Home! Town! Heroooooes! (Got Staaaars in they eyes)

August 20, 2008 by Sexy Fitsum  Send to a Friend

There have been a shit ton of monster parties this year. Will Eastman’s godzilla (Haha. Monster. Get it?) BlissPop series at the 930 Club, damn near suffocating to def at any of the Nouveau Riche parties, them LODA bangers in Silver Spring and parties at the Black Cat (now with new and improved LAPD-style beatdowns courtesy of their gestapo security), for example. But the best and maybe even largest parties IMO have been ones like the affairs at Gold Leaf, the WMC Wrap Up and our more or less nuclear BYT relaunch; near-all-nighters in alternative venues that were just as organized and secure as any big show at 930. Increasingly, these alt-venue joints are made possible thanks to all the sponsorfarian cream that’s been flowing from octopi like Scion, who desperately want in on the all important broke-20 something-gangsta emo market. Kind of reminds me of what that wee gravelly-voiced man’s talk about “irrational exhuberance”. Does it make sense? Not really. But it pays the price and keeps the mic-sound nice.

Young Mr. Furly 2.0 Chris Burns, the James Brown of DC disc jockies — along with a bunch of other folks who should make themselves known and take a fucking bow — managed to hook up a tiny giant of a party last friday night at the Trinidad & Tobago Association, just a hop, a duck down, and a skip away form the Georgia Avenue-Petworth metro. This was partially the manifestation of all the “why, there oughta be a …” buzz about a Club Red reunion (sadly, not as satanic as it sounds) that’s been going on for some time this year. Just as soon as it was finally put together, the party immediately got stress-tested with a last minute change of venue. It survived and you only need to read here and here to get a sense of how well it went. Mr. Sam Burns (solid sunday nights at Red) and Mr. Doug Smith (alternation Saturday nights either by himself or his live music/dj combo 95 North) were in the house upstairs. The Rip Off’s Scotbot and Houston were followed by All Good Funk Alliance’s Rusty B operated in the parlour downstairs. The per capita dj count was in fact kind of ridonculous. Here moo, there moo, everywhere moo moo …. All in all, a gold star all-inclusive event with gangs of familiar faces. We can all get along. What didn’t turn out so well was my abillity to freely shoot the wickedly skilled dancers as they went off-chain. But I hear tell this’ll be a monthly, so I’ll have to be back with my Henry Kissinger activated and do better.

Look at me!

Look at my neice!

Haha. Ok. I’m out.
1.

(more photos here)

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