The Muzic Box, and Deejaying the School Dance

The Muzic Box, and places like it had a transforming affect on people. You could be a gang banger from the roughest area of town, but one visit to the Box could change how you saw things. I remember seeing one particular guy in the party (for some reason, people referred to the Muzic Box as "The Party") on the wall listening to the music, checking out the whole vibe never dancing just listening. He was dressed in the typical 'hood style, Levis Jeans, a sweatshirt, Nike Basketball Sneakers, or suede bucks. About a month later, I saw the same guy at the Box, but this time he was in in a Guess Jacket, faded jeans and a pair of Zodiacs, but he was on the dance floor this time, dancing as if no one was there but him, lost in the music! 

 The downtown area of Chicago was considered mutual territory when it came to gangs. There were at least four movie theaters in the Chicago Loop, and on occasion these gangs would get into fights there, or at Treasure Chest Arcade, but the remarkable thing about the Muzic Box that was located at 326 N. (Lower) Michigan Avenue was the fact that these guys, mostly from different gang affiliations were willing to be in such a small space together dancing, mingling, having a great time. I'd imagine there were guys who found themselves sexually in that place. I've seen several guys on State Street, looking like the toughest thug in town go completely limp wristed in the Muzic Box! "Down Low" Brothers, and "Homo Thugs" are a relatively new phenomenon, but in my opinion they existed long before now. The Chicago House Scene was riddled with "tough guys" who did sexual favors for money, clothes and drugs. Walking north down State Street from my high school one block stood a gay bar on Van Buren Street called Rialto's. The block was demolished sometime around the late eighties or early nineties to construct a park, and the Harold Washington Library directly across the street. Activity on the street was rather tame, but I don't remember many tourist types traveling much around that area much. Wabash was generally the area with the most activity due to the campuses Roosevelt, DePaul a block north of Van Buren, and Columbia College to the south. After dark, the South Loop was a barren landscape after dark. 

By the end of the spring semester in high school, I was no further along academically than I was when I began, but I mastered the art of technically mixing records. I could do most tricks associated with deejaying: phasing, which involves playing two copies of the same record at the same time producing an airplane-ish sound effect, the scratch-three beat, a turntable trick that involves hand dexterity in order to scratch one record, sliding the crossfader to the other turntable then quickly back to the first turntable then again back and forth producing a delayed sound where the music is in between beat counts! Although I had a fundamental understanding of the technical understanding of deejaying, I had still a lot to learn about music. After discovering Importes Etc.

I began to venture north of the city, where I stumbled upon the Record Exchange, under the elevated tracks on Belmont and Sheffield. The was another store who's name I cannot recall, but it was on Braodway, a few blocks south of Montrose. This little store had a bunch of hits! Another favorite store of mine was B Side Records when it was located on North Clark Street off Addison. Just about every record I could imagine wanting, I was close to finding there. I bought both white promotional and silver label copies of "Come Back Lover" by the Fresh Band there. I forget the owner's name, he was a short white guy with round-rimmed glasses-real studious looking fellow. Later, he relocated to Hyde park but for some reason his collection wasn't quite as lethal by then. All that was left was a bunch of classical tunes, and other stuff that I wasn't interested in owning. By 1986, someone realized that there was a fortune to be made in bootlegging a lot of records that weren't attainable, Lost Records made a lot of tunes available to us deejays who were too young to know about them she they were new.

            Months of training under the tutelage of Ishmael, coupled with my desire and natural ability led me to the point where I developed a little reputation at school as someone who could actually execute the skills associated with the craft of deejaying. I say it that way because I found that knowing how to mix, and having a crowd appreciate your music style are two entirely different things altogether.

            It was during the fall semester of 1985, that I experienced the fury of an unappreciative crowd when I shared the job as deejay with my friend, and classmate Juan Rodriguez. Juan knew music. Juan also knew what students at Metro would respond to and what they wouldn't appreciate. It was once told to me that courage (when it comes to creativity for instance) is when someone puts work out into the world without caring if it's received well. Everyone listened to the radio mix shows back then, but everyone didn't appreciate House Music. As an overzealous newbie who wanted to spread the gospel, or impose my musical will, I took a chance and played four records at our high school sock hop and got booed off the turntables. Those records were: "I've Got A Big Bee" by Bumblebee Unlimited, "I Can't Turn Around" by Issac Hayes, and "Was That All It Was" by Jean Carne and another that I can't recall-it was the first and last Metro school dance I was allowed to play.

            To my credit, about eight people responded positively, but seventy-eight people didn't. I wanted to make those people feel what I felt whenever I heard House Music, but they weren't having it, and to most of my fellow classmates and I'd imagine to my pal Juan, that was a dumb stunt. Unfortunately, imposing my will and failing at it probably cost Juan the privilege of playing another Metro sock hop, period. I aroused ire of a bunch of folk, primarily people who didn't care much for me before I attempted a dj set that evening. I was embarrassed, and ashamed for all of sixty minutes, and I went back to what I did prior to that debacle: exploring, and appreciating House Music-the kind that most folk back then couldn't relate to or understand. Although my reputation at school was tarnished, Juan didn't give up on me, he asked me to join him, and a couple other Metro guys to play a party for a friend of his that lived in the Transportation Building of Printing House Row at 600 South Dearborn.