Every once in a while, there comes along a night where just one place won't do... A friend is unexpectedly in town, you've got people to meet up with in different places; regardless of the reason, unless something spectacular happens (like a Hispanic beauty queen feeding you free Remy -- see below) then you're bouncing.
This was one of those nights...
QUICK HITS:On my way home on a lonely Thursday night, a long, lost friend calls and says, "let's get drunk." After informing him that I am in fact, already drunk, and that he needs to catch up with me, we agree at a meeting point; Third Edition of Georgetown....
Third Edition is not unlike any other bar in a town near you -- Large wooden bar bracketed by two TV's with some sporting event broadcasting, cute waitresses studying Biochemistry and taking your order, booths and tables in the surrounding area and all-encompassed into one smoke-filled room.
After being carded by the bouncer who sprinted across the room to catch me (by the way people, new nickname: Out with Paradox and in with Mr. Cheeks. Why? Because that's ALL ANYONE SEES anyway!!!) I spot my Canadian brethren who were down for a visit. We chose this spot because it was Happy Hour and along with cheap pints, they had an open menu (Gotta feed the cheeks...). The music in this place is nothing to speak of and was frequently drowned out by the grunts of businessmen watching the football game anyway (This just in, Keyshawn Johnson's a bitch.) But they did have a one man folk music show come in just as we were leaving, if that's any consolation.
Not a bad place to meet up and/or pick up (as the two ladies from Tennessee will attest too!) before the night has even begun.
On to Diversities....
Located on 14th, between P and Q st, Diversities is a new club that, as the name suggests, caters to everyone on a different night. Saturday is Salsa. Friday in House. Tonight, I wanted to check out Soul Camp Thursdays which dealt exclusively with underground hip hop.
Now this place is almost exactly what I've been looking for -- a place to bring the whole CyberKrib crew. 2 levels and a balcony filled with the best underground hip hop in the city. The only unfortunate thing about it is the lack of promotion; it might as well have been DJ Infinite spinning at Smijies in Kingston, Ontario because that's exactly what the whole crowd (or lack of one) was. High school kids. And no women. And $5 cover?
Sorry, we gotta bounce to The Saint down the block....
Formerly known as The Eleventh Hour (see the review in the archives), The Saint opened it's doors less than a month and a half ago hoping to capitalize on whatever Thursday night hip hop crowd that Nation's (see review) doesn't handle. Once again, it's a dream spot. Even though they took out the separating wall with the fireplace, it still has polished wooden floors, two bars, leather couches and ample dance space. And top that off with a free Remy mix drink served by three of the finest women this side Nia and I ain't goin' NO WHERE partna!!
Unfortunately, they were. For some reason, the lights came on and they cleared the place out at midnight... Was it something I said?
Back to Diversities to check the crowd... Oh, now it's $10 cover? And is that the captain of the high school football team I see dancing by himself in the middle of the dance floor?
Onto meet some people at 2:k:9... Now you already know what this place is normally all about (see review) but tonight, it's ladies night... Sound promising? Yeah, it sounded good to me as well until I found out what it was....
First off, $10 cover. That's okay. Horny women on a night designed for them, I can pay for. Step inside, don't even look around, just straight to the dance floor. But less than two dances into our stay, some fool on the stage interrupts our flow. He orders the fellas to the back, and the ladies to the front. Me being the stubborn ass that I am, stays right with the lady I'm with, only to be slowly nudged to the side as the main event takes place on stage... My cries of "What? all of a sudden the cheeks aren't good enough for you!!" fall on deaf ears as a muscular man wearing only a thong shakes his pleasure sausage to Sisqo (how clever!).
You've never seen a room full of men so pissed... (I guess they didn't know what ladies night was either...) One J&B and ginger and we're out like any self-esteem any of the men in that club had.
Let's bounce to Madam's Organ....
That's right. After enduring a male strip-tease show, the first place I wanted to head to was a place named after what was on my mind this (and every other) night. But again, it's not what you think... But it is one of the cooler places I've found in this city. Located in the Adams Morgan, the hot spot for all ages, Madam's Organ has to be one of the only three-leveled bars I've ever seen. The top floor has chairs and a pool table, the mid-level has tables for dining and chilling and the bottom floor has the bar, pseudo-stage and mock dance floor -- really it was just drunken people not giving a fuck at 3am who made a small walkway into a dance floor. Tonight, live on stage was a Salsa band (even if you don't like the stuff, you can't get away from it in this damn town...).
But what really makes this place, besides the laid-back spirit off all whole frequent it, is the atmosphere. I think it can summed up best by the t-shirt that hangs on the wall, "Madam's Organ -- Where the beautiful people come to get ugly..." and let me tell you, they ain't lyin'!!!
But, time is short and the girls we're dancing with have long passed out at our feet (happens all the time...), so let's move on to Bokum Cafe....
Situated across the street from Madam's Organ, in the ever-popular Adams Morgan section of the city, Bokum Cafe is yet another perfect place to start an evening. With live reggae music and tasty cuisine, there's always a reason to at least drop by the restaurant bar. However, it being quarter to three, this night is almost over and before I can order the house special, "Bokum Blast," they close their doors and shove the drunken rastas out.
No matter, there's still one more place to hit; Penthouse.
On second thought, there appears to once again be a policeman's ball being held on the street directly outside this bar so I think we'll call it a night.
All in all, seven venues hit, less than 15 miles driven and about a 1000 new people met -- Not a bad night in the dirty city. It's something that I definitely recommend doing a couple of times a year, but avoid the high school jams with no women if possible.
I'm out like any chance of getting into Penthouse when the Po Po got it looked down...
The Layout:
There are two levels to the club popularly known as Y2K (whether intentional
or otherwise).
The downstairs consists of a stage, central dance floor, sofa seating area
and a bar, and it's all encased
in an area that could probably fit into your rich uncle's basement.
Overlooking all of this is possibly one of the
coolest VIP rooms in the city (not that my ghetto self would know what VIP
looks like!) Elevated just to the left of
the bar, brass banisters lead up a small set of stairs to a burly gentleman
in a foul mood. But whereas most VIP rooms
pride themselves as being 'exclusive' and 'secretive', 2:k:9's room is
incased entirely in misty, tinted glass, somehow making
all of the people inside that much more beautiful... And did I forget to
mention, after all of the fine ladies get their
drink on in the VIP bar, they usually make their way out to the steel cages
situated on either side of the dance floor.
However, an unpleasant side effect of the "year 2000" theme of the club is
that males are in the cages more often
than females (losers)...
The upstairs is your worst nightmare realized. Do you remember your 7th grade dance where you thought for sure that the moonwalk was gonna make a comeback? Do you remember the 9th grade dance where you thought all of the ladies would be mesmerized by you own personal adaptation of the cabbage patch?
Well, the junior high gym that those dances took place in has somehow been transported across the street from Howard University and they're charging 10 bones to get in... It has one couch in the corner, one bar along the side... and... that's.... it! I mean, even the high school dances had bleachers that you could sneak behind. All night long I just kept looking over my shoulder, feeling guilty for consuming alcohol and waiting for Ms. Henry to ask if I finished my Social Studies homework...
The Atmosphere:
As I said, upstairs everybody was worried about Monday's chemistry test, but
downstairs was chill. The music got
better as the night progressed and the place filled up. But as my man said,
it was just a little to 'open' there
if you know what I mean. Sometimes there's just one little thing that stops
a club from taking off; here's it's the
fact that there's no privacy. It just adds to the "Parental Supervision"
feel the place unfortunately has.
Once you're there, you're THERE and everyone knows it... (But somehow that
still didn't stop the three sick and high kids from losing each other!)
Overall, this place isn't bad. It's definitely a drop off from the big three of the same genre (Platinum, DC Live, Republic Gardens) but it does provide a slightly more intimate alternative. If you end up going, just be sure not to let the principle catch you smoking in the bathrooms...
I'm out like any possibility of fun at a school dance...
After going to yet another unimpressive show, Paradox aka Mr. Cheeks once said, "Man, enough of this! I wonder what would ever happen if I actually went to a show put on by an artist that I actually LIKED?!? I'd go crazy, just watch..."
Fast forward a couple of years to the day of the Lyricist Lounge Tour hosted by Mos Def and witness a deathly-ill Paradox, bed-ridden with the flu and sweating like a black man in Oklahoma on the day O.J. got set free. But unwilling to let something trivial like a 101 degree temperature deter me, me and my boy ventured out into the city in search of true hip-hop. We were not disappointed.
Willis Reed limping out onto the court for Game 7 of the 1970 NBA Finals; Michael Jordan shaking off the flu and dehydration to score 38 points and nail a game-winning shot; Paradox going clubbing on a Sunday night with a flask full of OJ - all three are examples of champions rising to the occasion to meet the challenge. The only difference between the three? Only one of us added a foreign substance to his sickness and got too blazed to even remember half of the show...
Nevertheless, I will do my best to recount the events as they transpired up until my second blackout.
The venue: Nation's Nightclub. Not a bad place to catch a show, and the only place in South East D.C. that white kids will show up to. The show: The Lyricist Lounge Tour hosted by the Mighty Mos Def. I'd been waiting a whole year for this jam and wasn't going to let anything stop me (except myself).
True to it's name, the Lyricist Lounge tour placed its emphasis on the mic skills, featuring many unknown, but not unskilled artists, both freestyling and performing original tracks. With no name recognition to go by, the audience was forced to respond exclusively to the lyrical content and flow off each artist, and judging by their reaction, the crowd whole-heartedly approved. The verbal battling of the lesser-knowns eventually gave way to a surprise addition to the tour, Nature (formally of the Firm).
Let it be known that I am a Nature fan -- just not on this night. As an alternative to AZ's fantasies of becoming the first Don with a lisp to sound like he's twelve and Foxy Brown's ho-dreams of actually becoming attractive, Nature is brilliantly placed, serving an a somewhat real voice to listen to in the midst of such over-the-top delivery. However, placed in the same lineup as no-name kids that just want to battle, Nature loses his shine... (Much to the chagrin of the impressive ladies behind me that knew every word to all of his songs. Well, they were impressive until they proceeded to yell, "Go 'head you sexy muthafucka!" Come again? Nature's sexy? Baby, if Nature's got it goin' on, have some of Paradox...)
Next up were the 'stars' of the appropriately titled MTV show, "The Lyricist Lounge Show." Master Foo, Wordsworth, et al for the most part, WRECKED SHOP! Especially, that crazy cat, Master Foo. Picture, if you will, a brotha skinnier than Chris Tucker, the energy of Mystikal, and the delivery and hairstyle of a swap meet Busta Rhymes. Needless to say, I love me some Master Foo.
Exit that crew and enter intermission and blackout number one. The lack of oxygen, the lack of water, the fact that I hit on two best friends (How was I supposed to know? They weren't even standing together...), was all too much for my brain. But, then the $3 waters were too much for my wallet so I made it back up to the front of the crowd just in time for my man.
Performing in front of a live band, Mos Def the entertainer took to the stage. Performing most of the hits (what, no Speed Law? No Next Universe? No Do It Now?!?!?), the songs took on a totally different feel with the live instrumentation supplied by various members of both the P-Funk all-stars and Living Color. But alas, just as blackout number two started to rear its ugly head, Mos Def the entertainer turned into Mos Def the Funk Lord. And by the time I had crawled up the back staircase and into a recliner, Mos Def the Funk Lord had completely morphed into Mos Def the Rock Star. Thoroughly confused by this, the entire crowd below me started to disperse as his grand experiment seemed to fail. But being a connoisseur of all music (and still not possessing full control of all of my limps), I stuck it out.
All in all, not a bad show. Not what I expected from Mos, but I should have known better than to expect anything. The real stars as it was intended were the underground cats who warmed up the crowd when nobody knew their name. Now that's love.
I'm out like a hip hop crowd during a guitar solo...
One more thing, kids - DON'T SMOKE WHEN YOU HAVE THE FLU!!! Or do. But only if tasting the top of a bar is your idea of a good time...
Paradox is all about class people. No seriously! I have no problem throwing on some slacks and getting all prettied-up for a night on the town with a lady friend. As a matter of fact, I actually enjoy it every once in a while.
Enter the legendary Zanzibar club.
For over 10 years strong, this African-Owned club has been catering to DC's Black-CEO-type crowd (the largest in the world, y'all) , giving the old folks an alternative to the young people's bump 'n grind.
Beautifully placed on the along Waterfront, this 25 and over club (I think that's illegal by the way....) provides the perfect date atmosphere for an upscale night on the town.
Zanzibar consists of two floors connected by a visually appealing lighted mirror and winding staircase. The bottom floor has a segmented dance floor separated by a waste-high barrier (something for the drunken old people to grab on to!) The entire area is surrounded by restaurant tables. The top floor includes a ridiculously elevated DJ booth (how does he take requests?!?), two large bars and a smooth lounge area. There's also work-in-progress balcony with an illuminated bar and a romantic view of the harbor.
Not a bad venue at all.
The music on the other hand... Understand, Paradox is the king of soul. Name a song in hip hop and R&B, the kid knows the sample source. But I like GOOD old music. Not "Dancing Queen", Not "Caribbean Queen", or any other queen for that matter... I'm talking Al, Otis and Marvin -- That's my shit.
So whenever I'm in a club that's supposed to be chill and I hear sound effects that belong in a video game (you know what I'm talking about!) I get a little discouraged... That leaves the best nights for this place Fridays and Wednesdays. Wednesday is salsa night (ladies, there's nothing sexier than a black man with fat checks that knows how to salsa...) and Friday is primarily African/Reggae music and Funk.
So if you wish to avoid the mental torture that can only be classified as "Donna Summer," make sure you reserve one of those two nights for a classy evening at the Zanzibar. You and your date won't be disappointed. And if it's ever not going well, you can always make fun of the old people ("Hooo!!")
Paradox is out like the dude who came complete with the blazer and no shirt, high cut flat-top and "official Cameo fan club glasses"... Word up, buddy, Word up.
(And on the seventh day, Paradox rested... What's up y'all? October 10th was my father's birthday, so as a gift to him, I didn't go out and further sully the family name at some jam.... But I still look out for Da Krib, so I got someone else to write a review of the Roots show for me. ENJOY! ---- Disclaimer: The thoughts and ramblings of Tuck-Fu aka Da Funky Ghost do not reflect the views or opinions of Paradox 'cuz ain't no way I'm gettin' in trouble for his sorry ass... That's right. I said it!!)
A victim of indolence, I was unable to attend the opening and succeeding show that marked the inception of The Roots' fall tour. Consorting with colleagues, however, I realized I got the best show of all. The third of 3 DC area shows performed this past Tuesday by this Philly-based Hippity-Hop group of vibrant performers was perhaps the greatest (and certainly the most eclectic) I have seen to date (In a performance that included grossly miscast cameo appearances and scantily-clad farm girls, what could be dull?) A native of the Philadelphia area myself, I thought I had seen all there was to see, but I was wrong. Yes, The Roots came to play, ladies and gentlemen.
In a surprising rendition of "You Got Me" (perhaps the group's best known single off their latest studio album, "Things Fall Apart"), the part normally crooned by other such R&B queens as Jill Scott and Erykah Badu, was all but shredded by angry girl rocker Courtney Love. For their performance of "Concerto of the Desperado," another surprise appearance was made by metal band Metallica's front man, James Hetfield, in another feeble attempt to fuse the never-quite-right mixing of metal and hip-hop which has claimed other such casualties as ONYX and Biohazard and RUN-DMC and Aerosmith. The normally moving strings section of the track was performed by the Boston Symphony Orchestra, who, in rare form, went electric for this performance. It goes on...
After completing a stunning display of vocal rhythms, Roots mechanical magician of the mic, Rahzel, took an unfortunate spill down the stage steps, but always joking and smiling, he tried to play it off. Not one person in the joint (including myself) realized the true nature of his injuries. Rahzel ended up splitting his lip and losing his two front teeth courtesy of the BOSE(tm) speaker, stage left. What was left was a man without his ability to orally drop the beats that make us move. A sad story, doctors say Rahzel is in stable condition, and the injury is definitely more mental than physical. The release of his new album (all too aptly named "Why You Trippin'?") will have to be postponed until next summer.
In perhaps the most bizarre finale of any of the 30-some shows I have had the pleasure of attending, The Roots cast members invited many of the abundant coffee-shop chicks onto the stage, when the pig-tailed-picnic-tablecloth-shirt-wearing sisters of Middle of Nowhere, Virginia threw off their outer wear to and began a dancing ritual with the band members that I have dubbed "The Forbidden Macarena" while a country tune blared in the background. Not since the days of Vanilla Ice and MC Shan has a white person belonged on stage less. I never would have thought Hip-Hop would go interracial (more specifically country), but Roots front man and drummer Black Thought and ?-Love took to the white women as if they were Spike Lee.
On their artistic measure, Roots score a 10+, but the musical quality of their shows has really gone down hill. I guess this White Dude just misses his own country coffee shop chick.
CONCERT SCORE: C+