So what does an OVEOUS playlist sound like? The music that Osunlade plays. Percolating percussions. Meditative melodies. Ancestreal chants. A major difference being OVEOUS spits verses, live. Holding in hand a microphone he raps, “Find your friends on the dance floor. Or make new friends on the dance floor.” Osunlade and OVEOUS are arguably interchangeable. The latter having been mentored by the Yoruba priest, is a member of the Yoruba Recordings family. Debuted as OVEOUS MAXIMUS, he first released, “I Apologize” (The Remixes) over a decade earlier. The Ezel Remix brings back fond memories when the music selector sings, “I’m so sorry. (3X) I apologize.” That has you mouthing along in harmony.
The same is true when the vocalist follows with “Legacy.” The latest floor thumper from OVEOUS x Don Kamares speaks. “Watch me move.” Your body jumps with joy. “I Get Busy.” Your feet land on the tile. “You’s a fool.” You shake your ass.
Osunlade returns to the DJ booth, whispering into OVEOUS’ ear when DJ Hermes featuring Fly’s “Sing It Back” (Afro Mix) plays. Flashback, months earlier, when Osunlade debuted the song at Rocksteady in Atlanta during Black History Month. The Moloko cover wins cheers of approval from the District of Columbia crowd.
With Osunlade taking a seat on the couch in the flowery booth. Afefe Iku’s “Mirror Dance” (Yoruba Soul Mix) springs to life. As OVEOUS performs his spoken word for those in the know. “Break it down, come through,” he continues into the microphone. Then joined by his brother who takes the helm of the music’s journey from there.
Earlier
“Please, no pictures in the room.” Says security. The woman wearing the leg brace. It is easy to forget this is Flash. Where the use of cameras or video recorders are not permitted. As to not ruin the vibe. The vibe that at the moment, gives life to Sunday Love. Mother Earth sprouting branches hangs as wall art. On the patio, a woman paints a silhouette in progress. Overheard are several conversations underneath the twilight sky. A vape. A smoke. Anyone? Onlookers on the balcony admire the pretty boys gathered on the rooftop at the neighboring gay bar. Feeling the cooling of dusk. Back inside, a young woman hurriedly sets up a table for face and body painting. Along the back wall of top-shelf liquor, cash registers happily sing. The bar keeps spirits lively.
“One water, please?” You ask over Guti & Dubshape’s “Every Cow Has A Bird.”
“There,” The bartender points. “Is a water station.” Where free lemons are served too!
Remember the days, when DJs entered the room lugging vinyl packed in crates to play? Today’s DJs tote an entourage. A cast of characters. Who are crowned with dreads, head wraps, dressed in head-to-toe white, wearing hanging beaded neck art. Onward the DJ booth they arrive. As Austin Ato’s “Heat” eschews from hanging overhead sound ware.
Who better to play Flash’s Green Room than Osunlade? The Man With No Past Originating the Future appears at home surrounded by woody structures meets earthy textures. Touch the faux turf aligning the walls. That upholds rustic rails criss-crossing the ceilings. Before giving way to an open-air oasis. Autumn’s fragrance flooding the bar to the DJ booth. Where gorgeous leafy plants fall from baskets, the room’s chandeliers. Planted between two giant disco balls amongst hues of cobalt and sapphire dancing above their heads. The attendees who know what to do on Sunday Funday. Who are actually contributing to the environment. Their dancing!
2030
Resembling a box of Colors of the World crayons. Their faces appear seasoned. The aged 30 and over are not packed tight closely. Not stuffy. Nor suffocating. Pockets of space open here and there, if one eyes closely. There is ample room to shoki to Osunlade’s opener, Moodymann Live @ Cutloose 2nd Birthday Party, yes, that sample, is flipped into a four-count thumper.
Unfortunately, the acoustics within the soundscape lack. “Black Woman Cry” sounds muffled. The lows are missing. That throws dancing feet off. Louie Vega featuring Moodymann’s “Seven Mile” should be felt. And heard.
Perhaps, Osunlade is tired. Low on energy. He swerves into Emmanuel Jal’s “Hey Mama” and at 2 minutes and 50 seconds he whips into G-Washington’s “Warrior Mbube.” The High Priest of House drives the music as if he has somewhere else to go. To a place where songs are not allowed to reach their fullest potential. The tricks of hip-hop DJs.
When Mama Africa, Miriam Makeba sings “Amathamsanqa Uyimbube” at the music break, you realize Osunlade is dictating the pulse of the room. The space. The vibrations. The aura. The movement. The dance floor. When finally! The acoustics come to life, cranked to hi-resolution clarity that makes ears happy and feet dance.
In walks two dancers. One does the splits on the long floor titles. Then with arms bent back she performs the wheel. Another dancer wearing a gold cropped tee and black flair pants joins the fun. As the two sway, stomp and drop to perhaps, the smoothest floor danced on in ages.
Osunlade creates moments. Moments becoming memories. Memories that keeps music alive. Forever. Like your first experiences. Osunlade playing in a basement of a soul food vegan restaurant circa 2007. Hearing the Lonely Mix of Tortured Soul’s “I Might Do Something Wrong” when walking into the basement of a dark and smoke-hazed club in 2003. And dancing to “Boddydrummin’” at Movement in Detroit in 2009.
Tonight is all about being in the moment. Memories are made. When hearing Soulfreakah’s “Cure For A Heartache” for the first time. That radiates love and light on the dance floor. Bodies in motion unified. As one. Your new favorite song forever.
Mike Steva’s “Oro” electrifies with ballsy brass but “Momma’s Groove” recalls time spent in a Detroit bar. Where a floppy-haired DJ eyed you tearing up the floor to The Jimpster’s Hip Replacement Mix. The lad’s lips telling, “I look at you dancing that determines what song I play next.”
The inspiration, “Idiosyncrasy” drops you to your knees in front of her gyrating torso. Your back touching the floor as you lift your arms behind your head. Your eyes are closed. In reclining supta virasana she sits on your torso for a sensual dancing of two meeting souls.
“He’s playing for the ancestors!” A man shouts running into the room. His fist pumps the air, welcoming the coming ancestors courtesy, “Cantos a Ochun Et Oyun.” (Juan Valentine Re-Edit)
Osunlade is having his moment. One of conservative dress. Black-rimmed glasses. A buzz cut. No Gastropod shells dangling from earlobes. No nose jewelry. Instead of hand woven robes, he reps a black Funkbox NYC tee. Although, his bare feet taps the floor. Osunlade appears more like a professor on his day off, than a Black hippie his Osunladites have come to respect. These days, his appearance matches his DJ delivery. The stand and play music. Osunlade, no longer the animated performer he was pre-pandemic.
“Dande siempre mucha importancia,” you and her sing at the top of your lungs when running by each other. The lyrics to the Japanese outfit Jazztronik’s “Dentro Mi Alma,” recalls the time you first heard the Yoruba Soul Remix recorded on CD for you.
“Who gets mad at bubbles? The face and body paint entrepreneur asks. Okay, you might be pissed for a minute.” She continues. “But get over.”
Out comes a pink gun. Pointed into the air. Before she makes around the room serenading the dancers in falling orbs to DJ Dozia’s “Pop Culture” (KiNK Mix).
Be careful not to trip over your wide-leg pants to Shimza featuring Maleh’s “Fight to Love” (Floyd Lavigne Remix). Comparatively speaking, the Louie Vega Remix is played most often at soulful house parties. But the Floyd Lavine Remix is more fun. That hits different, dark and deep.
“What’s the writing on your shirt say?” A cutie asks with a budge in his tight-wasted denim.
Your reply. “#icameheretodancewithyou.”
Osunlade’s Yoruba catalog stays front and center for a curated soundtrack. That ocassionally allows others to shine. Alberto Santana’s “Orion” is a progressive number of scattering drums that disappears for possibly, the slowest and longest buildup ever before the beat crashes hard on mops of hair, ball caps and braids.
And the beats. The beats keep coming and coming. Ouch! “Simpatico” slaps faces. Damn! “Dionne” drops on heads like bombs.
Osunlade lights one up! Literally. The haze in the booth even dances around him.
The acoustics reach an apex where the side wall angles and meets the bar. Just be careful of the exiting bartenders. This is the perfect spot to rest as the music missteps.
“Don’t die on me now,” says the young cutie walking by as the most boring version of Atlantic Starr’s “Send for Me” limps along.
2300
“You keep dancing.” You tell the two dancers walking out the door. Leaving the venue. Their smiles say it all. Amazingly, how moments in time are created with people who you will never meet in life again. Moments that metamorphosis into memories. Memories that last a lifetime.
Much like the music played. Songs metamorphosis from obscure to favorites for life. Osunlade plays that music. Heart and soul music. That sticks. Leaving the crowd satisfied. Full of life. As they trek down flights of stairs against painted red graffiti walls. You smile. And giggle. As they spill into the city street of the nation’s capital. After having experienced a most magical night.
wrds: aj dance
Osunlade grphc: aj art
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Tags: #dancefloormagic #housemusicexcellence, afro house music, ancestral house music, dance, dance music, deep house music, flash dc club, Osunlade, OVEOUS, soulful house music, Sunday Love, Washington D.C., Yoruba Records, Yoruba Soul