OSUNLADE & MARQUES WYATT
Los Angeles 26.05.24
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.
ANANÉ & LOUIE VEGA
Los Angeles 10.02.24
The Ritual
2350
Your thoughts trail off.
Feeling the chill in the night air.
Your all white outfit drips.
This Big Game Weekend.
You wanted to go out dancing.
Somehow you ended up in L.A.
The address reads 2811 East Olympic Boulevard.
A white stucco edifice with neon print.
A former theatre.
A former church.
A former restaurant.
In view, separated by a velvet rope, stands the languid, monied, and vixens eying to enter the threshold.
Oh! That’s the VIP line.
You walk through the door.
The sound smacks!
Your face vibrates from the boom and bass. Crystal clear decimals. High-definition clarity.
The crowd roars.
Already!
The Vegas are onstage.
Hugging and posing for photos.
Shejay LEISAN switches the lyrics to “Puerto Rico.”
Dembow and finger snaps parade the aura.
The Angeleno knows her stuff. She tributes the heritage of one of the upcoming music selector.
Then the music goes deep.
Louie drops the drums.
Anané backs it up.
Playing signature tunes from her Nulu label.
That makes Asians hiding beneath ball caps pop their shoulders and lock into stance.
Watch out!
A guy lifts you. He carries you as your arms thrust the air. Within seconds, your dancing feet land safely on the ground, to allow the goateed man in the wheelchair to roll by you.
The dance floor pulses.
Over two-hundred shadows behind fluorescent pixels dot the expanse.
Live-streaming.
As others travel.
From the bar?
To the exit?
The congas and claves might lose young heads in the audience.
Oh well, their loss is your treasure.
2410
A national treasure is the Vega’s westward expansion of their Ritual party.
A myth?
A folklore?
A fable?
L.A.’s tastemakers, Minimal Effort presents the get-down.
Think of their large-scale events.
Minus their even larger, over-the-top personalities from Europe headlining their deejay affairs.
Instead this invite is to house music’s royalty.
The power couple of electronic dance.
The King and Queen of NYC disco.
Google ritual; defined as a religious or solemn ceremony consisting of a series of actions performed according to a prescribed order.
To the Vega’s a ritual is the husband wife duo playing together.
As one.
A plethora of sounds.
Be music they love.
The Vega’s are practicing some divination that makes so many bro’s tomahawk the air on the second level mezzanine and makes even more babes leap off the ground floor to the song that should retire.
Forever.
Dennis Ferrer’s “Hey Hey” is a whole hell naw for you.
0100
Louie straddles the set, making this the Anané show.
The Take A Ride EP vocalist is animated. Arms upward, punching the air.
Anané serves.
Karnage Kills/KDA’s “Darkskin Queen” (Extended Mix) is the perfect time to grab a bottled water at the bar.
Where “Darkskin Queen” fails, KEENE’s “Mama Negra” excels the party into quintessential headspace.
The Cape Verdean powers through a hybrid set of Afro, house to the quirky.
Tonight the Ritual is less NYC, more West Coast cool.
The Maestro’s frame is bent over.
Hands steady.
Ear to the phone.
Louie tributes Michael Watford belting “Voices In My Mind.” Mr. Watford, thank you for your gift to music. Rest in power.
The Master at Work reps his expansive repertoire.
Mr. X’s “The Curse” (Revisited) excites.
Loleatta Holloway’s a cappella wails across the sound sphere.
The 3 Winans Brothers sing “Dance.”
Tyla’s “Water” pours an atmospheric river over hand-beating percussions. The room is flooded with sex.
Karizma’s “Work it Out” (Mixed) anoints.
As a display of cerulean and magenta flash dance to piano keys swirling on Lil’ Louis’ “Fable” (Director’s Cut Dub).
Vega makes music that speaks to humanity.
His and Josh Milan’s “The World is a Family” unites all people.
The only critique is the original version plays instead of the Afrohouse Vamp Dub.
All before Anané’s “High,” (Two Soul Fusion Boogie Mix) closes a seamless mix where the music went everywhere.
0250
Another plus is your white sneakers sparkle clean. Folks know how to keep their libations in a cup at Don Quixote.
The best event space to party with the best people, whenever on the East side. The two-level extravaganza feels like home. Good vibes. All smiles.
“You have the best smile. Period.”
A woman compliments you after the final note has played.
“However, you often look down.”
She continues. Her eyes turned from you as though she imitates you.
“There is no need (to look down).
Your feet know what to do.”
0300
True enough, back-to-black outdoors.
In front of the street food vendor selling, hot dogs.
The smell of diced onions charges the chilly air.
“I want to say thank you for being here.” A young man with deep brows speaks. He pauses from stuffing a chorizo further into his mouth.
“You reminded me of how people used to dance in clubs.” He says wiping grease from his palm.
“I’ve been going to clubs since the late 90s.”
He stares into your eyes.”
“Thank you for reminding me.”
He holds a firm grip to your hand.
“I needed it.”
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 is also 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
vdo: aj dance
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