“HELL YEAAAAH!” The white chick screams in a black party dress. The overly intoxicated blonde blows kisses that flutter and dissipate before its arrival to the DJ in the DJ booth.
“YEAAAAH!” She squeals again with the fervor of a high pitch hyena’s howl. Was she about to throw one hand up in the air to make the AC/DC hand gestures while bopping her head up and down reminiscent Beavis and Butthead?
“YEAAAH!” She explodes. This time around she fixes her eyes on her comely companion; a gay guy. Wait a minute, the two aren’t together? Oops. Ms. Thang swings her long blonde locks from left to right. Bashfully, he ignores her boisterous attempts and keeps dancing. She reaches out and holds his love handles. He’s not having it. Nervously, he turns his head to his right for an apercu and wonders where he can run to hide. Nonetheless, he’s trapped by the throngs of people. He savagely ignores her attempt by moving his feet at a quicker pace swaying from left to right. The party girl brushes her two hands across his pectorals. He’s still not having it. Then out of desperation she bends over unto the floor and there you have it folks….white panties plastered against a pasty thigh.
This tomfoolery marks the effrontery makings of the drama that ensues in front of the DJ booth. Why is it when a headlining DJ plays the first song everyone appears out of thin air and charges to the front of the DJ booth when the space is already chockablock? PEOPLE. PLEASE, use a bit of judgment. Is your vision that impaired you utterly fail to recognize there is no room in the inn? Does a, “NO VACANCY” sign need to be slapped across your face? Are you that ASININE? Or maybe you just don’t give a F*%$. The notion that there’s enough room on the dance floor does not apply, in this case, to the interior of the restaurant shaped like a shoebox. PEOPLE. Please, arrive earlier during the party to secure prime real-estate on the dance floor. On the contrary, that’s the joke. You PEOPLE don’t show up to dance. Instead, you PEOPLE take up space and stand on the floor as “WTF” star-struck DJ whores. PEOPLE. C’mon, are you serious? Please, stand elsewhere or be prepared to be pushed elsewhere. End.
Now back to the regularly scheduled program.
After one summer night’s noctilucent performance of thundering sounds, sporadic flashes of lights and the crying of tears, the Sound Table started the party. The music ushered KOT’s, “Finally” with Julie McKnight on vocals that stirred the nostalgic of minds. From four sound ambassadors stationed throughout the eatery thumped prestigious harmonies of the bittersweet nectar of house music’s bygone golden-era. A sugary concocted coat of cheers and melt-in-your-face dance moves played spectacle to curious palettes. What was this entire ruckus about? It was for the beloved sounds of soulful house music. The music that conjures the ability to speak the heart’s native tongue traversed through the woven tapestry of dance. In a world of soulless microwaveable consumption the pure sounds of soulful organic electronics proved gloriously epicurean.
It’s after 1pm and local legend Kai Alce has concluded one impressive classic house journey transcending time and space. Finally, the party’s guest headliner, the Deeper Shades of House creator, appeared in the elevated DJ booth marked by a neon green back wall that brilliantly painted the hearts of those gathered; deeper shades of green. From the exposed brick wall to the bar’s wooden countertops, eyes of awe and fists held tight to the heart, projected themes of DJ worship. Had the DSOH hero transformed into a new DJ demigod? The west coast resident had spellbound the crowd’s every essence of atomic energy and sculpted it into a combustible force. That force was so potent and ready to explode like musical confetti upon the backdrop of clanking cocktail glasses against porcelain small plates. The time had come for the musical styling of the honored guest and distinguished fellowman; Mr. Lars Behrenroth.
It’s always a great time when “Mr. Good Time” Lars Behrenroth plays. Lars no longer a stranger of the city has taken on extended family status. He’s the more-than-welcomed family member that when he arrives in town receives a royal red carpet rollout or at best a home cooked meal of the tastiest grilled cheese sandwiches. The gregarious cousin was in town to celebrate and share the ten year anniversary of his Deeper Shades of House imprint. That vision has spawned an Internet podcast, music label, community website and brand merchandise of tees and armbands. The brand had survived a turbulent decade when music formants transitioned from digital to clouds, when major underground dance labels ceased operations and turntables succumbed to mini-storage pods. This epic milestone; survival of the fittest, was alone worth the celebrating.
The Deeper Shades maestro started off with a jazzy underground house number. Psychedelic harmonies met chill Ibiza grooves that danced over a mid-tempo four-count. However, the floor warmer did little for the crowd. Soon slashing synths sliced in three-count syncopations through the soundscape as the wobble of beats sent seismic shockwaves through the space. Omar’s, “Lay It Down” (Andre Lodemann Mix) capitalized on the intellectual stirrings that sets parties into motion. The night’s money shot came courtesy of Lars in action boldly going where few DJ’s dare conceptualize. The choppy four-count disappeared and the music’s volume dropped down to a soft whisper. With the bass muted, the highs pitched, the vocals were filtered to a hypnotic warping of cacophony. Oh shit. Was Lars about to strip? Was he about to “Lay It Down” so long and hard that certain men’s magazine would deem this “porn-house?” In mid-sweat, the Deeper Sex of House persona slowly leaned to the right with his right shoulder cocked in mid air (preparing to go in and to make you scream). His broad upper torso gyrated in a slow wind of circular motions as he slowly and gently stroked the groove. He bent his knees and dropped a couple of inches downward and went inside, into the groove that is. A sexual innuendo oozed from his aura as he seemed to perform rhythmic thrusts of copulation with the music. The crowd at this point was all screams of ecstasy lost in unbridled lust. Most panted for breathes of fresh air as they were worked over to the point of exhaustion. Lars with eyes glued shut, covered his upper lip with the lower lip and protruded his jaw that pronounced pure cocksure. Nothing could break such stiff concentration. He was in it to win it and he wasn’t coming out until the crowd wet themselves, with sweat that is. The man was in baby-making mode and pleasing every orifice of the body. He grimaced, and made “the stank” face as if his groin spontaneously exploded with the joys of his labor and he was rewarded with the best gift, an orgasm, of the house music kind. At that point, on one precise count the beat alongside the music slammed down on the crowd and all were fucked uncontrollably out of their minds. Faces rolled backwards. Heads dropped towards the floor. Arms flung in the air. Bodies bounced up and down aplomb fleshy poles. “You Play Dat Ish!” was heard over orgasmic screams. This was one big orgy and one man had “Laid It Down” and impregnated the mutha. This was baby-making music, of the house music kind. Damn and this was only the second song.
After the fu*ktastic climax, the vibe settled into classic house music territory. After the steady annoyance of dance floor antics and shenanigans, in the back of the restaurant where dinning tables mingled with their counterparts; dining chairs, sat vacant prime real-estate. Once the dinning tables were pushed towards and almost out of the bay windows and their counterparts the chairs moved to separate locations, a band of house music’s finest aficionados turned the party out and danced the night away. It took little time for the eclectic music producer to segue into the deep rhythms of afro-house with a sample of Wyoma’s lecturing vocals on At One’s, “African Healing Dance.” Next up, Chicago’s Very Own, Glenn Underground’s, “Indians Bagpipes” caused the party’s second ruckus. A spectacular display of leg thrusts plunging through the air, writhed bodies kissing the floor, fancy footwork shuffling on wooden tiles and dignified African dance interpretations that mind-boggled spectators of diverse ages, ethnicities and genders. The imagery provided a defining moment to the phenomenon known as underground deep house music. As if their souls were groomed by exotic Indian rhythms joyously dancing over soft handclaps the spirit of dance sprung forth and brought smiles to those watching on the sidelines. “You Play That Ish” screamed one soul on fire. Soon after, Deeper Shades Recordings remix package of South African outfit Liquideep’s, “Feel It” (Andre Lodemann Mix) kept the action alive as the patrons on the dance floor slowly ebbed. From “gangsta house” to “sexy house” the deepness continued with a sample from Argy’s, “Upon Ourselves” as Bajka’s spoken vocals soared over, Liquideep’s, “Feel It” (Instrumental) of soft chimes and deep percussions. The night belonged to the musical spirit of Glenn Underground with another deep interpretation, “Mental Piano Dub” from his “Simple Black Resurrection” EP. A nod to opening DJ Kai Alce seemed appropriate as Kai used to bang the anthem at parties that sent people into dizzying fits. That night, likewise, the tune stirred up an intensive exploration of emotions of self lead by the swirling of piano keys over cowbells. On a somberly note, enough to sober a drunk, the 2004 classic from the late Nkemdilin “Kemdi” Amadiume singing on Handcrafted Soul’s, “I’m Still A Dancer” provided nostalgic of days and dances on dance floors gone by. The mid-tempo number was the last house song played in the cross-pollination of classic house killers meets afro-house deepness.
Once again, Mr. Lars “DSOH” Behrenroth attacked the deep house world of deep house heads and left no stone untouched. The rather outspoken cousin stayed true to his roots and delivered a powerhouse set sure to please the mental memories of many for years to go. Happy Birthday DOSH with hopes for another fruitful ten years.
Photography by AJ Dance
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Tags: Atlanta Georgia, deep house music, Distinctive, house music, Kai Alce, Lars Behrenroth