2. Consolidation Revolution
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55 of 522 Party Pariahs and the Path to Permanent 2. consolidation Revolution 6932 Lawrence / LOVE SAVES THE DAY / sheet A virtuoso of West African percussion, Babatunde Olatunji traveled from Nigeria to the United States in 1950 in order to study at Morehouse Col- lege in Atlanta on a Rotary International scholarship. He applied to take a Ph.D. at New York University in the hope that this would enable him to pursue a diplomatic career but quickly ran out of money and turned to music in order to earn a living. It proved to be an auspicious U-turn: in 1958 he was invited to appear as a featured soloist at a Radio City Sym- phony Orchestra concert at Radio City Music Hall, and he was subse- quently offered a record deal by Columbia. Featuring four drummers and nine female singers, Drums of Passion was released the following year and became a national hit, effectively introducing African percussion to the American listener. Francis Grasso purchased the mesmerizing slab of vinyl in a record store on Flatbush Avenue. ‘‘I was a wee teenager,’’ he says. ‘‘I had always wanted to be a drummer and was fascinated with African beats. The album had this outrageous cover of all these men playing drums. It was a favorite of mine way before I became a disc jockey.’’ Drums of Passion lived up to its name. ‘‘I took it with me whenever I wanted to get laid. All of the women said that it was so rhythmically sexual.When I went to a girl’s house I took Olatunji and Johnny Mathis. I would start off with Olatunji and end up with Johnny Mathis.’’ Grasso started to play the polyrhythmic sounds of the African artist only once Seymour and Shelley had taken control of the Sanctuary, and ‘‘Jin-Go-Lo-Ba (Drums of Passion)’’ became his most radical statement—older music for a bolder dance floor. ‘‘You needed a crowd that was limber enough. Straight people were clumsy and had no rhythm, whereas gay men were right on. They moved their hips, Tseng 2003.10.1 08:35 56 of 522 their bodies, and their arms, and the faster the music got the crazier they reacted. I didn’t want to play Olatunji until I had an audience for it.’’ San- tana had coincidentally just come out with a cover version of ‘‘Jin-Go-Lo- Ba,’’ renamed ‘‘Jingo,’’ and the Sanctuary DJ used this popular remake as his cue. ‘‘I said to myself, ‘If Santana works then the real shit is going to kill them!’ I was good at mixing one record into another so I played the Santana and brought in ‘Jin-Go-Lo-Ba.’ The crowd preferred the Olatunji, where there’s no screaming guitar. They got into it straight away.’’ Francis Grasso Select Discography (Sanctuary 1970) 6932 Lawrence / LOVE SAVES THE DAY / sheet Abaco Dream, ‘‘Life and Death inG&A’’ James Brown, ‘‘Cold Sweat,’’ from Live at the Apollo, Volume 2 James Brown, ‘‘Get Up I Feel Like Being a Sex Machine’’ James Brown, ‘‘Mother Popcorn (You Got to Have a Mother for Me)’’ Chicago, ‘‘I’m a Man’’ The Four Tops, ‘‘Still Waters’’ Jimi Hendrix, Band of Gypsys The Jackson 5, ‘‘ABC’’ King Crimson, In the Court of the Crimson King Led Zeppelin, ‘‘Immigrant Song’’ Led Zeppelin, ‘‘Whole Lotta Love’’ Little Sister, ‘‘You’re the One’’ The Marketts, ‘‘Out of Limits’’ Olatunji, ‘‘Jin-Go-Lo-Ba (Drums of Passion)’’ Osibisa, Osibisa Rare Earth, ‘‘Get Ready’’ Mitch Ryder & the Detroit Wheels, The Detroit-Memphis Experiment Sam and Dave, ‘‘Hold On! I’m a Coming’’ The Temptations, ‘‘I Can’t Get Next To You’’ Within the framework of the public discotheque circuit,Grasso’s range of music was unique. In addition to Olatunji and Santana he would play the raw funk of James Brown, the rock-like reverberations of the Doobie 34 love saves the day Tseng 2003.10.1 08:35 57 of 522 Brothers, the sweet sounds of boyhood hero Johnny Mathis, and the African-rock fusion of Osibisa, as well as Motown staples such as the Supremes and the Jackson 5. ‘‘Terry Noël was on a different wavelength,’’ says Grasso. ‘‘He would play the Beatles, he would play the Stones, he would play Elvis, and he would play bubble gum. He wasn’t very big on black. I played more soul, more R&B, more African, and more rock. I played things nobody would dream of playing. I gave you the full bag.’’ David DePino, who was working behind the bar, found himself shuffling to a new beat. ‘‘Francis got heavy. He played all kinds of music—things that you wouldn’t expect to hear.’’ Grasso’s method of mixing was initially less radical than his actual selections. Leaning heavily on radio protocol as well as the practice of 6932 Lawrence / LOVE SAVES THE DAY / sheet other discotheque DJs, he would segue from one record to the next by using his fingertip to grip the non-playing record as the turntable spun underneath. When the outgoing track recited its final phrases he would release his hold, and the two records would overlap for a couple of sec- onds, bleeding into each other and establishing a temporary bridge—or ‘‘blend,’’ as it was more frequently described—that maintained the musi- cal flow and helped to generate a hypnotic groove. That groove became virtually seamless if the DJ ‘‘slip-cued’’ between two copies of an extended single in which the recording was pressed up in ‘‘two halves’’ on the A- and B-sides of a forty-five. These were standard tricks of a nascent trade, but, as the reaction from the dance floor became progressively more intense, Grasso set about in- venting a technique that would dramatically extend the effect. Using his headphones to their full potential, the DJ started to use his left ear to listen to the incoming selection and his right ear to hear the amplified sound in order to forge an imaginary amalgam that, if everything was in place, could be transformed into sonic reality. ‘‘Somewhere in the middle of my head,’’ says Grasso, ‘‘I would make the mix.’’ The DJ’s most famous permutation layered the Latin beats of Chicago’s ‘‘I’m a Man’’ over the erotic groans of the vocal break in Led Zeppelin’s ‘‘Whole Lotta Love.’’ ‘‘You really couldn’t dance to the Zeppelin once it went into that orgas- mic tripping stuff, but if you mixed it with the Chicago then you could. Amazingly, the entire break of ‘Whole Lotta Love’ lasted exactly the same time as ‘I’m a Man,’ so as the ‘I’m a Man’ finished the full song of ‘A Whole Lotta Love’ would come back.’’ Unstable and exciting, the vinyl compound emerged as a heightened moment of DJ musicianship, with Grasso cast- consolidation 35 Tseng 2003.10.1 08:35 58 of 522 ing aside entrenched notions of artistic integrity—that these were sepa- rate records—in favor of exploratory combinations that became longer and longer. ‘‘Nobody mixed like me. Nobody was willing to hang out that long. Because if you hang out that long the chances of mistakes are that much greater.’’ The problem of combining two records that were in all likelihood run- ning at different tempos, and whose live drummers were prone to rhyth- mic shifts, was compounded by inflexible mixing technology. ‘‘Back then you couldn’t adjust speeds,’’ says Grasso. ‘‘You had to catch it at the right moment. There was no room for error, and you couldn’t play catch up. I had Thorens turntables and you couldn’t do that on Thorens.’’ If the DJ wanted to increase the tempo he would simply bring in a record that ran 6932 Lawrence / LOVE SAVES THE DAY / sheet half a beat faster. ‘‘I would build it up slowly. I was dealing with people who were high.The idea was to make them enjoy their head, not fuck with their head. I took care of the people who paid to hear me.’’ Unfavorable conditions made Grasso’s feats all the more remarkable. The average forty-five lasted little more than two minutes, in which time the DJ would have to find his next record, cue it up, make the mix, and work the lights. ‘‘The lights were on my right-hand side on a switchboard, but to work the main room lights I had to go out of my booth, run past the service bar and go into this little room where there were these heavy- duty switches. I would flip the switches to the beat of the music, and then I’d run back to my booth. I earned my pay.’’ Grasso also operated the discotheque’s state-of-the-art strobes, which generated a profoundly disorienting environment. ‘‘When the strobe lights went on they really strobed,’’ says DePino. ‘‘They made it look like people were dancing in slow motion. It was intense, surreal.’’ Frank Crapanzano was similarly spellbound. ‘‘The Sanctuary was the first place I ever saw a strobe light. The effect was so overwhelming I had to stop dancing—and I’m a dancer. Everyone looked ominous and satanic. It was just beyond.’’ Timesaving strategies were crucial for Grasso. When he needed to go for a pee, he visited the sink in the utility room, which was a short walk from the altar. (The men’s toilet was deemed out-of-bounds because he was worried the Sanctuary’s gay contingent would get the wrong idea about his sexuality, and the women’s bathroom on the other side of the discotheque was too far away.) The discovery that records could be ‘‘read’’ also helped Grasso streamline the mixing process.