As you all know, the Speaker Freak likes to keep it real, so this week I headed down to Yo, Son!--Chop Suey's Sunday night of what they describe as "low-class hiphop, turntablism, and bad taste." I downed my chilled bottle of Alizé, puffed on a gang of blunts, threw on my bling bling, rounded up my entourage, and headed out the door to catch my bus.
When I got to the club, it was refreshing to know that I could rock whatever gear I wanted. Lots of clubs that have hiphop nights will post "dress code enforced," meaning you have to be dressed like your grandpa getting ready for church before they let you in. Once inside, the vibe was all good. There were no hard mad-dog stares or attitude, though the presence of a sizable security guard--who looked like he was ready to break off some at a moment's notice--probably helped keep the love in the air. The crowd mainly consisted of b-boys and girls and Capitol Hill hipsters, but everyone looks like a hipster under Chop Suey's ultra-intense red lighting.
Even though there were more than a few dancers from the "Lords of the Floor" breakdancing competition in the house, it took a little while for the movement to get started. Dancing is probably one of the most natural actions there is, next to fucking and tax evasion, but it still takes a lot of courage to get out there, even when it's the main reason why everyone came out in the first place. The DJs had to keep coaxing and reminding people that this was a dance party and not a dance spectacle. Once everyone was comfortable, though, the dance floor started to fill up. The one thing about hiphop and turntablism shows is that the DJs want everyone to get fully involved in the music, but if you get an overzealous DJ cuttin' and scratchin' behind the back, it can get hard to dance to. As much as I respect turntable skills, I just wanna dance--I don't want to see some type of Olympic competition on the decks.
By 12:30 a.m. the dance floor had it goin' on. The great thing about Chop Suey is that there's plenty of room and the floors are nice and hard--there's nothing worse than trying to bust a move on a sticky floor that makes you feel like you're wading through quicksand. As the evening came to a close, everyone had a positive glow--which to me signifies a triumphant night, no matter how large or small the crowd is. The grooves were funky, the Moët was flowing like the Columbia River, the bling was flashin', the shorties were slammin', and fools weren't trippin'. I tipped my bartender with a crisp Benjamin and ran out to catch the last bus home. Word!
Yo, Son! every Sunday at Chop Suey, 1325 E Madison, 324-8000, 9 pm-2 am, 21+, $3.
