Because we went back to
Alegria’s original home on Friday night and because we heard
Susan play Pier Dance on Sunday, it seemed right to make it a
complete old-school trifecta – and head to
Junior’s Summer Camp
on Monday morn. Back to the original Sound Factory where, years
ago, I dragged Robert one Sunday morn and as we climbed through
what seemed to be a hole in the wall, and passed through a metal
detector (this in the days when gangs brought guns to Gotham
clubs), Robert turned to me and said, “Where the hell are you
taking me?” “To hear Junior,” I replied – and that’s why we
were there again.
Back to what is now Spirit, having passed through its Twilo
years, and though it’s noticeably spruced up, and quite clean
and well-maintained, there’s still all that good karma in that
room from years gone by. And so we walk down the long white
hall and through the black doors and down a few stairs and –
we’re blinded. Can’t see a thing. It’s so dark, so crowded,
we’re like bumper cars as we feel our way around the room,
heading for the back bar. Hoping our eyes will adjust before we
take out another two people.
It’s ten a.m. and
Junior has
his camp full up. There are pup tents on the stage so maybe
there’ll be wienie roasts later. There’s a cowboy on the lip of
the stage who looks perfectly edible. And there’s
Matt K. who’s
also just arrived, but he hasn’t clocked anyone with his nightblindness, and it doesn’t take but another minute before
we’re heading onto the floor. Maybe Junior’s still warming up,
but what he’s got cooking is working for us. We’ve barely been
awake an hour, and already, he’s pouring it on. The floor –
that floor – so many feet have trod that floor. It’s wooden and
it gives and your feet skim and slide, and meanwhile, up in the
booth, there’s Junior, a bouquet of roses behind him, with a
small sign that reads AIN’T NO OTHER MAN. Amen to that, that’s
how this crowd of happy campers feels. The a/c’s working and
yet still it’s hot, in the best way. Slick with heat but not so
icky. And when we hang upstairs, in the mezz, we’re looking
down on a crowd that knows how to move to Junior. What’s he do
that’s so right? He takes what you know and mixes it with heart
and soul, and hurt and joy. We’re listening to him mash-up a
whole series of deep songs, so that he goes from “Pride (A
Deeper Love)” which he stretches into something like a symphony,
and then into Madge’s “Deeper and Deeper” and from there, into
“So Deep,” and long before then, we’re back on the floor,
because that’s how Junior is: the floor is where you want to
be.
And especially when there’s Pei, with that smile. Oh, my
goodness, what pleasantness to run into his perfectness, and
there’s Alan (no longer with his FedUp tee) but not yet Joey,
because Joey’s at the office. “He’s leaving at lunch,” says
Alan, which is so very perfect. Joey leaving the office for
Junior. And the lights are very blue and then there’s Rafaella
doing her Madge. Maybe “The Best There Is.” Something like
that. And that’s how it feels, this party: the best there is.
We run into
Moody who’s having the time of his life. He’s
chanting his mantra: “Go, MOO-dy. Go, MOO-dy. Go, MOO-dy.”
We offer to take his photo for Manhunt. He nods at one
particular hottie and says, “This party could only be more
perfect with his dick in my mouth.”
And there’s Jay, and Kat down
from the booth where she was playing resident BoothB$itch for
the moment, and Jay goes, “You missed me gagging.” Do it again,
please – for us. And Alan’s performing introductions,
thankfully, so that we finally, at long last, meet Randall
Mackie, from San Francisco, and his very sweet boy, Jonny, and
they’re having fun, and Pei says it’s the party he was waiting
for, all weekend, and Kat’s got goosebumps.
And all around, we’re seeing people who
have been with Junior for years. Through thick and thin, still
in his camp. There’s something about Junior’s Pride parties
which bring out the best – in him and his crowd. And Junior’s
serving it up. He’s making it so that you can’t sit for long.
And even when we’re off the floor, looking down or looking into,
we’re moving. He has that habit of grabbing on some hook and
filling in the backbeat and lifting you up and twirling you
around before bringing you down, setting you softly, long enough
to catch your breath and hold on – before it starts again.
We’re upstairs when we glance
around and notice – THE BODIES. Ric’s boyz. The boys from
Alegria. They’ve arrived. It’s one-thirty in the afternoon and
they’re swarming in now and taking over the floor. They’re
bringing in new energy, ratcheting it up a couple notches – and
Junior’s ready for them. He takes us all up again. And there’s
“I’m going to lunch” Joey, just in time for the rest of the
afternoon. No more office for that one.
One hour, another – we keep
thinking we’ll move on. We’re trying to let it go. But we get
back out on that floor and Junior starts with Ilo’s “Rapture”
and then it’s PCD’s “Buttons” and so why fight it. That floor
and Junior’s music and all these happy, shiny people. And we’re
dancing with Randall and his Jonny who mentions how New Yorkers
are so nice. Yes, well, this is Pride – and maybe when so many
of us come together, from so many places, and we see how many of
us we are, maybe it’s then that we let go of some of our fears
and start radiating more light. Maybe all we have to do is make
it Pride every day.
It’s three-thirty when we
finally straggle out onto the street. Sweaty, sticky – and so
happy. It’s really been the nicest weekend. We walk down to
the Park and sit in that outdoor area which we have almost all
to ourselves, and there’s no music but the leaves rustling
overhead and the birds singing and we’re eating – finally – real
food – and yes, we’re radiating – all the good that came our way
from friends, all the joy we harvested from the crowd, all the
love all around. There’s nothing like Pride to fill you up.
Best always,
Mark and Robert
