A National Treasure
“THIS IS WHY I DON’T DO ART GALLERIES.” You vent.
What we not gon’ do is: Hear a pin drop in total silence. The deafening silence. The embarrassment.
What we not gon’ do is: Invite a world class music producer/instrumentalist/deejay to play and this $hit happens.
What we not gon’ do is: Have people dancing, mid-motion and they abruptly stop.
What we not gon’ do is have a WTF moment when the legendary Jimpster opens with his first track played.
Did someone plug a phone charger into an outlet and the electrical system blew? Cause $hit is silent. Dead silence.
After pacing back and forth, in the heat, debating to step outside the glass wall frames to breathe fresh air, or to abandon the soiree altogether, finally, the “ontz, ontz” starts. Again. The four count thumper jolts the heart. “Don’t leave. The music will stay playing this time.” Your dance partner tells you. You hope so. Cause, if the music goes out again…
Earlier, the night was marked by an angry storm, a real angry mutha. A pop-up. That caught everyone by surprise. People scurried into brick facades. Ran underneath bus stop coverings. Vehicles slushed through crater sized puddles. The storm reached its fury. The skyline disappeared into grey. No visibility ahead. The pavement wet to touch. The air reeked. Safe from Mother Nature’s scorn, indoors at Underground. There gathered a mini reunion of the city’s deep music connoisseurs. The cast of characters are seated at round tables with company, resting on couches with their spouses, bopping about in open spaces, standing in circles chatting with one another about their future music productions, and working the door, greeting guests to the venue as Atlanta’s Taurus the Bull stands behind the controls and serenades the music snobbery with a no requests but curated playlist.
The Cast of Characters
The Breaker
The Ohio born, Michigan raised and ATLien resident stands chatting in a circle with faces and names that are unrecognizable. His wife is supporting the dance floor over yonder.
The Deejay
Mr. Sinclair shows off his best spins and shuffle. In the spotlight of reds and blues, his visage, minus pickled grey across the hairline, appears the same as fifteen years ago. Ageless.
Everyone’s Favorite Graphic Designer
There she sits on the couch. She has one major dilemma. The pumps she wore this evening. She kicks the gold heels off. “I can’t.”
Hit Makers
People of the Earth’s Michael Scott and wife chats with NDATL’s Kai Alcé. The latter whom disappears quicker than when he arrived minutes earlier.
The Columbian
He enters the room. “Atlanta has not changed at all.” He surveys, strikingly. Maybe the event was not promoted enough online. Or maybe the event was promoted enough online. Clearly, people are missing. He continues, “People still don’t show up to events.”
The Dancer
If Natalie Cole had a daughter, your dance partner would be her. She wears open-toe scandals to dance. Again? As she waves her hand held fan. “It’s hot.”
Friend with a reversible name
“There are a lot of different folks here at Underground Atlanta.” The friend with a first name for his last name observes. Looking around as if someone is going to pit pocket one or both his first names.
AT
Enter the music lover, who joins the discussion in regards to the fate of the city’s historic establishment. This club is moving to the Underground soon. That club is already here at Underground. Hopefully, more people will frequent the grounds. “And feel safely doing so.”
“Where did you park?” Their conversation turns to parking options. The street, paid lot, or garage. As though there was a clandestine competition of who found the closest space, and the cheapest option, nearest the venue. Yawn. All topics that bore.
Ah, it’s so great to see everyone having aged so gracefully at Mom Said It’s Okay.
By day an art gallery. By night an event space? This is what has become of the city’s beloved nightlife. RIP nightclubs. Hello art galleries. The thought of another party held in an art gallery is cringeful. The impressive but allusive space is sandwiched a queer nite club to the left and to the right another art gallery pumping hard core rock. The screams.
Be careful. Dance over several multi-colored chords slithering to multi-pong outlets, or greeted by multi-extension cords and multi-plugged adapters across the cement slabs. As the thumps of whomps Intercept non-insulated walls. Glass windows wishing to shatter. The theatrical lighting and the fog machine onstage using more electricity. Several fans, including an air purifier are plugged into a column. Uh oh, something don’t look right. Something is bound to blow.
The space sparkles in ruby red lighting. Red walls. Red floor. Red decor. Perfect moment to purchase a drink from the folding table. AppCash is the only form of accepted payment. Browse the handcrafted jewelry selection at the next table. Before heading back to dance with the paintings alongside bookshelves littered against every wall. Atlanta’s Ralo works the twenty-five souls swaying and finger snapping to OVEOUS X Don Kamares “Legacy.” That’s respect.
Music is legacy. Every song has its story. Every song its place. Within the playlist. Tone and impact are what all deejays should strive for when entertaining masses. Luckily for the fifty or so heads gathered against the backdrop of racks of tees and spray-painted canvases, they are in for a treat. The music selector taking his place behind the decorated table.-Think white cloth, faux flora of leafy greens snaked across, battery powered candles aglow, with beaded masks covering half of the white mannequin heads, those styrofoam busts used to store wigs on your mama’s dresser back in the day.-The headlining guest does not merely play songs. His mouthpiece is music.
Staring The Music
After two minutes of deafening silence. The music gone kaput. Drums kick into action. A bass lick rolls over heads. Time travels back to those 808 drum patterns of the late 1980’s. Location: NYC. There sung a former member of the chart-topping group Exposé, Sandra Tola Casañas’ stage name, Sandeé who coos and coys on “Notice Me.” The Notice the House Mix produced by the C+C Music Factory takes a giant leap forward into current day.
When the drum strikes on the half-count, the saccharine strums, and that phat bass drops, there appears Everyone’s Favorite Graphic Artist dancing in red sneakers that compliments her verdigris dress. All smiles, laughter, “aye(s)” soaring through the soundsphere. The group of three already know! What’s up. Even before vocalist Amber Navran quavers, “I’ve had my eyes on you for awhile and though.” Jimpster jump starts the party proper!
Much is to be said of the burgeoning anthem. Is “A Cure For A Heartache” South Africa’s Soulfreakah’s interpretation, or his remix of the Los Angeles based Moodchild’s “Cure?” Whatever the answer, thanks be to Thando Ndlangamandla Ndhlovu for discovering the mind-blowing alt soul band and for remixing the hell out of your favorite song forever. House heads will dance to the stellar standout for years to come.
Imagine one of your favorite song’s playing and you fail to realize it. You are so enraptured in the groove. That you drop to your knees, back to the ground, your arms outstretched, fists pumping upward the air, one at a time, as you lean back and the crown of your hat touches the cement. Yes! Supta virasana. As time, space and movement collides. The sounds sojourn to Lyon, France. To the five day music festival titled Sound Nights. If the music snobs can’t actually attend the real deal, playing Kaffe Crème’s “Nuits Sonores,” The Ron Trent Remix will do just fine.
Next, the music returns stateside. “Let’s Get the Rhythm” of the A,” raps ATL’s Ash Lauryn on her assisted track with Stefan Ringer the label head of FWM Entertainment. Atlanta’s in the house!
If you have to ask who Jimpster is. If you have the audacity to question, “is he good?” This party ain’t for you. Listen. Jimpster is next level shit. He is one of the best to ever do it. The musicologist orbits the sphere that produced Martin Iverson, Andy Ward, and Charles Webster. His discography runs deep. From 1999’s Messages From the Hub” to “Domestic Science” two years later, both are heralded masterpieces. Everything Jimpster touched turned to gold. The EPs. The remixes. Recall, Osunlade’s “Mama’s Groove?” The Jimpster Hip Replacement Mix still scorches dance floors to this day. The producer’s solo releases from “Sleeper” to “Dangley Panther” are as locally loved as are global anthems.
“This sounds like an Yoruba remix.” You voice over the shaking tambourine, finger snaps, the sparse instrumentation, the C minor tune clocking at 122 bpms. Nope. Shazam says differently. “Angelos.” Your dance partner holds her phone with the screen illuminated. “Let The Music Play,” released on Tribe Records in 2013.
This is the lure of Jimpster. He enjoys keeping his playlist varied and equally shocking. Keeping dancing feet guessing of what is to come. Bodies dancing are trapped on the dance floor. As lured by a peddler. “Come here.” The shady voice whispers. “I’ve got something for ya.” Something hardcore. Something addictive. To keep you coming back for more and more.
The music snobs fein for OVEOUS & QVLM’s “Queimar.” The Atjazz Galaxy Aart Remix gallops tic-tok, tic-tok to the fore. Handclaps. That violin. When the bass drops, the room explodes with sweat. As the air conditioning kicks on high. Finally.
Music runs through the Odell family’s veins. From the UK, born Jamie Odell, his mother a vocalist and drumming father fed him daily doses of melodic vitamins. Even his mother-in-law pitched in Euros to help the uni aged gent fund his first music imprint. You can’t talk about Jimpster without thinking of Freerange and Delusions of Granduer. The recording labels he manages when he is not creating music or traveling the globe playing Julius Jordan & Eric Roberson for fawning fans. Chicago’s Terry Hunter Mirrorball Recordings’ first release has got to be Odell’s favorite. “I just wanna have a…” Jamie sings every word of the Shannon Chambers 1Sound Remix. When the chorus drops, he raises his hand and sings “Real Good Time.” Such joy to see a mixologist animately enjoying the music he plays front and center cheering fans.
Brazilian Airto Moreira’s “Toque De Cuica” must have been another melodic vitamin played daily in his household. Jimpster’s father, Roger Odell drummer for the British jazz-funk outfit Shakatack for forty years, has released three projects with his own band Roger Odell’s Beatifik. Imagine little Jamie banging his invisible drum sticks when the drum solo kicks at 3 minutes and 14 seconds. Cause adult Jamie is drumming away, pretending to play bongos, cencerro and toms, showing off behind the ones and twos.
The LEDs turn crystal blue. Blue walls. Blue floor. Blue decor. The “Silent Stars” star put his back into it. Literally the black tee he wears is stuck to his back. His knees are squat. The fibers stretched in the blue denim across his joints. As he drops, bent low to the table. Eye-level, reading the controls and illuminated display. Turning knobs, pulling crossfaders and pressing buttons. He jumps. Waving limbs and pivots. He dances into a bed of smoke. The machine spewing fumes from behind. Jimpster is not merely playing songs. He is giving you an experience.
If music is a moment, and moments become memories, then memories become portals across time. The year 2008, when South Africa’s DJ Kent and Themba were in the same music group. Kentphonik. Their international crossover, “Hiya Kaya” featuring Khensy, the Rocco Remix ruled Atlanta’s soulful house scene before going full Afro. Facts! Jimpster reminds the loyal heads of a forgotten gem.
“They’re about twenty five of us left on the floor.” Michael Scott’s wife observes, recalling. Mr. Sinclair stated he had to get the wife home, understandably so, after a full night out, the graphic designer and her husband vacated hand-in-hand, AT disappeared early on, and the friend with a reversible name who had visited Piedmont Park hours ago in the hot sun said, peace. Mrs. Scott turns around and surveys the building chants, “Find Yourself A Friend.” The disco sing along with the best music breaks of horns, bass, handclaps and tambourine-Sylvester’s “Over and Over.” She yells, “And that is all right cause we are music lovers.”
As the room turns a deep purple, on the violet floor stands yours truly, your dance partner, the Columbian and the online fitness influencer, who arrived after her work shift ended. They continue their onward quest. Dancing to the Detroit Experiment’s “Think Twice.” Of course. When the music stops. They are rewarded.
Jimpster waves his hands. He c’mons the crowd. Hands out grabbing. Jimpster gestures for the crowd’s response. Right hand up to his right ear. As in, let me here you, mates. Not that the crowd is not feeling the music or not responsive at all. Jimpster calls out to give them one last offering.
The encore. A classic. From Chicago, 1992. Lil Louis and The World’s “Do U Luv Me.”
“My dancers! You give hearty hugs. “Thanks for coming tonight. Don’t let it be another nine months before we see each other again.” You tell your dance partner having danced in open-toe sandals and the fitness influencer over the fan favorite.
The art space hosted party turned out to be one of the best nights of the summer. A special feeling hangs in the air. Warmth. Energy. Love. Underneath the glow of purple that drowns out their faces in the photoshoot, Calvin Morgan, Ralo and the Brit standing on the tips of his toes is all smiles. Recalling to mind, when Jimpster danced and sung “A Real Good Time.” A good time had by all in attendance. Many deejays narrate their storied productions when playing live, Jimpster not so. He spotlights others. The dancers having journeyed around the world, South Africa, France, to Brazil. From Atlanta, Chicago to NYC. Proved that deep soulful house music is alive and well. Led by the (Inter)National Treasure that is Jimpster.
wrds: aj dance
grphc: aj art
Share this:
Tags: #dancefloormagic #housemusicexcellence, afro house music, art gallery, Atlanta Georgia, Calvin Morgan, dancing, deep house music, DelusionsofGranduer, Freerange Records, house music, house music dancing, Jimpster, Mama Said It's Okay, Ralo, Soul Service, SWEAT, Taurus the Bull, Underground Atlanta