This is heart music warmly structured, joyously sounding, that connects dancing feet to dancing hearts. “Yeeaaahhhhh” a baritone calls to attention. OUCH!!! Until she is peeled off the dance floor, seated on a bench, hobbled up the stairs, and helped out the door by security. Her left cheek smacks the concrete surface. Instead she steps right on the boot heel of a dancer mid-plank. Between beams of neon green, electric red, and metallic blue, the strobe lights go black.Ī drunken young girl-there is always one or two or three or more-steps off stage. Tonight, CDS plays in a makeshift booth perpendicular the dancers performing standing splits and handstands onstage. The body lingers for minutes, suspended on a speaker as legs stretch upwards into the heavens.īehold. New dance moves spring to life: dancing with the floor. With arms outstretched-reaching ever further-the knees crawl on the ground. Zaps from ray guns shooting at graphic figures jumping over rising and falling steel beams against electric cicadas singing in mating season appear in mind. “ Bang Royales” is the equivalent to listening to ping pong balls fly into paddles during table tennis. “Wambaba,” voices sing accompanying Thandiswa Mazwai’s calling in native tongue. A dancer splits her legs apart and bounces atop the floor. “Ay-eh-eh-eh-eh-eh-eh-eh-eh.” “Nugwe” brings the African chants. A Birdseye view of head wraps, ball caps, brunettes, and blondes displayed bodies swaying to hypnotic rhythms. Can you get off the speaker? Please?” The body was called to dance on the elevated soundscape by the three-count tapping of percussions, hissing snares, and driving kicks of the bass drum. Black fist bursts from chest cavities lunging bodies upward as if dancing feet levitate. “Ay-eh-eh-eh-eh-eh-eh-eh-eh,” a voice cries out. Suddenly, the air is electrified with dancing particles. He becomes the tornado that shreds the village dance floor. No one appears thrilled.Ĭuloe pumps his fist into the air. Culoe double downs a track the crowd has already experienced earlier, played by Stan Zeff. The heart asks what happened? The energy ebbs. Think afro-futurism’s soundtrack, Culoe plays its heart. “ Rambo.” Afro three-counts of pounding drums, wrapped under beeps, and rocking between handclaps. Certainly, Culolethu Zulu has come of age. He stands tall with a wide frame from lifting barbells. He no longer appears youth faced with a snarl that graced “A Giant Leap.” He now resembles age twenty-something, his face fuller. There since, he has re-released anthems on the Berlin based label. The music producer scored major crossover appeal with “ Y.O.U.D” on Innervisions Recordings. Much has changed for South Africa’s Culoe De Song since his last visit to Black Hollywood. Tambor’s DJ Stan Zeff’s grip held the crowd in sweet serenade. Within the belly, located downstairs, celestial beings nestled, delighted, and jumped mid-air to “ Pride.” Vocals interpreted by Nadira Shakoor over Osunlade’s heart beating pulse erupted into thunderous soul-claps, the greatest of the night thus far. House heads, techno heads, and Afro-lovers all gathered at the city’s, “Edge” to inhale the breath of beating drums in a boombox named…” ATL’s Alley Cat Music digitally posted the message over a network of platforms. This too was the cycle when the drum sojourned to the city. This was a time for not only celebration, but of reflection, of ancestors and their vast contributions and varied gifts to the world.
Black Peoples’ Month, the celebration of history & herstory. At the bar, surrounded by friends and acquaintances the party was off to a liquid start.ħ2 degrees Fahrenheit!!!” A voice shouted, perplexed at the temperature on the final Friday night in February of BPM. In the foreground, the chatter of voices spoke lines from a recent blackbuster superhero release. Onze-onze-onze thumped underneath staccato tappings in the background. I wanted to cry.” She gripped her right hand in her bosom and sighed.
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