By Keegan Hamilton
By Albert Samaha
By Village Voice staff
By Tessa Stuart
By Albert Samaha
By Steve Weinstein
By Devon Maloney
By Tessa Stuart
Chase, the single-monikered promoter of monthly party the Look, wants you to know that there's more to life than New Order. Since summer 2005 she's been on a mission to share less ubiquitous dance music with a certain downtown crowd normally held sway by very obvious songs easily found on jukeboxes. Her partiesthough they cater to a clientele that looks, feels, and smells like a tawdry L.E.S. crowd (spiky haircuts, pointy boots, etc.)are different in one respect. Instead of listening to the usual popnew wavepost-punk hits, the Look's patrons get schooled on Italo disco or classic Detroit house and techno. Call it the re-education of the hipster.
"That's what I decided to do ever since the MisShapes started getting really big," Chase says. "I wasn't a promoter at that point, but to hear about something all the time and wonder, 'Why are these people so quick to follow a group when there's really nothing solid about it?' . . . It's literally just a following. I want to challenge people."
Most recently, the Look drew a few happy souls to the trippy West Eighth Street club Love on Valentine's Daya perfect match for the gay boys and the straight girls who love them. Didn't matter that they trudged through snowy sludge to reach a half-empty clubeveryone was more than happy to have a spacious dancefloor, an awesome soundsystem, and the cozy cuddle room at their disposal. At the Look, you won't see people, as Chase says, "staring at the door to see if another downtown celeb walks in." Instead, you'll be listening to classic Detroit tracks like Carl Craig's "Throw." Thanks, DJ Timmy, for that Valentine's treat.
Influenced by Love, Chase keeps the Look on the down low, not promoting beyond the same mailing list she started with in 2005. "It's like a clubhouse," she says. "It's never gonna be something to blow up to be hugeit's always gonna be a secret."
I BROUGHT THREE WHITE GIRLS!
Recently I went to hear Prince Paul and his co-DJs A. Vee and 3D spin at their monthly Ill-Out night at APT. The clincher: If you brought a white girl before midnight, she got in free. The point: "to promote racial harmony." Being a good sport, I brought threevery hot white girls; two were visiting from California as close personal friends of Daniela Morselli, Tommie Sunshine's lady. We could tell that the gentlemen in the Ill-Out crowd were very happy that I brought them.
The year-old partywhich has boasted special guest DJs like Mark Ecko, Paul Rosenberg (Eminem's manager), and MC Serchis a welcome respite from the cheesy, flashy bling of more mainstream hip-hop jams. And judging from the crowd, they didn't need to make an effort to achieve racial harmony: It was a pretty diverse group already. But I still didn't miss the opportunity to ask one man, "Did you bring a white girl?" He cracked up and shook his head and put his arms around my friends.
Of course, not everyone was so pleased: Justin Carter, the new musical director of APT, says he got some complaints about the flyer, as did DJ A. Vee, who said they received a few protests on their MySpace page, though he adds that "Most folks saw the humor behind it all."
Asked what gave him the idea for "Bring a White Girl," Prince Paul responds, "Because 'Bring a Black Man Night' was a total dud. We wanted to find something that'll bring both black men and white men together. Besides money."
GOOD ENOUGH FOR THIS GUIDO
Pop-punk band Good Charlotte's two Madden brothers are indeed as Paper mag's cover story last month toutedunlikely arbiters of the underground, but Page Six's tipster might've missed the memo. Benji Madden might be a rock-star DJ, but because of his friendship with longtime spinner Junior Sanchez, he's one of the few who's bothered to learn how to mix. That's why a recent Page Six report about Benji not knowing how to use the DJ equipment at New Jersey club Bliss struck a sour note: I've seen him spin, and yes, he knows how to match beats, and makes pretty smart musical connections as a result, impressing this jaded clubber. I e-mailed Junior about the item, and he says it was all a mix-up: "He didn't suck. They [the crowd] just weren't into his music. It was a guido club that wanted Jonathan Peterstype poo. Benji is actually a pretty good DJhe gets better and better, and can hold almost any club down." He paused. "As long as there's no guidos involved." Well, he's got this guido's stamp of approval.
When he's not running the annual Warriors Halloween party, Phil Oh is apparently dreaming up big-time book ideas. The affable, ever-quotable promoter-turnedtrashy-novel-author makes getting a book deal sound easy. He's the co-writeralong with Amanda Kerlin, a model-turnedart-history-majorof the recently released Secrets of the Model Dorm, a breezy, beach-ready read that reveals what it's really like to be piss poor, underworked, and gorgeous. The characters include a Metamucil-and-vodka-swilling lush, a coked-up Ukrainian diva, a few goody-two-shoes types, and the protagonist, Heather, a model who yearns to make it in the art world. Since none of them are getting jobs, they are constantly hitting the clubs, going to real-life places like Marquee, Bungalow 8, and Cain. There's even one scene with Tommy Saleh, Mandy Brooks, the Rapture, and Justine D. all gathered at the Tribeca Grand. "Phil loves to name-drop," says Kerlin of her co-author's taste for cameos.