- Eight months ago, it seemed like Dope Jams, the Brooklyn record store, would never celebrate another anniversary. In January, after six years in business, owners Paul Nickerson and Francis Englehardt announced the closure of their Clinton Hill shop, but in June, it reopened 145 miles upstate. Dope Jams survived, so on August 17, its proprietors came home to celebrate.
The seventh anniversary bash was the first to take place outside of Dope Jams' original spot on Myrtle Avenue. This time, partygoers gathered around the corner at 12 Turn 13, a loft space with a homier atmosphere than the venues over in Williamsburg. By 1 AM, three hours into Nickerson and Englehardt's eight-hour set, the house party vibes were in full effect. The air was thick with perspiration and the space was packed with bodies writhing to vocal house anthems, garage cuts and soulful disco tracks. Much like the DJs themselves, the audience seemed particularly drawn to records from the golden age of American house music. Shirtless 40-somethings and slim 20-somethings raised their arms and bellowed along to Robin S's "Show Me Love," and drunk Australians flooded in from the rooftop patio when they heard the opening chords of "Strings Of Life."
As much as Nickerson and Englehardt enjoyed unleashing crowd-pleasing hits, they also weren't afraid to clear the floor. Throughout the night, they veered into hip-hop and disco tangents that drove dancers onto the roof for smoke breaks—but the DJs, well known for their curmudgeonly approach, seemed unconcerned with the crowd's response.
In fact, sometimes they seemed to enjoy repelling the crowd. Around 5:30 AM, Nickerson cut the music and stumbled from the booth out to the rooftop, bleary-eyed from hours behind the turntables. Inside, the remaining dancers gathered at the foot of the booth, where they stomped around and rattled tambourines, chanting "It's not over!" Englehardt responded by slowly arranging a final record on the turntable, letting the tension mount. Everyone was ready to go nuts at the first booming kick, but he refused to deliver. Instead, the soundsystem shuddered back to life with the rumbling drums on Led Zeppelin's "All My Love," and the crowd immediately deflated and headed for the door. The message couldn't have been clearer: Get out, the party is over.