WRITTEN BY ABDOULIE ‘ABAYOMI’ JALLOW – FOR·MA·TIVE GUEST WRITER
Just like many folks, when I got my first taste of this ‘thing’ I was rather hooked. The bass that rattles your body like a massage, the bouncy drum patterns echoing across the room, and the expressive walks of life that you will cross paths with in various situations that will show you a side of humanity that you don’t see in the everyday world are all integral to this form of therapy. I grew up around house music, from it bumpin’ in the car while my mom drove us to do errands, to me and my friends banging table beats at lunchtime in middle school, to the SoundCloud mixes of some New York legends (of my generation at least). Miss Jennifer, Victor Calderone, The Martinez Brothers, Louie Vega, Ricardo Villalobos, Derrick Carter, to name a few, were on constant rotation. And to be honest, it felt like being a part of a secret society to know this type of music that the average middle schooler wasn’t listening to.
Growing up in New York (Port Chester, NY, 45 mins from Manhattan), I was rather spoiled to have access to so many nightlife spaces. It was dope — like really dope. All I had to do was snag one of my brother’s old IDs, cop a train ticket, swim through the endless New York crowds, and find myself back in the front left speakers. Governor’s Island, Pacha, Webster Hall, Output, and Verboten, and a plethora of festivals and random ass clubs all played a role in introducing me to this music. But even though I was able to hear, feel, and experience the music, I was never really informed about the music. All I knew was that I needed to be a part of it — I wanted to play the music myself.
Aight, so boom, fast forward like 5–6 years. When I moved to San Francisco, I was excited to see and hear the type of noise SF music spaces were making, but more importantly, I was excited to meet like-minded people, especially since I didn’t know any here.
At some random underground DIY party that had terrible sound and pretty much never happened again, I happened to meet some people who were from Detroit, and that’s when my head was flipped upside down. These folks were not only the people who taught me how to DJ, giving me my first controller, they were also the first people I experienced my first Movement Festival with, where I met even more incredible Detroit souls and heard some of the best, literally ever. Learning about the history through the people, community museums, and everything else, and as a Black kid from New York, I knew that I needed to play the music myself.
I can go on about this forever; I am pretty much rambling. The main takeaway of this essay is that I play this music because it gave me a home when I felt like I didn’t have one. It introduced me to the Midwest hospitality that felt like a warm, motherly hug, and most importantly, it instilled the knowledge that it is a sound of freedom, expression, and liberation for Black folks and everyone else. And while it may not necessarily save the world, I will forever carry the torch and keep shit bumpin’.
