“I NEED ONE LINE. I’M NOT LETTING ANYONE INSIDE UNTIL I SEE ONE LINE FOLKS. Shouts the familiar doorman, who is serious business, his burly body blocking the door’s entrance. “I NEED TO SEE BARCODES [sic] ON YOUR TICKET TO ENTER.”
Ticket holders will be admitted inside first and then individuals who have to purchase tickets will receive entry. Hmm, perhaps there needs to be two separate lines. So the one line of individuals, with and without purchased tickets, wearing scarfs and trenches, now snakes down the boulevard. Standing in frosty forty-some degree temperatures causes complaints.
“There is only one entrance in and one entrance out of this building.”
“I know, right?”
“Do you come to Tambor often?”
“Naw, this ain’t my crowd. (Snicker)
“I have a membership.”
“Me too.”
“But I rarely use it.”
“So I purchased a ticket online anyways.”
A person standing behind the complaining Grinch and Scrooge belts a sigh and gives a side-eye.
Once inside the venue, immediately the mood experienced is warm, welcoming, and sincere. Real Chicks Rock’s creator greets with bright wattage and arms open wide. Shoes 4 Soles, the charity collecting gently worn footwear occupies a table stacked with boxes. Warm hugs are exchanged and shoes are dropped off as familiar lyrics, “but the kid is not my son” leads the party people down wooden stairs.
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In the cassette tape deck of the boombox, the Tambor Party‘s founder DJ Stan Zeff thrills! Michael Jackson’s “Billie Jean” (Da Capo Mix) rocks women with long legs, wearing colored locs, lips painted red, donning beaded neck wear hanging over “Curvy Girls Rock” tees and men sporting ball caps, skullies, and “House Music All Night Long” tees, all of whom smile, their hands raised, occasionally holding devices mid-air to capture selfies or film life lasting moments. The inner peripheral of the floor to the performance stage is packed tight with attendees that appear ready to plunge head first onto the stage and dive into shiny hardware DJ equipment. Several dancers have to two-step around the inner semi-circle and shoe shuffle backwards to the bar. Where drinks fly off the countertop covered in 7” vinyl. Where the bar staff keeps busy making merry. Where, rear room, far left corner, Osunlade poses, for a photo or two, adjacent the merchandise table. Where savvy-shoppers purchase Tambor tees and Yoruba 10”’s with Andrew Jacksons in hand. Blonde mops of hair bop up and down and shoulders swivel in front of the Drum banner. Heartfelt hugs are exchanged between aged friends. Loved ones who traveled near and far. Be the cities; Seattle and Nashville, the states; The Carolinas and New Jersey, and internationally, the Netherlands.
“Atlanta has something special.” One former Atlantan explains. “A dance music community you will not find elsewhere. Even internationally.”
Yes indeed. Tambor has crafted the perfect recipe for the perfect holiday extravaganza. The Afro house based brand celebrates its tenth anniversary holiday party with the perfect pairing. “Playing Tambor for the fifth time!” Stan Zeff proclaims over Antonio Lyons’ “My Africa” (Nite Freak Afro Buzz Remix) is the one and only,
“OSUNLADE.”
The “Made in Saint Louis” virtuoso comes out with arsenal swinging; a deep house thumper of snares and hi-hats that elicits oral praise. Like so, the body wants to respond. The body must respond. And the body responds best to music through movement. If only the people could dance. Forget mama’s groove, several dancers are trying to discover their groove. One dancer experiments with what moves work best in restricted space. Perhaps arms stretched high into the air to avoid serving a knuckle sandwich to a nearby bystander? As the second track churns, John ‘Julius’ Knight featuring Roland Clark’s “This is House” (This is house-a-pella)” preaching to the people, perhaps is the time for a high kick? In front of bewildered spectators glued to a bench. By the third track, an unreleased cover of Crystal Water’s “Gypsy Woman (She’s Homeless)” complete with vocal harmonies and scats sends dancers meandering and maneuvering around stationary bodies towards the rear of the room in search.
For vacant floor space, found across the bar by the stairs. Just in time as handclaps fall from the soundsphere, a cello’s strings strums, as piano keys play into existence. RNDT featuring Kleophazz’s “Check One Two” a straightforward jazz ensemble radiates. Particularly, Osunlade never fails to deliver that one track that plays in your head for the rest of your life. Until he delivers another gem, this time playing G-Washington featuring Miriam Makeba’s “Warrior Mbube.” The Afro anthem falls from several sparkling disco balls like manna that feeds hungry souls. Not only is the dance floor feasting in delight.
Look onstage at the DJ table adorned with candles and stringed lights. The area could be a separate get-down celebration of its own. Osunlade appears in full performance mode. According to the 12 common DJ poses, Osunlade leans back. Osunlade’s frame drops down low. Osunlade head bangs, his black and brown locs flying left-to-right, back-and-front. Osunlade is the artist painting the room of movements. Playing Currambero de Gamero’s “LaPreña,” his Yoruba Soul Mix creates the color of dance. Blacks, browns, gold, reds, and greens swirl from behind his “corporate HIPPPIE” tee. The dancers. They serve heat. The energy is so mind-blowing several souls flock to bathe in the presence of melodious magnificent onstage, all captured by two professional photographers.
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Fast forward to when the dancers finally find their groove. Hour two is the dancer’s paradise. When denizens vacate the property leaving open pockets of prime real estate for dancing citizens. Rear room, far left, by the bar between the merchandise table and the dance floor, behold. Wing-tipped shoes sliding left-to-right, as a hatted figure spins around in triple circles to Osunlade’s “Cantos A Ochun Et Oya (Juan Valentine Mix),” hips gyrating in fluid motion over a body lying outstretched on the floor to Tucillo & Kiko Navarro featuring Amor’s “Lovery (Yoruba Soul Mix),” and the fancy footwork of pitter patters and taps leaving baby powder sole prints across the concrete to Tortured Soul’s “I Might Do Something Wrong (Lonely Mix).” The Yoruba Soul producer’s catalog time travels back to the 2000s but leaves certain melomaniacs questioning, where are his deep cuts from the 2010s?
Decennium
Over the past decade, Osunlade has continued his reign, a force to be reckoned. Note, when the terms ancestral, soulful, and Afro are mentioned, Osunlade springs to mind. His release record for producing and remixing music with substance is uncanny. This decade alone, he delivered the tribute; “Dionne,” the gospel; “’It’s House Music (Feel It Mix) and the heart beat; “Words” (Yoruba Soul Mix). He is the prolific music producer who speaks. Take his full-lengths; “Rebirth,” “Pyrography” -that spawned the house music monsters “Idiosyncrasy” and “Envision,”-“A Man with No Past Originating The Future,” “Peacock” and his most recent, “Aché,’” all are his mouthpieces. His voice sings discernibly on his singles if not voiced through him playing the piano, percussions, guitar or other instruments. Then again, the Prince of house music stays booked and busy; a globe-trotting DJ, performing with his Yoruba Soul Orchestra (Live), and keeping his legions of Osunladites dancing, past 3 am, to a playlist with minor hiccups.
0300
Playing Afefe Iku’s “Mirror Dance (Yoruba Soul Mix)” is trite. But where certain songs misstep, there comes a balance of correction. When a voice commands, “Only” and hissing snares spew from the speaker cabinets, Rocco’s “Only Drums” surprises. The vocal of Agoria featuring Noémie’s “Remedy (Manoo Remix)” feels misplaced but the crowd enjoys singing to Roberta Flack’s “Killing Me Softly. Additional servings from his alias Po-lar-i-ty with Burlie Mac or singing live “Same, Same,” would have yielded greater achievement. A reward gifting a glimpse of what is to come in the next ten years. From Osunlade’s vast ethos, that is ever expanding, all of which could not be revealed in three short hours. When the Santoria, Greece resident delivered deep, Afro, tech and soul as he closes with his love letter to the crowd of fifty individuals left in the room, Marvin Gaye’s “I Want You (A capella with Bass and Congas).”
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As the house lights return to acute brightness. Brooms come out to sweep. And security complains. “Why ya’ll gotta take photo ops now? I’m ready to go home.” Several Tamborites gather for family photos.
“You don’t know how much I need this tonight.” The former Atlantan proclaimed earlier that night. Truth be told, we all don’t know how much we needed this tonight. To Tambor and Stan Zeff thank you for the best gift, a decennium of dance.
wrds: aj dance
grphc: aj art
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Tags: afro house music, Atlanta Georgia, dance music, deep house music, DJ Stan Zeff, house music, Osunlade, Tambor Party, The Music Room, Yoruba Soul