silverbull

HOUSE is alive in NJ where people dont need to get a TAN if ya know wut i mean.

well since this THREAD is about THE GATES i ASSUMED that maybe an article related to THE GATES would be ok to post here.

Beautiful book indeed great story and great history as well.

with pleasure darling with pleasure.

are you serious lol.

http://www.nytimes.com/2005/02/19/a...ticle_popular_1 & http://www.not-rocket-science.com/gates.htm With $3.50 and a Dream, the 'Anti-Christo' Is Born By SARAH BOXER Published: February 19, 2005 CAMBRIDGE, Mass., Feb. 18 - You've seen Christo's "Gates" in Central Park. But what about Hargo's "Gates" in Somerville, Mass.? Sure, Hargo is unabashedly riding on the coattails of Christo and Jeanne-Claude. But it did take him some time to make his gates: 0.002 years, he estimates. That's a good chunk of a day. You may as well take a look: not-rocket-science.com/gates.htm. Just who is Hargo? Is he some kind of genius wrapper? His name is Geoff Hargadon, he is 50 and, in a telephone interview, he would only say, enigmatically, "Art is not my profession." His last installation was a studio full of discarded ATM receipts. The show was called "Balance." It was about "people, privacy and money," he said, adding: "You want to know how much people have? Here it is." Like Christo and Jeanne-Claude, Hargo used recyclable materials for "The Somerville Gates." Unlike them, he accepts donations to defray the cost of his installation, which was $3.50. The mayor of Somerville did not come to the unveiling, on Valentine's Day. Does Hargo have a Jeanne-Claude at his side? His cat, Edie, is a redhead, like Jeanne-Claude, he said on the telephone. But his partner in art is his wife, Patricia La Valley. Together they installed "The Somerville Gates" at their home on Monday night, while watching the Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show on television. They took pictures, posted them on a Web site and sent the link to 30 friends by e-mail. Within 24 hours, the site had 99,000 hits. "The Somerville Gates" has now become, Mr. Hargadon said, "the anti-Christo." Each saffron-colored gate that makes up "The Somerville Gates" is a 3.5-inch-high structure made of wooden dowels, cut-up roof shingles and clear corrugated plastic, all painted with orange tempera. (Hargo made 16 individual gates and moved them from room to room, following Edie's footsteps.) On the Web site, the installation begins with the Door Gates, then moves on to the Poopatorium Gates, the Fridge Gates, the Table Gates, the Feeding Gates, the Tub Gates, the Fluffy Rug Gates, the Desk Gates, the Media Gates and finally the Stairway Gates. There are some obscure parts to the installation, at least as it appears on the Web. You can't really see where you are when you approach the Poopatorium Gates. The sinuous path of the orange flags seems to run alongside a bed, or perhaps it is a hallway. What is that black thing looming in the distance? Where is the kitty litter? A few passages of "The Somerville Gates" sound as if they're going to be repetitive. Did Hargo really need to have Fridge Gates, Feeding Gates and Table Gates? But if you spend some time on the site, you will see that each passage has its own aura. The Fridge Gates have an airy feel while the Feeding Gates have a finality to them, dead-ending at a blue bowl and a hungry cat. The Table Gates passage is ominous, with dark table and chair legs dwarfing the little orange structures. For pure beauty and rhythm, you can't beat the Stairway Gates. But the Media Gates are the most suspenseful and loaded with meaning. At the tip of a V-shaped arrangement of orange gates sits a television screen. On the screen is a baleful looking dog. (He was one of the contestants in the Westminster dog show.) You can see Edie the cat looking over the gates and staring down the dog. The situation cries out for a mouse to run the gates' gantlet. Mr. Hargadon said he had told his friends not to call him Geoff or Mr. Hargadon anymore. It is just Hargo. But he doesn't go for bombast. "I like the idea of 'The Gates,' but maybe something smaller, something more subtle." Something more like "The Somerville Gates." "There are no invitations," Hargo says at the Web site. "There are no tickets." "If anyone tries to sell you a ticket, do not buy it," he continues. "The Gates are not for sale. Neither is the cat." "Signed photos, however," he writes, "are available directly from the artist in limited editions." There is no wind blowing these gates, no matter what the weather. So you don't have to pick your viewing date. And the Web site will stay up for a long time. The Somerville installation itself, though, is ephemeral. It goes down when "the cleaning lady comes."

Thurs is gonna be a hot night, CANAL ROOM for KASKADE n COLETTE and CIELO for MARQUESS WYATT is where i will be at.

just got to work was suppose to be ther from 5am till 9am, but my g/f came over and well ya know. I realy wanted to hear him in this intimate afterhrs setting. Someone report back please.

heres an older interview i jsut read recently about him. Makes me wish i knew him personally, something bout him draws attention: Hail to the Chief He Doesn't Travel Well. He Dangles Drama For Effect. His Ego Remains Mostly Unchecked. So Why Does Junior Vasquez Still Lord Over His Adoring Afterhours "Tribe"? Could It Be That He's More Shaman Than DJ? By by Kerri L. Mason Photos by RAHAV SEGEV Published in the February 2003 issue of DJ Times Magazine Volumn 16 - Number 02 New York City – Junior Vasquez is not a DJ. True, he mixes records together, produces music, and throws parties for a living. But what he is – in his own mind, to the “tribe†that follows him, and to those who once did – is far too complicated, too grand to be summed up in a mere two letters. And what he does is incomparable to what anyone going by that title today is doing, or arguably could. Since the late ’80s, the Lancaster, Pa., native (aka Donald Mattern, age 53-57, depending on which bio you believe) has produced or remixed over 500 tracks, released 13 mixed compilations (including the most recent, Earth Music 2), and lorded over every major club in New York, with an iron will and a customized booth. But that is just the beginning of the story. He’s also sparred publicly with Madonna, appeared shirtless on MTV, and dramatically spurned the world’s most beloved DJ. And wielding a mystique that can only be likened to that of cult leaders and dead Warhol icons, he’s made disciples out of the most unlikely subjects. On his dancefloor, college years have been squandered, careers have been abruptly switched, and cross-country moves have been made. He’s prompted marriages, divorces, sexuality switches, and addictions of all sorts. He’s made DJs out of stockbrokers, club kids out of bookstore clerks, and lifetime house fiends out of Van Halen fans. Some might say that this messiah-like lure is manufactured – Vasquez does not hesitate to loudly declare his influence. He refers to the fans as “his tribe,†posits that he should probably be awarded a lifetime Grammy, and is dubbed “a cultural phenomenon†in his latest press release. The light doesn’t go on in his private, multimillion-dollar booth at Exit, the Manhattan home of his current weekly Earth, until as late as 8 a.m. on Sunday morning, devastating the Mondays of all who come out to hear him. Earth-goers pay a $30 entry fee every weekend – it can go as high as $100 for special events. And Vasquez enjoys watching the throng scramble: “His loyal disciples…happily pay cover charges, forsake sleep and risk having gruesome bags beneath their eyes in order to hear him spin,†proclaims the same release. “He isn’t part of the scene, he is the scene.†Any thinking person automatically resists such histrionics, and I did. I had the chance to interview Vasquez in November 2000, while his Twilo residency was still teeming and the related compilation was set for release on Virgin. But I passed it off to another writer, not wanting to even stick a toe into what seemed to me to be a hostile, complicated world driven primarily by one man’s ego. But living in New York City and loving its dance scene, it was only a matter of time before I got the call. So at 10 a.m. on the Monday of Gay Pride 2001, a few months after Twilo closed, leaving Vasquez temporarily without a residency, I pulled on my sneakers and hailed a cab to The Roxy. I swallowed my pride through the extensive, humiliating door search, bit my lip as I handed over the $70 cover, and waded into the hottest, sweatiest, most uncomfortable room I had ever been in. You could call it sensory overload – the music, the people, the vast, pulsing venue – whatever, but I’d been officially baptized. I didn’t know what to fully make of it, but for some reason I wanted to venture back into Junior’s realm. A few months later, I did. This is what happened. “I want him to be my evil Obi Wan,†sighs my companion, her eyes wide, as we both lean over the railing at Exit, peering into the elevated DJ booth flown over the club’s massive open atrium. It’s April 2002, in New York, eight months into the life of Vasquez’s new party, Earth, and he’s pissed. Revelers in the lounge above the booth have allowed some liquid – champagne or water or something else – to drip its way down the monitor cables, right onto the speakers and his Pioneer CDJ-1000 player. He has stopped the music, flicked on the house lights, and refused to continue until a new unit is brought to him. It’s about 3 a.m., far too early for Junior’s real crowd to arrive (he would eventually give up on the “early crowd†altogether and move up his start time considerably), and the children on the dancefloor are huddling together, looking up at the booth in fear and confusion. Who is this angry man anyway, some of them might wonder, and why, oh why, has he turned the lights on? But we, and the handful of Junior-ites around us, are intrigued. It’s a delightful performance, a slice of pure diva in an increasingly dull, straight, too-serious scene. “I have to give them something, keep things interesting,†he confesses a short time later, his eyes gleaming. “I should have played ‘Storm In My Soul’ when I went back on.†Before his tribe arrives (and only after onsite sound techs Sam Yee and Shawn Brophy had produced another CDJ-1000, seemingly out of thin air), Vasquez makes the non-believers pay the best way he can: He plays song-of-the moment “Rapture†– backwards – and barely stays in the booth otherwise. He just pops in, grabs a sleeve scrawled with the words “FILLER TECH-HOUSE†in black permanent marker, mixes it in, and ducks out again. Junior Vasquez is a small man who can’t really keep still. He’s a nail-biter, a hat-adjuster, a leg-bouncer. He signals that the interview is over by standing up and pacing. But one thing he does hold unwaveringly is eye contact – when you’re across from him, he simply will not allow you to look away. And you don’t really want to. My first formal encounter with Vasquez came the week after what he jokingly refers to as “the flood,†at the Manhattan headquarters of his record label, Junior Vasquez Music. He’d already been told that I had been to Earth off-assignment, by my own free will – but did he know that I had spent my New Year’s Day in his court, defiling my underground house music history by dancing to “The Boy Is Mine†remixes and applauding happily when he dropped mind-fuck nuggets like the radio version of Vanessa Carlton’s “A Thousand Milesâ€? I ask the standard DJ Times gear questions, which entirely bore him [see sidebar]. I ask what tools he uses in the studio, and he claims ignorance (“I know they’re PC-based.â€). I ask about the production process (“Part thievery, part creation.â€), the choice of Exit as Earth’s venue (“Nowhere else is big enough.â€), and what makes his style of DJing different (“I don’t know.â€). But it’s when I bring up New York, and how Earth fits into his party pantheon – his beginnings at Bassline and Sound Factory, Arena at Palladium, and Juniorverse at Twilo – that he shows interest. Me: Is New York a satellite totally apart from the rest of the dance music world? Junior: Probably. Me: It is the only place you’re interested in? Junior: Yes. Me: Will you ever play outside of it? Junior: I will, but I hate traveling anywhere to play. That’s a given fact. I have to prove too much when I’m elsewhere. Me: So you don’t take the party with you? Junior: My vibe doesn’t travel. Me: And that makes the weekly all the more important. Junior: Of course. Me: So what is Earth then? Junior: Earth is literally a return to the earth. That’s why we named it that. The stuff I was playing at Twilo was soaring and big and progressive; flying up in the air, all over the place. Now, if it’s over 16 tracks, I’m not interested. I just got tired of all of that excess. And I knew the sound system at Exit couldn’t handle what I was playing at Twilo. If the music was going to make any kind of sonic impact, it had to be simpler. It’s kind of coming back to the Sound Factory sound – basic parts and a vocal. Me: So you knew even when you first saw the space what the concept for the party would be? Junior: Yes. Always. More than any other DJ, Vasquez is defined by his weekly party and home club. It started at Sound Factory, where DJs from Angel Moraes to David Waxman were enthusiastic regulars, and Vasquez was a bright-eyed, baseball-capped, hungry new artist, fresh off the glory of Larry Levan’s Paradise Garage, playing and creating the most New York of dance music. It was here where he debuted his arsenal of production tools – resonant, tight drums; clipped-up vocal samples used like percussion in the mix; highs that punctuate phrases as well as create them. Sound Factory was house music with a hip-hop soul, the very beginning of the tribal sound, and a soulful vocal haven all in one. Vasquez originals like “X†and “Get Your Hands Off My Man†showcased not only the party’s boldness and bitchy spirit, but his singular, barebones style, not to mention his favorite samples of other artists’ work that would reappear again and again in his own productions, straight through the present day. Sound Factory’s classic status was sealed even before it ended. Tracks like Moraes’ “Welcome To The Factory†and East Village Loft Society’s “The Manhattan Anthem†paid tribute. MTV even filmed inside the venue, interviewing a particularly amused Vasquez for a post-Madonna feature about the origins of “Vogue.†But, of course, by then, as Junior obliquely informed the interviewer, vogueing was tired, and runway was in. (It would take RuPaul a few more years to destroy that gay underground tradition.) The club closed in 1995, for the usual reasons that clubs do. After a brief stint at Tunnel, Vasquez’s next big party was as high-concept as they come. Arena was billed as “The Gay Man’s Pleasuredome,†but that tagline just made the flyers a bit harder for the straight suburban kids to hide. For one wild year, the party drew a crowd of over 5,000 attendees every week, from muscle queens to fag hags to B&T partiers to music industry types. It was what movies still depict as big-room clubbing – a massive, pitch-black space, dotted with glowsticks and populated by equal parts “normal†people and circus freaks. Palladium was its home, a retired theater with high ceilings, grand staircases, and ornate detailing. And musically the party was just as big: Vocals swooped, pre-trance synths swelled, and Vasquez laid the groundwork for another genre – the big build-up, bigger breakdown hard house that would soon be defined by Razor & Guido, and adopted by mainstream dance radio. Vasquez would feature the duo’s pummeling tracks, along with the similarly aggressive work of other fledgling New York producers, at Juniorverse, the Twilo residency he accepted after the sale of Palladium to New York University in 1997. (The building was destroyed and rebuilt as a dormitory, also named Palladium.) But it was somewhere on the road from Factory to Arena that Vasquez got his mystical rep; in between the old club’s black walls and Palladium’s tiara-wearing drag performers that he became more shaman than DJ. Maybe it was because of his booth style: Vasquez didn’t just fearfully mix records, praying for a smooth overlay like so many modern jocks – he worked them, slammed into them, and manipulated them with abandon. The vocal from one track would magically appear over the beats of another, while delays looped and punched-in samples stuttered in the background. Sometimes, he’d opt to shut the music off entirely for minutes at a time; or play a track to its break and then mix back into its intro, without letting it drop. And his floor wasn’t only a place for dance music – he closed Arena’s last night with Marilyn Manson’s “Beautiful People.†Vasquez’s clubs were, according to one Sound Factory patron, “stuck between good and evil. Sometimes you just wanted to sing and celebrate life and other times [they] could scare the shit out of you.†It was that element – that unpredictable, borderline sinister flair – that turned him from DJ into pied piper for a generation of New York clubbers. “Nothing’s fierce anymore,†Junior sniffs, trying to stay still long enough for the DJ Times photographer to snap a shot. “Everyone’s trying to be Madonna, and they’re just not.†We’re in the famed DJ booth at Exit on a Thursday afternoon, trying to pick a non-cheesy way to shoot Junior behind the decks. But the conversation has moved from other New York DJs to the club’s terrible sightlines to “American Idol.†He’s no fan of Tamyra, the feisty, yet pure contestant who at that time was favored to win – “We don’t need another Beyoncé.†And he’s trying to track down some of the other finalists who had already been booted, thinking their voices could serve a dance track or two. We go from site to site within the empty, echo-y club, and Junior looks around as if he’s never been there before. “Do you ever go to the upstairs lounge while you’re here?†he asks, wrinkling his nose. “Is the sound really bad under the overhang? Do the security guards really look over the bathroom stalls?†A house music fan listening to Vasquez’s music is like a stoner listening to Pink Floyd – it’s alternately complicated and simple, accessible and obscure. But you can always tell it’s Junior, usually from the very first kick drum. And he has a way of treating a vocal – stretching it, cutting it up, working it back into a different arrangement, giving it a new feeling, or better communicating its intended one – that is entirely distinct. Even in his most simple work, the Vasquez flourish is there. His repertoire is full of homeruns, most so tailored to his own purposes that other DJs couldn’t get away with playing them. Last year’s “House Music†with Sabrina Johnston, for instance, is glorious enough to be a classic, but its breaks and embellishments are so very Junior that another jock would be a fool to drop it. His remixes can be faithful – his take on Sunshine Anderson’s “Heard It All Before†imbues the already defiant song with even more bravura – or downright deconstructionist, mutating the tone and feel of the originals. Donna Summer’s “Melody of Love†went from a lovely disco-pop ditty into an uplifting, choral paean to the glory of music. And For Real’s “Like I Do†started as a slow, sad confession of unrequited love, and became a joyful, wise-to-it kiss-off. Even Vasquez’s original works – two gospel-based tracks with the Mitchell Sisters in particular, “Reap†and “Trouble Don’t Last Always†– are so smart, so aware of their influences and distinctively modern at the same time, that it almost seems a shame that they’re trapped in the underground. In recent years he’s taken to remixing almost everything that he likes, although he maintains that it’s not a blanket policy. Me: I don’t think you settle on the work of others that comfortably. Junior: If it’s good I do. But what I don’t like is when people in the business hide who actually did something, ’cause they don’t think I’ll play it if I knew. If something’s good I’ll play it. I don’t care who it is. There might be a little bit of politics involved. But if something’s goddamn crappy I won’t play it. Name anybody – if the record’s good I’ll play it. But if the record stinks, it stinks. Me: Not even politically, though, I think you kind of feel the need to do it yourself. Junior: I do. Me: Why? Junior: Ego. I just have to tailor it to me. Me: You make it fit. Junior: Yes. Me: What about all these new versions of old songs? Kristine W’s “Some Lovin’,†Mike Rizzo’s “That Look,†Dee Roberts’ “Weepâ€â€¦ Junior: Maybe they’re OK. I think it bothers me a little because I was around to experience the first time. Sometimes it makes me think that people are just doing it to get one over. But maybe they’re necessary. The fact that they don’t come to me first for some of them, like “Some Lovin’†kind of irritates me. So I had to do a mix especially for myself, ’cause I have to show them who’s boss of that stuff in the first place. For certain people to redo [House of Fire’s] “Show Me,†which was a big Sound Factory record…I don’t even think Peter Rauhofer was around then, if I can recall. Maybe he snuck in a few times. Of course there is a Junior Vasquez mix of Suzanne Palmer’s new version of “Show Me,†a clanging, carnival-esque piece that Earth-goers adore. He’s also remixed Lamya, Superchumbo, and even Five For Fighting’s radio hit “Superman†into specialized Earth anthems. Most of them are featured on the Earth Music compilations…but always timed out properly, and with appropriate additions. “The only reason I would want to do compilations to begin with is to have stuff on them that other DJs want and don’t have,†he says matter-of-factly. “So right now, off Earth Music 2, they’re all gonna probably be playing ‘I’ve Got Something’ [a punchy bit of house that memorably samples First Choice], but by having [Royal House’s] ‘Can You Party?’ sampled over it…†He trails off and grins. “We almost took that out, because it goes on every single stupid album,†he admits. (Vasquez frequently gets ribbed for dropping the Todd Terry-produced track during his every set.) “But you know the way I look at it, I own that song. I’ll put it on every compilation until the day I die. Somewhere, somehow I’ll work it in.†It’s mid-fall when I last sit with Junior, the Wednesday after a large Halloween-themed party at Earth that included performances from Kristine W, Lamya, and Cyndi Lauper. Junior wasn’t enthused about the outcome. Me: What went wrong? Junior: Well, turntable one didn’t work, so I had to keep going to turntable two and three all night, which only gives me more power to say, “I’m a professional.†Me: What else? Junior: There were a lot of shows. One show would have been enough. This weekend was kind of…I don’t know what the real problem was. Me: There were a lot of external stimuli. Junior: Yeah, there was a lot going on and it was hard to focus. Me: What’s a good night for you? Junior: It could be where I just kind of …when I get the songs to actually go in the right spot in the night, or in the right timing. The problem with this past weekend was that they weren’t. I couldn’t get out of one groove to get to the love songs. I was trying. Every time I tried there’d be a show. Then I couldn’t wait for the show to end so I could get to Deborah Cox [his mix of “Mr. Lonely†is Earth’s biggest anthem]; I just never came around to it. I was just searching and searching for certain records. The weekend before Halloween was great; I just made it my own party. I think it just takes being…maybe not caring so much, just playing the records. Since our last interview, Junior Vasquez Music has relocated – it’s now behind a boiler room in a basement in Williamsburg, Brooklyn. You’d never know it from inside, though – the office is white and clean, with track lighting, fresh flowers, and burning candles. With a wooded outdoor space attached, and the residential area’s blanket of quiet, it feels almost like a retreat. Earth is over a year old now, still holding its own respectably, but not reaching the heights of Arena or Twilo. “Sometimes I just think that Earth isn’t evolving; it’s not creating itself,†he sighs. “It could be me, ’cause I’m just tired of doing spaces, or it might be legendary once it closes like Palladium. Same with Twilo. How many people are going ‘Oh, Twilo,’ now?†But his frustration is palpable – it borders on despair. And he can’t even relate it to just the club. It’s larger than that. Me: There are a lot of people whose lives you’ve totally changed. That’s not even sappy, because I know a whole bunch of them. Junior: All kinds of ways, too. I’ve made so many of them drug addicts. I’ve made so many of them straight to gay, and back again. Trisexual… Me: When you assess that, how does that make you feel? Junior: Well, I could say it makes me feel great, but the whole thing’s such a process. It takes a whole lot more than just me. The sad part to that is that I’ll never know what that’s like. I don’t know what it’s like to experience Junior Vasquez. I know what it’s like to experience Larry Levan; that was it. The end of that was it. I couldn’t tell you anything else. That kind of love, that kind of awe, going home and being sick at how great I felt, that I had found God or something. So I know how that must feel to certain people, but I don’t know what that feels like when it’s coming from me. At 4 o’clock in the afternoon, when it’s the same 25 crazies jumping around waiting for me to keep playing, I think to myself, “I’m so tuckered out,†and they all look like crazies, but they’re the nucleus of what makes it all kinda work. They’re diehard fans. If I kept playing they’d be there ’til next Saturday. Me: Are you over it? Junior: No, but I’m at the part of this cycle where I think that something really drastic has to change. For me. Everything’s run so well, but something major has to happen, I think. Me: What kind of thing? Junior: I don’t know. Something has to die, because I’m getting extremely bored. And I scream and holler at him [gestures to his manager Jerome Farley] almost every Saturday night. So there’s something missing or wrong, and I don’t think it’s that place [Exit], because I can sit here now and say, “You know what? I’m really friggin’ lucky.†I’m glad that I have a place to go. Then I go there, and I hear something about a problem with the list, something stupid. But that happens a lot less now. The club is kind of running itself; it is what it is. I mean, it’s too late in the game for me to make my own club. But find me something that runs any better. It just is what it is. Me: You could make a change. Junior: I’m always looking if something comes down the highway. Something smaller. Membership. Opens at 3 a.m. Something like Bassline [his first party]; something very very personal. I wouldn’t want it Exit-big. It should hold a thousand people packed – sweat-packed. Ultimately, that would be the change. I don’t stop enough lately to kind of appreciate the gift that I have, because I get a little burned out on it, and I don’t know what it’s gonna take for me to get over it. I get thrilled about it and I get burned out about it. I don’t know what I would take. I don’t know. Me: Any ideas? Junior: I think I know a big part of what the problem is; I’ve kind of figured it out. That I know what everybody else needs, and I can take care of everybody else, I can take care of everyone at the club, I can take care of [Exit owner] David Marvisi, I can take care of everybody on the dancefloor. But what Junior needs, I don’t think I know how to do that. And that’s what creates the problem. So when Sunday rolls around, and they’re off and running, the thing I want to do is go home. I don’t know what to do for myself to make me feel what the other people feel, and that’s where I think the problem lies. All in all though, I think this is what I’m meant to do.It’s odd for me to think that the Junior Vasquez who so captured my imagination over the past year was not half of what he once was; just as brilliant, but with decidedly less will. The man who seemed the gleeful ringmaster was tiring of his circus. But what I had so come to enjoy wasn’t the spectacle of Earth or the drama inherent to its little community, or even Vasquez’s theatrics, which went from threatening to appealing very quickly. All those things were lively and satisfying. But what really won me over was his music, from the gritty Tribal days straight through to the indulgent faux-grandeur of “Mr. Lonely.†It was the way he played that music, with ownership, fearlessness, and real fire. And it was his willingness – perhaps his need – to be larger than life, to inject blatant ego into a scene that constantly rejects it outwardly, but harbors it secretly. Thank God there’s only one of him. But could there ever be another?

ive been dying to go to STEREO for the longest time. Maybe we should set somethign up.

I wasnt in the crowd lol.

Beautiful interview For Sweet Analog Sound & the Loft-Party Aesthetic, David Morales Represents the Old School. But When New Technology Can Take Him Higher, the NYC DJ Legend Isn’t Afraid to Change His Ways By Jim Tremayne Photos by Rahav Segev Published in the February 2005 issue of DJ Times Magazine Volume 18 - Number 02 New York City—It’s Election Day 2004 and, strangely, the best way to ease one’s mind from the week’s information onslaught is to prepare for a cover story. That morning’s headache has so far defeated four Tylenols, so a six-pack of lager may the next method. I pick one up and ease over to our photo shoot in the East Village. Walking into the Photo Pass studio, David Morales can be seen in full posedown. Never cracking a smile, he exudes a measured, professional vibe—very New York. It’s apparent that Morales doesn’t suffer too much frivolity. François Kevorkian and Louie Vega, DJs that Morales openly admires, are like that. Even the other old-school DJ kings who offer more of a cheery outward energy—Frankie Knuckles, Tony Humphries, Roger Sanchez—are all business when time dictates. As you might guess, no beer for Morales. Walking over to a nearby sushi restaurant where we conduct the interview, Morales loosens up and admits that the incessant election talk has numbed him. As one of our greatest global DJs, Morales knows better than anyone the criticisms of American foreign policy. It’s in his face every day. He just wants to play records, and, of course, be professional about it. When we sit down at the restaurant, he orders sake and beer. Morales’ quasi-scowl gets lifted, and we’re off. If you’re a DJ and you don’t know David Morales, here’s the attention-deficit version: One of New York’s greatest house DJs, Morales had one of New York’s most influential club residencies. At Red Zone in the late ’80s and early ’90s, Morales broke dozens of records to a wider audience and tested out hundreds of his remixes for artists too many to mention. (Check his staggering discography at defmix.com.) At one time remixing two projects a week, Morales’ “Red Zone Mixes†became a world-wide club phenomenon. In fact, whether Morales likes it or not, his dark, heavy “Red Zone Dubs†set the groundwork for the progressive house movement. Also, cuts like the reggae-fied “In De Ghetto†(with BYC) and the gorgeous houser “I’ll Be Your Friend†became pop hits and enduring classics. He was rewarded for his work in 1998 with a Grammy Award in the “Remixer of the Year†category. Stereo, his club in Montreal outfitted with thunderously pristine sound, has become his playground. After taking a studio break and concentrating on rocking global nightclubs, Morales has returned with Two Worlds Collide (Ultra). More of a clubby pop record, as opposed to a pop-dance record (if you get the difference), Morales’ latest doesn’t offer the soulful grooves that DJs have come to expect from him. Instead, there’s more of a feel-good, Ibiza-anthem vibe. And the better cuts are whoppers. Initial single, “How Would U Feel†featuring Lea-Lorién, is already a breakout club track—and a Top 3 pop hit in Japan! (For some of the best big-room house you’ll hear, check Morales’ “Stereo Anthem Mix†of “How Would U Feel.â€) Also, “Here I Am†featuring Tamra Keenan is another pop hit waiting in the wings. Back to the interview: After a minute or two, it becomes apparent that Morales wants to tell his full story and offer something to which others can refer for a long time. It’s the old-school DJ telling the tale of thriving in a new-school world. He’s done with the sake and he’s starting with the beer. He’s speaking with looser lips. I feel lucky. This one’s gonna be a keeper. DJ Times: I was going through an old DJ Times from 1990, and in an interview with Chuck Arnold, you mentioned that it was music that really saved you from a lot of street influences. What was your life like before you got into DJing? David Morales: I grew up in Williamsburg, Brooklyn—lived there from age 1 to 8. Then my family moved to a better neighborhood in Flatbush. I lived in the ghetto before that. Our apartment was rat- and roach-infested; then in the new neighborhood, it was very different. There were different kinds of people—Cubans, Russians, Italians, Jewish. After I moved to Flatbush, I got turned onto baseball, and I started playing at 10 years old. Played until I was 18. DJ Times: Were you a fan of the Mets or the Yankees? Morales: [Almost indignantly) Yankees. DJ Times: What music moved you? Morales: I went somewhere with my mother and the record that was playing was “Spinning Wheel†[by Blood, Sweat and Tears]. I remember that I asked for the record—I was 4 or 5 years old. I also remember hearing the record “Jungle Fever†by Chakachas on Polydor. DJ Times: You admitted to being a hood. Morales: I used to go to this record store called Titus Oaks when I was 12, 13—right around the time 12-inches first came out. I didn’t have money to buy records, so I used to steal them. They had a major oldies section on the second floor. I’d take the records out of the jackets and steal them. I was also into graffiti as well at that time, and I was into racking up paint—so I had the stealing part down-pat. I liked art, I liked baseball and I liked music. The only problem was, with the art part, I was into graffiti. Even when I was taking art classes, I hated it. I hated learning about primary, secondary colors, The Renaissance. I could care less about drawing an apple in a vase. I loved graffiti. DJ Times: What records do you remember actually buying? Morales: I saved up to buy my first couple of 45s. I’d put the speaker of our cheap stereo out the window and think I was cool playing the same record 20 times in a row. I bought Gladys Knight and The Pips’ “Neither One of Us,†The O’Jays’ “Put Your Hands Togetherâ€â€”that was my one-time favorite. Of course, my first 12-inch was Double Exposure… DJ Times: “Ten Percent.†Morales: “Ten Percent.†When I first saw two turntables together, I was 13 and I saw them at a house party. This guy had a console. I liked music, but at the time, I was a listener, not so much a DJ. I thought: “Why does he have two turntables?†I was fascinated by it because I just played music record-by-record. I’d hang out with my homeboys and they’d say, “David, play some records for us, play some music.†And I’d be the selector. DJ Times: What was the first time you heard someone really mixing? Morales: At my junior high school prom, that’s when “Ten Percent†was out. I got left back, so I went to the prom again the next year [laughs] and then it was First Choice “Dr. Love†the following year. I heard a DJ and it was like, wow! Then I’d see DJs doing block parties. You’d see them in the parks or in the projects, DJs set up in the courtyards. That’s when some of the scratching was going on. That’s when “Bounce, Rock, Skate, Roll†and “Good Times†was out and you had the DJs cutting back and forth, “Good times…good times…good times…†DJ Times: What about your first DJ gear? Morales: I used to play on stolen equipment. We were gangsters, you know. We weren’t paying for things. So, my boys had the gear, but I bought the records. My first mixer I played on, I acquired during the blackout in 1977. It was a Radio Shack microphone mixer that converted to connect two turntables. Of course, the turntables didn’t even match, no pitch control, no cuing in the mixer, so it was playing Braille, but, hey, I was mixing away. I used to dance as well. Back in those days, crews competed with each other, as opposed to fighting. You’d go to the Bronx or Brooklyn, and you’d rock—we called it rocking. The Bronx would come down to Brooklyn or Brooklyn would go up to the Bronx, and it was like that. DJ Times: What about your first “real gigâ€? Morales: I remember playing a gig with a [Meteor] Clubman 1 mixer. This is when “San Francisco†by the Village People was out and I went to a friend’s house and they were having a house party. The DJ booth was in the kitchen, but the party was in the living room—no monitors. There was no technology then, so nobody was going to criticize you if you did a bad mix. It was all about non-stop music. But the bottom line is that it’s about the song—it’s always about the song. My friend said, “Hey, Dave, play some records.†I’m sure the DJ wasn’t happy about me playing. So I got on the turntables and the only reason I put the headphones on was because he had them on—I didn’t know what they were for. So I flipped this switch and the record came on the headphones! Oh, wow! This is so cool! So, anyway, I guess I did rock the house, for a little while anyway. DJ Times: How did you get your mixing skills together? Morales: Back then, the Jamaicans and Trinidadians were really into big sound systems with these crazy-ass consoles made with patent leather and cushions. I used to go out with this DJ who played Trinidadian music, and he’d bring me along to play the American part of the set. Back then, it was about playing the commercial music—I’m 15 playing the hits. He always had his setup in his electronics store, so I’d go to his shop and play records. That’s how I developed my skills, by bouncing around to other people’s equipment. I’d go to AST [a pro audio shop] or somebody’s house. I practiced my ass off. I’d play every chance I got. DJ Times: You’ve said that going to The Loft and hearing David Mancuso DJ in the 1970s was a life-changing experience? Why? Morales: Well, the way I got there was that I played a surprise birthday party for a friend’s boyfriend—and they used to go to The Loft. At this party, they handed me some records to play, so I was listening to records that I’d never heard. But they were Loft classics. These people and this party opened my mind to go to The Loft. I went when I was 19. It was a private club, membership only. It was a privilege just to go in! I was blown away by everything—the sound, the décor, everything. It was a house party. DJ Times: How did it inspire you? Morales: At the same time, I was doing parties in apartments in Brooklyn on Friday nights. The Loft was only doing parties on Saturdays. When I started doing my parties, I’d design my flyers on my lunch break from my job at the coffee shop where I worked. I’d put ’em up on the poles, on the walls at the train station. I did my own legwork. I was my own promoter. I decorated the club. I’d get out of work and buy my own streamers, balloons. It was nice. Then when I went to The Loft, I saw this whole thing. My parties ended up based on the same philosophy. I put out the fruit. Mancuso had this whole buffet, salad bar, coffee, tea—I didn’t go to that extent. Mine was a baby version of it. DJ Times: I guess you didn’t serve the same punch either, right? Morales: I definitely didn’t make the same punch [laughs]. But I was blown away by the sound. And what struck me was that [Mancuso] wasn’t mixing. What I learned about The Loft was crowd control. DJ Times: In what respect? Morales: How you start your evening, how you pace yourself, as opposed to today when these new guys just walk into a club, there’s nobody in the room and they’re blasting away. They’re just banging it. With Mancuso, you learned that when you went to somebody’s house you relaxed. The lighting was a certain kind of way. The mood was a certain kind of way. You grooved with the evening. You were seduced. He built it—the way it was supposed to be done. You played the whole night and you had to pace yourself. You’d take it up and down—you ain’t peaking for eight hours. It doesn’t work that way. DJ Times: What did Mancuso teach you as a DJ? Morales: The most important thing I learned from Mancuso was that it was all about the selection; it’s not about the mix. He played the record from beginning to end. And that’s what people wanted to hear. They didn’t care how incredible you were as a mixer. It wasn’t about the technical side. And you know something? To this day, that’s what it’s all about. DJ Times: What mistakes do you see DJs making? Morales: The biggest mistake DJs make is that they play for other DJs. Most DJs aren’t dancing anyway. They’re too busy being critics, giving off this negative energy. I don’t go to a club to stand in front of the DJ booth and berate somebody. If the DJ’s not happening, the DJ’s not happening—I leave. DJ Times: Was there anything from the Paradise Garage that you took? Morales: The way [DJ Larry Levan] worked the sound system, the way he worked that [Richard Long-built] crossover. That’s what I learned. He’d work certain parts of a record, which is what I do today at Stereo. There is only a handful of [DJs] who really know how to work a sound system. It’s not just treble, bass, mids—it’s a little more than that. I like to bodyslam people on the floor, where they feel like they’re being picked up and thrown to the ground. DJ Times: How do you do that? Morales: You have to learn how to work the crossover, the volume and the record, all at the same time. You have to have the right fluid movement for it, just like a gymnast, when it comes to working those knobs. [The Richard Long] crossover really separates bass, midrange and highs. You have active crossovers that aren’t made to be handled, but this crossover was made so that you had manipulation over the bass, midrange and tweeters. DJ Times: What is your concept for Stereo? Morales: The Paradise Garage for the new millennium. For me, it’s bringing what I experienced in clubland at The Loft and the Garage and bringing it to Montreal. It’s that philosophy. It’s a place for people to dance. It’s all about the music. It’s about great sound, intimate lighting and friendly staff. DJ Times: When you play out globally, do you have a strict rider? Morales: I have a rider, but in reality, I’d say, that at 80-percent of the gigs I do I could walk out just based on technical reasons—monitors, feedback,sound systems, oh, man, the pitch control on a turntable is shot. But the show must go on. I’ve only walked off a gig twice. I’ve had arguments with soundmen, almost getting into fights, because when I have some young kid trying to tell me what’s up, it’s like: Hey, back off. I’ve been playing longer than you’ve been alive. Back off. DJ Times: You’ve been around the block already, and you own and maintain a club. Morales: I mean, where do you get the point to talk to me like that. Because I own a club, it’s worse when I go to a place and it’s not right. I mean, I own a recording studio. I’ve got Dynaudio monitors with Bryston amplifiers, which is practically the best your money can buy. When it comes to owning a club and running a sound system, nobody touches me right now. And I can say this from traveling. I’m talking about the concept of having a room and sound in the room, the quality of the sound. There’s no one touching me right now. I’m a fanatic. So what I have in my recording studio, my club has to represent in the same way. It’s almost like buying a car. You buy the shell and you put a new engine, new tires, new rims, new everything. You revamp the whole thing, and that’s what I’ve done at Stereo. For example, I took out the Gauss drivers and put in TAD drivers. It’s like you can buy a car for $28,000 that’ll get you where you want to go, same as the $100,000 care will. But the $100,000 performs better, but it also costs more to maintain when it breaks down—just like a good sound system. DJ Times: I moved to New York in 1990, and it seemed like the songs from your Red Zone residency were breaking out of there regularly. What tunes do you remember as classics from that era? Morales: This is a whole different generation now. The Red Zone classics were… my God! The Red Zone was all about non-American records like [stevie V’s] “Dirty Cash,†[Technotronic’s] “Pump Up the Jam,†Snap’s “The Power.†We were the only club playing this stuff, aside from Mark Kamins, who was the one who turned me onto “Pump Up the Jam.†He was the first to play it and I was the second. But Red Zone broke that record. He was at Mars and they played that door shit, but we had kids at Red Zone. Also, [Deskee’s] “Ska Train,†[Robert Owens’] “I’ll Be Your Friend,†[Frankie Knuckles’] “Tears.†A record that I mixed that was huge was “Mr. Loverman.†Back in them days, I used to come down and play reggae/hip-hop just to bring it down, but I never lost my floor. We were the first club to play “Gypsy Womanâ€â€”it was on a reel-to-reel! DJ Times: You were heavily into remixing then, too. Morales: That was an era when I was working in the studio 100 hours a week. I was mixing two records a week. Imagine, in a month alone, I was mixing an average of 10 records. DJ Times: And that was the old-fashioned way. Morales: The old-fashioned way! With the technology today, I’d be doubling that. Time-stretch? Five minutes. Back then, we’d spend a day just time-stretching. Today? Zip, zip, zip! DJ Times: You’ve made hundreds of records and some of your best material really stands the test of time. Aside from the classics, I love your house mix of Björk’s “Hyper-ballad†and some of the “Red Zone Dubs.†How do you feel about your work now? Morales: A lot of people come up to me and tell me that I’m the one who created progressive music because of the “Red Zone Dubs.†They were a slower tempo, but they were dark. Nobody was doing dark, heavy stuff back then, just the Red Zone mixes, which gave me a major rep—a good one. But when I heard, “Hey, you started progressive,†I wanted to kill myself [laughs]. Don’t hang that on me! DJ Times: Transitioning from the old-school studio methods of tape and hardware, how long did it take you to get your head around the new studio technology—sequencers, plug-ins, etc.? Morales: I still haven’t got my head around it. I don’t do the actual sequencing. When it came to old sequencing stuff, that I was doing—with the computers, the drum-machines. The old drum machines were playing percussion. They had a feel to it. I was playing pads, as opposed to programming on a keyboard with a screen. DJ Times: Tell me about this album project. It’s certainly not a deep-house thing. Morales: This was never an album to begin with—it became an album. I got together with some great writers that happened to be some great singers. And when we cut the demos I was pleased with the performances and I kept them, and asked if they wanted to be featured artists. And every one of them said yes. I was really going for one artist, and that was a girl from Ireland named Tamra Keenan. I heard her on a breakbeat record—not even a house record. My dream was to get someone like Dido, something different. I wasn’t going for that typical, soulful, gospel thing—I didn’t want that. I wanted something global because I travel around the world. My roots are in New York, but I live around the world. If I make a record, it’s so I can play it anywhere. Some records made in America don’t translate to a global audience at all. DJ Times: What are your favorite places to play? Morales: Stereo is my favorite place to play. That’s my home base, but talking about countries? I like Japan because, of all the countries in the world, Japan is the most like old New York. Their tastes have been trained by guys like Larry Levan, François Kevorkian, myself, Frankie Knuckles, Louie Vega, Joe Claussell, Tony Humphries. They grew up on that whole phenomenon. They didn’t experience it, but they latched onto it. It’s one of the only places in the whole world you can play all classic records and they love it. Technically, they’re on-point more than anything. Every club I play in Japan has a UREI mixer, an isolator, three turntables, two CDJs, proper monitors, all the way. My second-favorite place is Italy. DJ Times: People would die to do what you do. Morales: Yeah, but you don’t see that. You don’t look at that. You stand in the same place as when you first started. I think one of the worst things you can do is get caught up in thinking, “Yeah, man, I’m the shit!†OK, but what keeps you grounded? DJ Times: So how do you check yourself? Morales: I have a great partner who isn’t afraid to tell me when my shit stinks—and that’s my [Def Mix Productions] partner Judy [Weinstein]. It’s easy to have people who stroke your ego because those people just want to be part of your glory. But it takes a real, true friend and someone who believes in you. When it even came to my productions, she might say, “Listen, your shit’s getting little monotonous…†or whatever, or tell me something somebody said. It might hurt my feelings, but how else can you be policed? DJ Times: And if you don’t? Morales: I’ve seen some DJs turn into monsters. But you can’t forget where you come from. It’s the treatment that you get. People have allowed you to get away with acting like a schmuck. You forget how humble you were, how ass-kissing you were to get to where you are now. For all of us who have made it, all of us who have become successful, it has become our responsibility to teach the next generation to behave and how to conduct themselves. Stars come and go—in music, in sports, in movies. You’re here for a second, a minute or an hour. DJ Times: Which DJs impress you these days? Morales: François Kevorkian, Jeff Mills. I’m a technical guy, so I like that side of things. I like those guys because they work shit! [Laughs.] Jeff Mills with the three turntables and he’s just working it for points. François, to me, has always been a professor—an Einstein of DJs! If there’s anyone in the business that I bend down to on one knee, it’s François Kevorkian. He’s mixed a lot of our classics. He’s been in the studio before most of us. He’s always been on the edge of technology. He challenges himself. He gave me a crash-course on the laptop, showing me how he uses his laptop to play clubs. He made me want to pack up my bags and quit. I feel like he’s light years ahead of me. I’m not even close. I’m still using my computer for e-mails [laughs]. DJ Times: Who else? Morales: Louie Vega. Frankie Knuckles—he’s epic, a class of his own. From the new school? Hector Romero, for me, is one of the greatest guys on the block right now. DJ Times: What do you look for in a DJ? What’s a DJ’s job? Morales: To play for the people, to pay attention to the dancefloor and make the people dance and have a good time—and to educate. There’s a fine line between the two. You have to give and take with the audience. You have to get them to trust you and you have to be able to teach them. To me, it’s about keeping those people dancing, smiling, feeling good. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- All-Timers: Morales’ 5 Favorite Mixes When asked which tracks are always in his record box when he travels, David Morales responded, “Basement Jaxx ‘Fly Life,’ which is an all-time favorite, but mostly my own.†Here’s a list of his favorite remixes, productions and “reproductions.†1. “Dreamloverâ€â€”Mariah Carey. “My first remix that I reproduced. We changed the whole song. She sang a new vocal—we reproduced it, case-closed.†2. “Finallyâ€â€”CeCe Peniston. “Working with Satoshi Tomiie, the actual mix that we got off on the most was similar to ‘Someday’ by Ce Ce Rogers. A great song, but we didn’t know it would be a classic.†3. “I’ll Be Your Friendâ€â€”Robert Owens. “We cut that in my apartment’s bedroom. We cut vocals in my bathroom—natural reverb! It’s the first track that me and Satoshi worked on—another worldly favorite.†4. “Space Cowboyâ€â€”Jamiroquai. “If you listen to the original, it’s not a song—it’s a jam session. I ended up carving the lyrics up and creating the verse-chorus-verse structure.†5. “Mr. Lovermanâ€â€”Shabba Ranks. “That was huge, massive. It was his biggest record. For me, that was a big challenge. It was 80-90 BPM and the label wanted me to help cross it over to America. So I did this hip-hop beat with pretty R&B-pop chords—and it was a worldwide hit.†-------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reeling in the Years: Technology Then & Now After nearly 30 years of DJing, David Morales takes a spin through DJ gear old and new, and explains why some technologies will never win him over and others are too good to ignore. • Loudspeakers: I prefer the older speakers than the ones from today. Back then was analog; today is digital. That’s the difference. Can’t stand digital. It’s fake. It’s like the difference between music that’s got soul, heart, meaning and music that doesn’t. • Turntables: I started with Technics that had no pitch control—the SL-20s. For mixing, you just got as close as possible. And I still use Technics. • Reel-to-Reel Players: [Proudly] I still own a Technics RS-1700 reel-to-reel unit, which we used to use for echo—for “sound-on-sound,†as we used to call it. It was a way of getting delays at the same time. The greatest sound that you’d get was to bring a ¼-inch reel-to-reel [tape] 15 IPS [inches per second] from the studio and play it on the machine at the club because it had no feedback, no compression, nothing. The sound was unbelievable. Once the tape goes to the mastering lab, it’s processed. It’s the difference between cooking fresh food and putting it in a can with preservatives. • Acetates/CD-Rs: I burn CDs now, but before I did that I had acetates made. The problem with acetates is that they degrade and they’re hella expensive. So the CD allows you to press that record for less than a buck. Test it. If you don’t like it? Ciao. Digital is just really cost effective. • CD Player: I think the Pioneer CDJ-1000 is remarkable. It’s a great tool. I also just bought the Technics SL-DZ1200. It’s a monster. I love the sound quality. I’ve tested them and I think the Technics sounds better, but they both have their own features. They each have something on the other. But in my club and in my personal studio, I use the Pioneers. • Mixers: I love the UREI 1620. No two UREIs are alike—they have slightly different personalities And when it comes to playing CDs, there’s no trim for each pot, so naturally the turntables are hotter than the auxiliary pots. I compensate at Stereo with separate pre-amps for the CDJ-1000s. The volumes are set equal to the turntables, whereas with the Rane MP-2016, you have trim. I like the Allen & Heath mixers—they’re warm. I like the Rodec—it’s a [belgian] slide mixer. But pound-for-pound, I’ll take the old Bozak over all of them! Those original pots were just smoother.

Willie Graff was the opening Dj (hes a cielo resident) and played an amazing set like always. Hes one of those djs that people should really hear, very similar to behrouz on some levels. Anyhow Saw robert walk in and greeted him and his manager and to my suprised they remember me from roxy at danny t's party. Anyhow the crowd as always was filled with BEAUTIFUL people and some music heads. ROBERT came on and played all sorts of genres and sang live over his own recordings, defintely a great night. He sang MINE TO GIVE,TEARS, I'LL BE YOUR FRIEND, and 2 more songs i cant id right now. Also great seeing some people from 6 hubert street at the end of the night. Havent seen them since the last party. MUCH LOVE AND RESPECT TO ARGDIESEL,MSCREW for coming out and enyoing a good night of music/dance. See you guys soon.

evolve no doubt BACKUP but the last times ive heard him theres no trace of his older styles.

well crowina, thats why im out as much as i can and party as hard as i can.

The legendary DJ from the PARADISE GARAGE and hailed as the GREATEST DJ EVER by his peers and collegues.And if you dont believe that then ask them yourselves or reasearch it. Enjoy the interview and mix. Check it out here: http://choqolat.org/real%20audio/larry.rm And for some of ya who dont know who LARRY LEVAN IS here you go: Residencies 1972-1974 Continental Baths 1974-1975 - SoHo Place 1975-1976 - Reade Street 1977-1987 - Paradise Garage 1989 - The Choice 1990 - Mars 1991 - Sound Factory Larry Levan is quite possibly the most beloved DJ in the history of Dance music. Larry Levan and his friend Frankie Knuckles experienced the first rumblings of Disco and what became Dance music as we know it in the early 1970's as precocious teenagers. They soon built personal connections into professional DJ opportunities. While Knuckles headed to Chicago as one of the acknowledged founders of House, Larry Levan helped move Dance music from the crash of Disco to a new eclectic stew that entranced mixed audiences of multiple ethnicities and varying sexual orientations. His residency at Paradise Garage is legendary. Unfortunately, Levan's own life came to an abrupt tragic end in 1992 but his innovations and his inspiration live on. Larry Levan was born Laurence Philpot on July 21, 1954 in Brooklyn. Larry and Frankie Knuckles grew up amongst the New York City black gay bar scene. According to Knuckles they were introduced to each other by a drag queen who went by the name of Gerald and they both became part of the underground Voguing scene in which drag queens would compete against each other by throwing shade, or, in other words, visually demonstrating attitude. Levan and Knuckles quickly became entranced by the early Dance music scene in Manhattan, particularly after attending parties at David Mancuso's Loft. They were amazed by both the mixed nature (ethnicities and sexual orientations) of the crowd invited by Mancuso and the music itself. The two became well known on the club circuit and by 1972 had worked their way into helping out DJ Nicky Siano with setup at The Gallery. Larry Levan also began to hang out at Continental Baths and before long had managed to obtain a regular DJ gig for the Baths' small dancefloor. In 1974 the Continental Baths shut down and Frankie received a resident gig at SoHo Place, a new club modeled after David Mancuso'sLoft parties. After Richard Long, owner of Soho Place, made plans to shut down near the end of 1975, Larry Levan received a call from Michael Brody about a new club Brody was opening. The new club at 143 Reade Street was outfitted with a sound system built around Klipschorn speakers and designed with memories of David Mancuso's Loft in mind. Larry Levan had already developed a following and his reputation grew at Reade Street. The club developed notoriety for free-flowing drugs and a highly sexual atmosphere. With overcrowding and safety concerns mounting, Michael Brody was forced to close Reade Street, but before it closed he secured an agreement with Larry Levan that Levan would spin records at Brody's next club venture. The new Dance venue opened by Michael Brody was Paradise Garage. With funding from Brody's partner Mel Cheren and a sound system designed by Richard Long, Al Fierstein, and Larry Levan himself, Paradise Garage began operation hosting construction parties in 1977 to raise funds to complete work on the club. The official opening took place on February 17, 1978. Among the New York City Dance music elite, Larry Levan quickly became known as the top DJ working in the top club in the entire city. Billboard magazine's Disco Convention voted Paradise Garage Best Club and Best Sound System in both 1979 and 1980. Larry Levan became known for his ability to completely control the mood of his crowds through changes in the music being played and manipulation of lighting and sound controls. He took his primary inspiration from the work of David Mancuso and Nicky Siano but then created an entirely new atmosphere. Larry Levan was the only resident DJ at Paradise Garage for its nearly 10 years of existence. One of Larry Levan's legacies is the Dance music genre called Garage named in honor of Paradise Garage. However, the Garage style, an updated elegant expansion of classic Disco rhythms and vocals, is merely one small part of the music Larry Levan would play on a given night. The music he played could veer from classic Disco to Rock, Punk, Rap, various sound effects and back again. The mood or message being delivered was all important, and the music was a vehicle for creating or delivering it. Shortly after he began spinning records at Paradise Garage, Larry Levan moved into the remixing booth as well. With plenty of experience mixing various elements of Dance recordings live in the club, it was only natural that Levan would use his talents on recorded remixes. Among his early successes was a stripped down version of Instant Funk's I've Got My Mind Made Up in 1978 that ranks as one of the all-time great remixes. Among his other notable recorded mixes are Taana Gardner's Heartbeat, Central Line's Walking Into Sunshine, and Loose Joints' Is It All Over My Face?. In the early 80's Larry Levan took on production duties as well, most notably for The New York City Peech Boys' classic Don't Make Me Wait. Later in the decade he created notable remixes for Gwen Guthrie and Patti Austin among others. On record Larry Levan's music is noted for his use of synthesizer washes, Electro beats, and smooth, heavy bass lines that lay foundations for much of Garage and House to come. By the late 1980's Paradise Garage was falling on difficult times. Owner Michael Brody was gravely ill from the ravages of AIDs and Paradise Garage elected to close with a massive final party September 26-27, 1987. An estimated 14,000 people walked through the doors in 48 hours. The club's closing was a serious blow to Larry Levan. He assisted Ministry Of Sound in England setting up a new club modeled on the spirit of Paradise Garage. Relatively brief residencies took place at The Choice, Mars, and Sound Factory. However, it was clear that many years of a punishing lifestyle including drugs was having a physical impact. Larry Levan embarked on a final tour in 1992 with Francois Kevorkian. Larry Levan passed away on November 8, 1992 three months after the tour concluded. Larry Levan's legendary status has continued to grow with the passage of time. West End Records continues to help sponsor parties every year to celebrate Larry's birthday, and his spirit lives on in the countless DJs, remixers, and artists influenced by his talents. And here is 84 king street as it looks today:

Some of you guys make it seem like there was nothing b4 tunnel, limelite.

i dont know cause i didnt botherin CALLING BACK in the late am to get directions.

One of the if not thee greatest VOCALIST in HOUSE MUSIC will be perfoming live and spinning as well. Never had the chance of hearing him spin or perform but hear mixed reviews so gonna see for myself. So many great songs i hope he gets to perform "TEARS, I'LL BE YOUR FRIEND,MINE TO GIVE, AS ONE, I GO BACK,ETC" So this along with a great party over at CELLER BAR with CHRIS n KAI make my fri night a good one.

First HOUSE CLUB i stepped foot in was in 1995 at CLUB EXPO think the dj on that night according to my borther was DJ CORBETT saw LA BOUCHE perform there and enjoyed some CAFE CON LECHE parties for a bit with MERRIT, until my fake id was lost at some point. Then for a few yrs did the latin club scene with my cousin and his id until about 97-98 then got back to going to HOUSE clubs, lounges,bars,etc.

Also MARCH 13TH sunday DEEP for the 718 SESSIONS with DANNY KRIVIT,and APRIL 23RD sat at SULLIVAN ROOM for EXCIDIUM n KASKADE, Sullivan room again on SAT tHe 30TH for ADAM FREEMER N THAT KID CHRIS.

i hear stories about how madonna was BOOED at the PARADISE GARAGE when she performed there.

this is the junior i remember hering from my bro and cousin and the one i fell in love with. But now its a totally different thing.

havent been to this party since itmoved to SHOW but had a great time at CHEETAH back when it was mostly 90%gay. And then lil by lil the crowd changed. Gonna check it out one night soon hopefully.

Mustve been inspired by DAVID MANCUSO of the LOFT, whos been doin that since the late 60s early 70s and gave up on mixing records completely for a few yrs now. And hes still doing it to his huge faithful followers wish i could be there this sun to celebrate the 35th anniversary party.