Combat Jack has started a series of drops over at the Daily Mathematics about his remembrance of the legendary NYC nightclub Paradise Garage. In the first part, CJ deftly describes the setting of the nightclub. Fridays were the so-called “straight” night mainly because Saturdays were so balls out ghey that anyone who got inside on a Saturday night is now dead from AIDS. Good thing for me that I wasn’t able to get in the first time that I went there (Saturday).
If I had a little money I would fux with the Garage after leaving the Quarters. Union Square was closed on Friday at this time and the Saturday party in that space was a dancehall joint called the Underground. Combat Jack also mentioned Bentley’s as a spot were Black folks convened, but the Bentley’s crowd had several other spots to do their thing like The Red Parrot and Silver Shadow. Paradise Garage had a downtown crowd which was distinctly different from any other spot where Blacks partied.
First of all, there was no liquor being served. NYC’s liquor laws were such that any place that had a license to sell liquor had to close for business by 4am. The Garage would be open from 12am until next month. I distinctly remember leaving the Garage one afternoon AFTER noon. I was leaving and people were still in the main room dancing and jacking their bodies. That was the phrase for dancing in the Garage. You were supposed to ‘jack’ your body. When people would first get into the cavernous club you could find them in one of the many rooms stretching themselves like Rosa Acosta. You needed to be in fairly decent shape if you were going to smoke crack and then dance for 10 straight hours and that is exactly what folks were going to do.
It was in the Garage where I first experienced the acrid, yet surprisingly sweet smell of crack cocaine. I never knew what that shit smelled like. I knew what it looked like but I had never seen anyone actually smoke it. The Paradise Garage was where I learned a lot about other drugs that were popular. I got turned on to mescaline and acid while I was up in there. I don’t want to over-emphasize the drugs aspect of the Garage because that really wasn’t what was happening inside of the building. Don’t get it twisted, people up in that bitch were getting fucked the fuck up hardbody, but some folks were in there straight-edging and strictly vibing.
I started fuxing with the Garage after this chick I knew from L.G. (Lafayette Gardens) named Diane told me she was going there after Latin Quarters. I had tried to go there before on a Saturday night but I couldn’t get in [ll] and I didn’t realize that Saturday was the super ghey night. I didn’t have a gaydar then, truth is that I still don’t because I don’t give a fux. So I went down to the Garage after the LQ closed. Polotron and Big Du from the ‘Stuy rolled with me. Du’s brother Brian rolled too. All these fools were older than me and they had already been up inside of the Garage.
Polo and Du are both four years older than me. They graduated from Brooklyn Tech that June before the September I first went in. these dudes were nightclub OGs. 10-18(Roxy), Danceteria, The Fever, Union Square. They went to the Quarters on Friday to pre-game for the Garage. The deal was that we had to split up and get with chicks in order to get inside, or better yet, I had to find a chick to help me get inside. My girl Diane was on line after we had parked the car so I got with her and Polo rocked with her girl. The line to get inside the Garage was almost as fun as being in that piece. The energy was there.
The difference between the Garage and the Quarters was the direction of the energy. The Quarters and Union Square were dominated by dudes who from time to time(every single fuxing night) would set it on some other dudes [ll]. Whereas the Garage had energy that was high but moving in the opposite manner. You could bag up a shorty and dance with her all night. I mean dance with her so much that you had her smell on your body. If she was having a visit from her Aunt Rose you would be wearing that scent too. My girl Diane changed out of her LQ sweats into a cycling singlet. Actually I think she just took off her sweater and jeans.
That was the uniform for chicks in the Garage. Biker shorts and t-shirts. I always had on a Polo rugby or sweatshirt that I would literally sweat out into oblivion. I would leave that club looking like I went swimming fully clothed. You couldn’t go in there and not dance for hours on end. The vibe in the Paradise Garage was what that party was all about. No one fuxed with you the wrong way. I didn’t violate any girls and I never had a problem getting action. There was no alcohol to make dudes act foolish, altho’ cocaine is a helluva drug. The vibe was a true spaceship making its way to a distant planet.
What shaped the vibe was the music, primarily spun by the resident deejay, LARRY LeVAN. Google that brother’s name if you are into music for real music. The Garage was an actual garage with concrete floors, walls, columns and ceilings. The main room was pitchblack and the sound bounced off the walls at the speed of sound. You were in noisechamber and you couldn’t see your hand in front of your face. What you did was you took your girl into the main room and you found a clearing for y’all to dance. Then you jacked your body. And you soul clapped. When I tell you that you could do anything to your girl on the dancefloor I am telling you that you could do anything with her consent. I earned my stripes as the fingerbang champ at the Garage.
LeVAN’s grooves would reach fever pitches and then come back down to Earth only to fly up again. If you played the rhythm right you could orgasm with the music. I mean, that was the point you dig? When I could dance with a female in the Quarters (I never danced with a chick at the Square, niggas would murderlate you) it was like we were always in competition for who had the better moves. In the Garage you and your girl were trying to lock a groove together. You would be riding in her seat, holding her thighs or her hips trying to thrust in to her at the exact second she was backing into you. Not all aggressive either, but smoothly and fluidly as if you were swimming.
The thing I have to give the Garage the most credit for is putting me in the mind to get my own apartment so I could go bang. It wasn’t all about the drugs or decadence for me since I had already seen all of that in Corona where I grew up. I wanted to get some of these girls back to my spot to really express the primal dances we were doing in the dark. I also remember the music that made me feel a kind of way. While Public Enemy #1 and UltraMag’s Funky were the Hip-Hop jams the band that made the funkiest, most soulful house music was Fingers, Incorporated. With Mr.Fingers on the keys and Robert Owens on the vocals this band established the sound for a deep house groove.
I’m not of the mind that the types of parties I enjoyed in NYC when I was 16 don’t still happen here in the city today because they do. KeiStar Productions (shouts to Keita who used to party in LQ) puts together events that still have that energy if not the total ambiance. Paradise Garage had the feel it did because the full spectre of AIDS, crack, heroin and poverty hadn’t fully manifested itself yet. It was tumbling to that place where we could no longer trust anyone in this city and when that moment truly arrived the Garage was no longer a Paradise and its doors closed forever. But I did have a chance to experience a distant planet. And it was good.
Fingers Inc. featuring Robert Owens – ‘Distant Planet’
Fingers Inc. featuring Robert Owens – ‘Bring Down The Walls’
Fingers Inc. featuring Robert Owens – ‘Never No More Lonely’
Fingers Incorporated – ‘Can You Feel It’
