Trouble In the House?
by Vonetta Booker-Brown

First of all, as Conrad Neblett suggests, let’s not even call it “house music.”  Because when he breaks down why he feels the genre shouldn’t be referred to as such, the guy makes a lot of sense.  

“Calling it ‘house’ is only describing one aspect of the scene,” said the founder of popular NYC Sunday afternoon dance party Together In Spirit (Club Demerara, 215 W. 28th St. in Manhattan).  Instead, the 49-year-old Harlem resident explains his view that the term “soulful dance music” does a better justice in capturing the genre’s diverse sound (which includes jazzy instrumentals, tribal beats, gospel stylings and is influenced by 70s/disco classic soul artists like Rufus & Chaka Khan, Jocelyn Brown, Patti LaBelle and the O’Jays). “It really is about how you present it,” he said.  “It brings dignity and respect to the powerful music that it is.”   For any househead who’s mentioned the music to an outsider only to be met with a quizzical stare and that annoying question, “Oh, that’s like techno, right?” Neblett makes a lot of sense.  

Wouldn’t it be nice if labels were the only issue in the New York City dance music scene?  But according to many clubgoers, DJs and promoters, etc., all isn’t well in paradise—there’s something about the scene that isn’t what it used to be.   

“I’d hear things about closings; I was on a website’s forum recently, and someone posted the question, ‘Have you noticed the house scene sinking?’ There were like, hundreds of replies agreeing that it was,” recalls Neblett. 

Although complaining is often necessary, so are solutions—which can’t happen without dialogue first.   Neblett took this into account when he decided to hold an admission-free “Soulful Dance Scene” discussion at Club Demerara on Dec. 18.  About 50 or so soulful dance enthusiasts (clubgoers, DJs, promoters, indie journalists) braved the evening’s crispy-cold evening to gather at the club’s second-floor space, bringing potluck snacks and a willingness to air their gripes, their opinions on what does still work, and their suggestions for solutions. 

After everyone introduced themselves in a large circle (with Neblett moderating the discussion), the mike began to make its rounds, and folks began to open up.  “I know some people might not like to hear what I’m going to say, but I just want to hear straight-up house for a change,” said a stocky, baldhead guy, totally meeting Neblett’s request for honesty from those speaking.  “No tribal; and I’m tired of Femi and mellowed-out tracks that put me to sleep.  Just give me some good old, all-American house.”   The brother’s last request managed to raise some eyebrows;  a tall, lanky guy pointed out that while he understood his desire for “traditional” house, many of the rhythms he’d complained about were, in fact, “American.”  “All of us who contribute are from somewhere else,” he said, pointing around the room.  “And we bring those sounds to what we create.” 

Brooklyn resident John Fredericks’ gripe was probably one of the most common: a soulful dance scene with limited accessibility.  “I really have to search for a decent party to go to; I have to really search to hear decent music,” said the dancer/actor.  

“This needs to be an artist-based culture,” said Brooklyn DJ/producer Josh Thomas, who had an issue with how anonymous and interchangeable soulful dance vocalists often are, compared to their producers (who are often the “stars” in the genre).  People also griped about things such as disorganization, sloppy business practices, and too much reliance on alcohol sales—something Neblett had briefly mentioned before the forum.  “It’s difficult to do a party in Manhattan,” he said, citing the results from a combination of Giuliani’s cabaret license crackdown, pricey rents and the fact that soulful dance clubgoers tend not to rely too much on alcohol consummation in general—often a liability at the bar for club owners.  “It’s difficult for them to see the long-term picture.  It’s a struggle for them to look outside the box sometimes.”  

Once everyone got their issues off their chests, Neblett kept the discussion moving.  “Okay, so what does still work for everyone?” he asked.  Many pointed out the down-to-earth, non-pretentious atmosphere that soulful dancegoers characteristically bring to their parties.  “When I see people release and let go—when I see them healing themselves through the music—that’s working,” said one tall, burly brother in black.  Others recalled positives such as Together In Spirit’s recent anniversary party—how no security was needed, even with the 400-plus partygoers who showed up to celebrate.   Yours truly threw her two cents in, as well—I commented that being in a fun, laid-back atmosphere around people who are there to simply dance and sweat (without merely standing against the wall and/or trying to look cute) has always and continues to work for me.  Many others nodded in agreement, while an energetic young man nicknamed Loose (“because I get loose on the floor,” he later explained) builded on my comment and pointed out the respect that the scene holds for women—something often scarce to non-existent in other genres.  

With the negatives and positives of the soulful dance scene having been aired, it was time for people to voice their ideas for solutions.  Kervyn Martin was ready; the Brooklyn DJ came armed with copies of a well-organized proposal he’d typed up, outlining the idea for a “NYC Summer Soulful Series/Showcase.”  Attendees nodded their heads in agreement at the idea of a conference that would promote the tri-state area’s artists, DJs, record labels and clubs.   Martin’s stance behind his idea was that organization and business-savvy would be the main way for the soulful dance music scene to make its presence known as a force to be reckoned with.  “We need to start thinking like business people,” he said.  “That’s the only way we’ll make it.”  

Brooklyn DJ Ian Rock also suggested exposing younger people to soulful dance music, in order to pass the dance legacy on to a younger generation.  “If we start bringing more younger people [age 18-25] to the clubs with us, it will help support the scene longer.” 

All in all, it was probably the words of clubgoer and writer Carmen Mitchell (aka Princess Tamtam), that summed up why so many devotees to the music turned out to discuss what was important to them.  “We’re not just dancing to have fun—we’re dancing for survival.  We’re dancing to save our lives.”