By Andre Torrez
I entered SoMa’s Paradise Lounge for the first time this past Valentine’s Day, startled by an unexpected fashion show - it was scheduled, I just didn’t know about it - oddly set to the music of the Jackson 5. And it wasn’t your typical “ABC," or “I Want You Back." No, that wouldn’t have fit the atmosphere at all. It was one of their less obvious '70s grooves, something a little grittier and less innocent, so props to the DJ who demonstrated the intuition to foreshadow an evening of freaks on the floor.
The brief parade of design provided a blur of a background as we settled into the club. With drinks in tow, my friends and I made our way upstairs to get a better view above the stage. Before we knew it, HOTTUB, Oakland’s answer to queercore, was shakin’ its shit all over the place. If memory serves me right, the group has referred to a few of its tracks as real “pussy bangers." Perhaps that’s a suggestion for what to do while listening to their music. I’m not really sure.
The ladies had some good beats, but I couldn’t help but fantasize that someone with some mad lyrical skills would just rip the mic out of their hands and lay the flow down for real. Unfortunately that just remained in my head as I stared blankly at the outfit, hoping for better. HOTTUB were fun in a we-aspire-to-be-Peaches sort of way. If anything, watching a dancer come out of nowhere and help herself to the platform suspended above the stage provided some comic relief. It was like she couldn’t resist her instinctive calling.
By now we had made our way to a booth with an annoyingly broken table clad with shiny party confetti and a slew of fliers for upcoming events. Los Angeles’ Dam Funk proved he’s a little man with a lot to say. The Stones Throw artist slightly altered his style for the evening, parting with his usual synthesized funk from the OG Jheri curl era in order to cater to the crowd. In an unprecedented DJ move, he shouted out to the audience, giving stats for the records he was playing. No joke. He would call out the years they were made and give little tidbits of info. Wait, it gets better. All the while he used echo effects for an element of spaciness. Personally I’d never seen anyone do that so tastefully. I found it quite endearing and enjoyed his southern Cali space-funk style, so I'll definitely be seeking out his upcoming shows.
Truth be told I was ready to dance, and my Red Bull had done just the trick. Maybe a little too much as I spilled my next drink on myself, and my crotch embarrassingly taking the brunt of it. Guess it gave me the shakes. Still, Dam Funk had done his job right and inspired us to head downstairs where the disco ball lit up the floor. It was now time for the legendary Juan Atkins to spin.
After about an hour of deep house-friendly grooves he finally started to spin the robotic funk I had been craving. Things became much more sinister when Kraftwerk, Cybotron (Atkins' alter-ego), Derrick May, and numerous other Detroit techno gems were worked into the mix. The way he spun 1983's “Clear” was a perfect example of what I expected this show to be, and with this one track alone, he went above and beyond. Had I been hallucinating I’m sure I’d appreciated the light show, projection screen visuals, and fog machine that much more.
Alas, the party drugs of yore apparently aren’t popular by today’s standards. By 3 a.m. I noticed the dance floor had become sadly sparse. I wondered if the show would really go until 4 as promised, but after all that electro boogeying, I began to grow tired and had seen enough. I was only able to hang for a few more minutes, before exiting into the rain. I was greeted by one of those fancy Lincoln Town Car cabs that always seem to let you haggle on the fare. Sketchy.
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