tank with red suspenders and black pants and those killer heels. She sashays to Cratebug & Junior Sanchez’s “Sinna Mann” as if she owns the song. She lays her black tote on the side of the stage. She tilts her head back and bellows. “Go Honeyyyy!!!
Rightfully so. With no surprise, indication or induction. When the drum kicks. You want to pull out your ballroom best. Hands. Duckwalk. Dips. You know what’s up. The time for Honey Dijon featuring Hadiya George’s “Not About You” arrives. The KDA ‘Legacy’ Extended Remix plays beneath an X-rated soliloquy. Sweet Pussy Pauline’s “Work This Pussy.”
The Shevangelist
Albeit Honey Dijon is a shevangelist. She preaches the spirit of Chicago house music. She knows her roots. Her birthplace. Her birth rite. She proudly holds high her hometown flag for all to see. The tired cliché proves true, you can take the homegirl out of the Chi, but you can’t take the Chi out of the homegirl.
Take earlier, playing Harry Romero’s “Revolution.” Yep, the Deep in Jersey Mix tributes the original recording by Cajmere featuring Dajae’s “Brighter Days,” (Underground Goodies Mix) a Chicago house music classic. As DJs Marshall Jefferson, Jamie 3:26, DJ Cratebug and the vocalist Loleatta Holloway are all fellow Chicagoans who received shout-outs in the party’s playlist thus far.
These days as archivists and post ravers alike, throwback their coffee table photo books, museum exhibitions, and online documentaries examining rave culture and honoring DJ (s)heroes of the bygone 20th century. So does Honey honor the past via unorthodox evocation. Instead of staring in the rearview mirror of yesteryear. Stuck playing the same tried-and-true tracks. She plays classics reinterpreted. Often reincarnations, taking the music boldly to a tyro generation. Here seen from white wall to white wall, the Zoomer’s faces splashed across the venue. Their expressions waiting for something familiar to happen. A cake to the face? Condensation spewing from the ceiling? The beat to drop? A familiar song for lips to mouth? Chicago may not be the music people are expecting to hear, rather Chicago has the music the people need to hear.
The Believer’s “Who Dares to Believe In Me” is straight-up Windy City. Roy Davis Jr. AKA The Believers recorded the original and untouchable version decades ago. And add the great late Paul Johnson’s “Get Get Down” anthem into the mix and you have the ingredients for the best dished served. It is Honey’s over-the-top flair of playing the latest interpretation that is spine-tingling.
There sounds that famous sexy sax lick from saxophonist Steve Graeber. The bass, mids, and highs are synchronously pitched. Mid song when the drums build to a clutter of chaos and a voice asks, “Who Dares to Believe In Me?” And the music dissipates. That saxophone solo flutters to the heavens when BOOM! “I Do.” The wind instrument and lows drop from the rafters. The drums are heard spiraling upward the ceiling. Drum pads colliding above heads. The four count drops so thick on mops of hair and ballcaps. Torsos are bent over. As your body dances around circles. Shouts are heard throughout the room from open mouths. Their throwing limbs in the air. The people lose their shit again. The Honey Ghost just hit the people with the “Heeeee” and “Haaaaa” as on Pentecost Sunday.
“C’mon. If you know He brought the sunshine, you know what I’m talking about.” A voice declares. Wait! Stop! Honey don’t do this to the people. As you dance up the black stairs to point a L for the Lord into the air. Hands down. Playing The Clark Sisters “You Brought the Sunshine,” (DJ Spen Re-edit) the gospel staple shuts the party down.
“That’s house.” He says, his index finger pointing outward towards you shuffling in front of him to Rhythm Controll’s “My House” featuring Chuck Roberts’ (another Chicagoan) a cappella. The young man with doe eyes affixed and baby hair stubble on his chin is all smiles. “That’s house!” He continues yelling to Lady Fierce sashaying next to him. The two marvel as you drop to the floor and perform a full saddle. Mr. Baby Hair Stubble joins the fun and head dives onto the concrete. Where he spins, breaks, and bounces erect and spins around effortlessly five times. The kid has skills!
When those recorded live horns sound the dancers know it’s time to werk. At the intersection where sex becomes dance there stands Honey Dijon featuring Dave Giles II, Brooklyn’s Cor.Ece & Chicago house heavyweight Mike Dunn’s “Work,” (Extended Mix) the fourth single from Honey’s future full-length release.
When “Work” fades from existence. Trumpets blow into the sound sphere. “Da, da, da. Da, da, da. Bop.” The familiar disco rhythm strikes. More fascinating is your dance partner, Lady Fierce with hat, suspenders and killer heels putting on an impressive solo performance. Lady Fierce drops to her heels + protruding derriere = sexy squat. Her lips pout as she whips her hair around and around and around. She salaciously mouths, “Truly Real!” Yasss! Cheryl Lynn’s “Got to Be Real” electrifies bringing additional cheers from the sea of revelers.
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Disclaimer. Partying in the Omicron era should not be this much fun. The mass of mask-less young kids feel awfully invincible. And they don’t want the party to end. But neither do you.
“One. More. Song.” “One. More. Song.” Their voices chant. Honey takes note. After a minute or two the starting of warm pads and claps resounds. There goes that sexy sax again, this time AFTC’s “I Called U (The Conversation)” (AFTC’S Heated Conversation) paying homage to Chicago’s Lil Louis & The World’s “The Conversation” from the same, provides one last get down with the kids.
“Honey! Honey! Honey!” The sea of voices returns. Guess she got to do it for the gram. As Honey holds up her phone to record the crowd praising their Queen.
Long live Queen Honey!
wrds: aj dance
grphc: aj art
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Tags: #dancefloormagic #housemusicexcellence, Black Girl Magic, Chicago house music, Classic Music Records, dancing, gospel house music, honey dijon, house music, house music dancing, Jackin House Music, Orlando, techno, The Celine