by Summer Jones-Oden
I love a good party. You know the ones where EVERYONE is dancing and singing out loud? Maybe a couch stand or two? No pretentious bottle service or restrictive dress codes, just a good old-fashioned party.
I haven't seen or heard music outside of my house or in a car in over a year. No concerts, lounges, bars, parties or functions with a DJ. I never thought I’d ever type those words-much less say them out loud-as Hip-Hop has been my source of joy for as long as I can remember. I have a very personal connection to a few spaces where I always felt safe and seen as a Black woman who loves the fellowship that music brings. So when I started jotting down notes to prepare this piece, memories of the Summer of 1994 came rushing back.
At that time I was preparing for my senior year of high school while working a part-time job ridiculously optimistic about the next phase of my life. A chance meeting with a coworker’s daughter would change everything. Enter Club Fever in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.
“The Underground at Club Fever” was the 18 to enter, 21 to drink Friday and Saturday night Hip-Hop, Reggae and R&B party presented by the legendary DJ Storm. My friends and I would usually arrive around 10pm to stand in unbelievably long lines to enter the basement-level space. Upon entering we’d be shoulder to shoulder with friends from all across the tri-state area, and the energy truly encapsulated what it meant to enjoy Hip-Hop in the early 90s, when the genre had started to take on a life of its own. DJ Storm kept the crowd engaged and rocking with everything from Black Moon to Buju Banton. Ciphers would go on by the bathrooms. Dance battles would break out in the middle of the club frequently throughout the night-the kids from Philly would always win.
Club Fever began to book Hip-Hop shows that hosted artists like Da Youngstas, Mobb Deep, members of the Wu-Tang Clan, The Boot Camp Clik and an infamous New Year’s Eve show that featured the Notorious B.I.G and a newly signed group that he formed and mentored, Junior Mafia. The security was friendly but tight, much like that one uncle you knew not to test. There were never any fights, with small skirmishes being quickly de-escalated so the party could continue. And continue it did, until it was time to go home and drag ourselves up that stairwell and do it all over again next weekend.
In the summer of 1998 I turned 21 years old and was now freed from the shackles of the obviously fraudulent ID card that I had been flashing at the door up and down what was then called Delaware Avenue. Today the location goes by the name Columbus Boulevard, home to the Penn’s Landing waterfront area and many restaurants, bars, clubs, parks and the pier.
The clubs that lined the aforementioned pier put Hip-Hop at the forefront each and every weekend. A personal favorite spot of mine, especially during Greek Picnic Weekend, was Bahama Bay, a tropical tiki bar-themed indoor and outdoor space where DJ Kool would film the video for the classic “Let Me Clear My Throat.” Just down the street was Vegas, a mildly upscale Las Vegas-themed club that hosted some of Philly’s most notable NBA and NFL players. Just across the street was the grittier Gotham Nightclub, a converted warehouse with impeccable acoustics. The opportunities for partying were endless, and at the age of 21 I had the freedom to go wherever I wanted to without breaking into a cold sweat at the door as the bouncer looked back and forth from me to my fake ID.
My newfound freedom also found me in New York City, traveling there most weekends with friends and making it back to Jersey by Monday morning. One particular weekend provided me with my most memorable moment of my 21st year of life and remains the only time I wish we had phones with cameras back then. A chance encounter with some women who lived in the same building as I found me in The Tunnel. The night remains a blur to me-hence the desire for camera phones-but I can recall a few things: the line to get in was extraordinarily long, it took forever to get in and inside there was literally no room to move around, much less dance or get a drink. About halfway through the night Funkmaster Flex announced DMX to the stage, and what resulted was an energy unlike anything I had ever experienced. On the train ride back to Jersey I couldn’t wait to get home and tell everyone I had been to The Tunnel and saw DMX perform. The release of the “Get At Me Dog” video affirmed my recount of the night’s events at the infamous club. I never went back, although I often wished I had. But these days I’m mostly just grateful for the experience.
My 23rd year of life placed me back in Jersey with the homegirls I had known since I was a teenager. Yet things were different, the kind of different you would expect as you age deeper into adulthood. We weren’t the same people with the same freedoms we had at 15. Some of us were traveling. But we were older, with jobs, bills and obligations. And as a result life became a little slower. The desire for the raucous clubs we were used to frequenting had dissipated and began looking for more laid back spots. That’s when we discovered the Five Spot.
Nestled in an alleyway in the Old City neighborhood of Philadelphia, The Five Spot was a jazz club, restaurant and lounge. It was the first place I would hear a Roots record played not in my own home. The space also marked the first time I heard Erykah Badu and India Arie sing and Jill Scott recite poetry. Tuesday nights were reserved for The Black Lily, a hub of sorts where women vocalists, lyricists and musicians came to hone and perfect their craft. The vibes were celebratory of the expression of Black women and dedicated to creativity. The DJs had the freedom to play whatever they wanted and on any given night you’d hear everything from the Stylistics to Mos Def.
The Five Spot, photo source: Haute Girl Fresh
On February 3, 2007, The Five Spot burned down and the landscape of the Hip-Hop genre and nightlife were changing quickly. The same could be said when it came to the parties I wanted to attend. I was not interested in the huge, shiny clubs where everyone was dressed to kill and barely broke a sweat. I longed for something more intimate that reminded me of the old days at Fever and the eclectic mix of Hip-Hop, Classic R&B, Breakbeats, samples and Reggae I grew up on. Fortunately, Philly remained a progressive and creative nucleus and many of the promoters and DJs knew there were people who would dance to JAY-Z, Fela Kuti and Prince in the same night. A few months later I bumped into an old friend who invited me to a party and promised me “a good time where people actually danced.”
I passed Fluid Nightclub a hundred times and never once thought to go in. Located right off of South Street in Philly and across from a tattoo shop, the entranceway and sidewalk were always crowded with a friendly and eclectic mix of people who greeted you when you walked by. However when my friend said he’d meet us at the door I was a little skeptical. My friends and I made our way up the stairs and heard a 90s R&B song blaring out of speakers that seemed too powerful for the small space. Again, skeptical. Nonetheless, I found the person who had invited me to the spot behind the bar. (I’ll never forget the moment, because it was located in an enclave that was tiled an iridescent blue to resemble water.) He took our drink orders while we stood around checking out the club making small talk. It was at that moment that I looked over at the DJ booth and saw “Questlove.” I began softening up. Perhaps I would have the good time I was promised after all.
In what seemed like minutes after this realization, people began to trickle in by the dozens. It seemed like everyone knew everyone, greeting one another with kisses, daps and hugs. The energy was contagious and it was all gathered in this one place that felt like it was just for those of us who had the privilege of walking up those stairs. There was no place else like this on earth. Later on in the night a new DJ by the name of Mike Nyce stepped behind the booth and welcomed us to “Tastytreats each and every Saturday at Fluid Nightclub.” Throughout the night he transitioned flawlessly through Classic and 90’s R&B, Boom Bap, Jazz, Funk, Breakbeats and House as Stacey would walk around and thank people for coming and occasionally join us on the dance floor. On any given Saturday night you could find guest DJs like Premier, Ali Shaheed Muhammad, Pete Rock, Beverly Bond, Aktive, J.PERIOD, Rich Medina, Ultraviolet, 9th Wonder and Jazzy Jeff behind the booth and the small space packed to capacity.
Fluid closed on April 6, 2013, a few months before my 36th birthday. The memories of the parties, nightclubs and moments that defined my teenage years and my 20s and fulfilled me in my 30s are some of my most cherished. Now, at 43, the global pandemic has taught me not to take for granted all the social experiences I’ve had where I felt safe and seen as a Black woman who loves Hip-Hop culture. And if i could, I’d do it all over again.
At least until 10pm.
