2240
I take it back. Angelenos don’t keep their liquids in cups.
The former TEFLON Don floor is now a sticky mess. Listen to that velcro sound when walking distances. Thirty-four layers of goo stuck on the soles of white sneakers should be a felony. A jailable offense, like your favorite clothing store recently shuttered in DTLA. Where you purchased tonight’s ensemble of head-to-toe white. For this party, where 8000 square feet of cavernous wood and amber soft light, the too many frolickers packed tight. It is too easy to tip over a drink. Oops. There goes your outfit. Damn. There goes the dance floor. Shit. Guilty as charged.
The floor feels hollow. As though an expansive abyss lies underneath. Bounce and squat and the ground wobbles. Be careful. Rear center there is a lump. The texture of the dance floor is as much the mouthpiece of a night club. Be the flooring is smooth, you are guaranteed a great time. Right?
Seven. There is something about the number seven when seeing Marques Wyatt. Perhaps it is the number of chakras in the body that comes to mind. Recalling your first experience witnessing the Los Angeles King of Deep play at the Crescent Room in Midtown Atlanta in the early 2000s. Fast forward seven years later, 2010, a new decade, Wyatt serenaded the patio of Opera nite club across from the defunct Crescent Room. Thereafter seven years, the “For Those Who Like To Get Down” producer played a Speakeasy on Edgewood Blvd in the thriving OFW nightlife above the then Music Room in Atlanta. Seven years later, see the selector play his world famous moniker in Hollywood.
“See you at the Viper Room for DEEP tonight.” The year is 1998. Eyes are noticing the space is too intimate for the burgeoning crowd. Wyatt thinks. DEEP must go on. At 1650, the venue where LA’s cool kids, tourists, and purists gathered to experience global ambassadors spirit the deep house movement at the turn of the century. A who’s who flocked the west coast MECCA of house music on any given Sunday night. The place where Prince checked Kerri Chandler and young love married. Over twenty-five years later, founding father Marques Wyatt stands proud playing Liva K’s “The Drill.” His black ball cap tipped over his brows. His winning smile on display. He is privy. DEEP’s legacy lives.
Tonight, as alcohol hits their system, the people become more relaxed as Denis “Saucey Wow” Belfon commands “Work.” Sedulously, the a cappella plays over Caiiro’s “The Akan.” The arcane bust their best moves. Similarly yours truly lets loose on the Yoruba Soul Mix of Currambero de Gamero’s “La Prena.” Screaming. Waving limbs in the air. Feet stomping. Another wave of energy erupts on RE\MIND’s “Nobody.” The Extended Mix appears to be a mass mover.
Young women wearing Thierry Mugler panel denim and lace tops arrive as OVEOUS & QVLN’s “Quiemar” (GUAPO (AO) Remix) drops. On the ground level, standing front the morphing silk art installations, is the most handsome security guard with a pompadour fade-midnight strands backcombed revealing golden flesh with biceps begging to escape a tight tee. His hazel pupils hovers over the swelling milieu.
Musically, Wyatt’s two-hour excursion of hands-in-the-air Afro meets progressive house is a tough pill to swallow. Someone feed Vidojean X Oliver Loenn’s “Alameyo” to ChatGPT, cause the Tomorrowland Music release sounds generic. When San Diego’s Oscar P’s “I Was There” plays, he should adlib, “I was there before Afro became soulless artificial intelligence.
Or maybe Wyatt is playing for the audience. When someone holds up their phone with flash. Security swoops over to correct the situation. The venue’s implicit no flash policy be damned.
2400
Come midnight, the architect of ancestral house appears in the elevated DJ station. His floral knit blue bucket hat bops and weaves. As a whomping bass lick and piano keys soars the sound sphere to kiss lighting rigs that projects three triangles aglow in red around a glittering great white shark.
The minister of music is in a mood to swing. Jazz piano and hand drumming percussions at 120 beats per minute. Four songs deep, evidently, the Saint Louis native ain’t playing what the kids want to hear. He plays what they need to hear. OVEOUS & Don Kamares’ “Legacy.”
The social media generation is being exposed to unapologetic underground and Black music. g.washington featuring Miriam Makeba’s “Warrior Mbube.”
The deejay is giving free autographs if you move up front and stay. You want to yell to the ilk over Johnny Malek’s “I Promise.” Their blowing Cali Kush besieges your nostrils.
More bodies are packed into the “sunken” dance space than protesters arrested at a southern Cali university. This makes it more difficult vibing to Glenn Underground’s “Black Mental Resurrection.” The Piano Dub is not to be messed with-one needs ample space to spin and slide on this classic that Kai Alcé played at every Deep party in Atlanta. Including Sekouba Bambino’s “Découragé.” The Charles Webster Remix is almost wasted having to shuffle in less than arm space. There are just too many people to justify the struggle. Although a few put their best feet forward. From Columbia, the young women wearing a black mini dress, her girlfriends scarfed and shawled, to the lady wearing a color-block dress and black shades, all get down to the Yoruba Soul Mix of Ben Westbeech’s “So Good Today.”
There are no elbows or shoving people aside. Unlike in other cities stateside. No air of pretension or privilege prevails. Just a bunch of kids acting like it’s Saturday night.
TIMBER!!!!! A tall blonde fella falls back.” You won’t be bustin’ yo ass up in here. Not tonight! Your right arm reaches his shoulder to steady the giant dressed in a knit. He stumbles up two stairs likely salvaged from previous railroad tracks somewhere in Colorado.
“Thanks for helping that dude up.” A voice shouts over “Idiosyncracy.” There Mick stands, smartly dressed wearing a silver bowtie and sliver black checkered pants. Earlier, he correctly identified meeting you three months ago at The Ritual.
Mick, beset by a hat, his eyes survey the scene. “There are people here from everywhere tonight. From all…..” You nod. He confirms. “I love it.“
Welcome to Sound Nightclub, established on NYE 2013. The Hollywood venue claims not to be EDM, but appears to cater to EDM. These kids are waiting for beat drops. Instead they get Mr. Flip’s “Drippn’.” Yes! Mr. Flip poses for the camera crew behind the DJ station in front bar number two. The Karizma Baltimore Drip is bomb. Cats from Jersey to New York top rock and box step. Bodies jumping and spinning in mid-air. Mouths yell.
Now this is LA! Where, in the 1990s, a then Christian Warren hustled for hits, writing credits and production royalties. Now as Osunlade, his perspective on Tinseltown has shifted as told to levisiteuroline.com. “Why live amongst vampires?”
Off to New York City, Warren was rebirthed as Osunlade, the Yoruba priest acknowledged and adorned today. The cognoscenti who delivers his spiritual brand of call and response over beta drums. Afefe Iku’s “Mirror Dance” brings out the twerkers dressed in all white at table eleven in VIP. Wait, is that a greasy pizza box? Osunlade’s Lonely Mix of Tortured Soul’s I Might Do Something Wrong,” has a blonde haired blue-eyed house veteran mouthing every lyric center an imposing speaker cabinet. Japan’s Jazztronik’s “Dentro Mi Almo” (Yoruba Soul Mix), makes for great dancing but even better singing at the top of your lungs as you shuffle in circles to Osunlade’s “Black Women Cry” that makes you inspire others to join in the dance ceremony.
“DO. NOT. PLAY. WITH. ME.” You scream. “OSUNLADE!” Manoo’s “Kodjo” delights, juxtaposed additional surprises! Nathan Haines featuring Verna Francis’ “Earth Is A Place” (Restless Soul Peak Time Remix) to a stripped version of songstress Tweet’s “My Place.”
Around every turn is an Osunlade shock. Tech house! As in, is this what the Yoruba Recordings founder plays in Europe? The beats per minute increase to the delight of fist pumping bros who wear retro Air Jordan mids to dance clubs. They soon are pulled back to planet Earth on the Mahogani released “LIVEINLA 1998,” one of three Moodymann selections played so far. A dancing Millennial wears her Kenny Dixon tee with pride. Now, that’s what’s up.
Freestyle Fun
0230
The hour arrives. When the music goes deep. Pockets of prime real estate appear. Gentrification abandons the premises. All that is left are movement and music. The soul of fun dancers.
“You from NYC?” You are asked because of your shuffling feet.
You nod. “Atlanta.”
On Tom Flynn’s “Packard,” the venue glows bloody red. The start and stop stutter of percussion and galloping thumps throws dancing feet off on Theo Parrish’s “Heal Yourself and Move.” Genius is music that challenges dancers. Genius also is having a custom built sound system. The Pioneer 5 way GS wave eschews watts of high-definition clarity into ear cavities. Coflo’s “A Warrior Dance” (Ron Trent Remix) never sounded so warm and rich, yet exhilarating. Every note hits with impact. Real talk: Sound ain’t called Sound for nothing. In 2022 DJ Mag co-signed the venue as the 99th best club in the world.
To experience the multi-hyphenated Osunlade slay in an arena not often associated with Black electronica is priceless. Every moment worth the disdain of purchasing an electronic ticket on DICE. Take the young lady’s black strands swooshing the floor as she performs handstands on E-Man & Woolie Ballsax’s “You Wanna Know.” Your new favorite song forever is Reggie Dokes’ “Ray of Hope,” as Shimza featuring Maleh’s “Fight to Love” (Floyd Lavine Remix) surprises, and Boobjazz’s “Midnight Ceremony” with spoken word “There Is A Black Messiah” silences haters. Osunlade always leaves a little nugget for his listeners. Listen closely, to the best spoken word.
“We’ve said it all
And when we’ve said it all
We dance
We dance to connect to the divine
No one can take it away
Your dance belongs to you”
Epilogue
“You don’t make friends, you recognize them.” Lead vocalist Nai Palm belts on a closing disco number, and possible song of the summer. Hiatus Kaiyote’s “Make Friends” has you exchanging IG handles with handstand lady. All before the venue’s lights illuminate furnishings, walls and shafts. A parade of hardcore with droopy eyes stumble onto North Las Palmas, feet away from the paved stars on the Walk of Fame on Hollywood Boulevard. You inhale deeply the balmy air. You stand next to the person who made this experience possible, Mr. Marques Wyatt. Pose. Smile. Flash. Flicks, standing underneath the marquee that reads DEEP presents: Osunlade. The most memorable ending to a Sunday night welcoming with opening arms, Memorial Day.
wrds: aj dance
grphcs: aj art (above)
Share this:
Tags: afro house music, afro progessive house, afro tech music, ancestral house music, California, DEEP, deep house, Detroit techno, Hollywood, house music, Los Angeles, Marques Wyatt, Osunlade, Sound Nightclub, Yoruba Records, Yoruba Soul