- Living in the upper right hand corner on the United States, it can be tough to get my house and techno fix. Months and months will pass without a satisfying all-nighter, and the most of the truly epic parties are just across the border, in Montreal. New York has its fair share of stellar line-ups, but most of my experiences there have been sadly tainted by the Giuliani bug. Nonetheless, when I heard Move D was DJing at a loft party in Brooklyn, I had faith. Bed-Stuy doesn't seem like the kind of place where cops worry much about parties, and it seemed like the venue (12 Turn 13) was semi-underground. Most importantly, Move D is one of my favorite artists, and this would be my first time seeing him. Certainly reason enough to hit the road.
The night of the party was cruelly frigid—mostly below ten degrees Farenheit, with a "real feel" of something below zero. Luckily, it was only a short walk to the loft from my friend's apartment, and our large group was nicely lubricated as we ambled out into the night. A few block away from the party, we happened to walk by a police station. A thicket of cops stood joking around on the steps, despite the cold. I didn't notice them looking at us as we walked by, but they must have. Once we were a few hundred yards down the road, I heard a police megaphone squawk something unintelligible (a friend later told me they had asked, "Where's the party?"). A minute later, outside 12 turn 13, an NYPD van slowed and lowered its window near a tall black guy standing by the door (clearly a bouncer). "Hey, is there a club around here by any chance?" the cop asked with a cheeky grin. Seemingly at a loss, the bouncer sort of mumbled something. None of us wanted to blow up the spot, so we slipped around a corner and stood awkwardly in a gas station parking lot for a minute, wondering if our night was about to end prematurely. When we reappeared outside the party, the cops were gone. A bouncer opened the door and quickly ushered us in, saying "yeah, yeah, party's in here…"
12 Turn 13 is a simple but very cool space. It has room for maybe a couple hundred people, and an incredibly spacious roof deck. The DJ table was on a raised level, giving the party a vibe that reminded me a little bit of a punk show (plain room, minimal lighting, performer facing the crowd from a low stage). The toilet situation was borderline hilarious—a grimy tiled bathroom with suspended bed sheets sectioning off the two toilets. In line to piss, a very posh and out-of-place girl motioned toward the ridiculous arrangement and complained to whoever listened, "What the fuck did I just spend twenty dollars on?" She didn't seem to hear me when I mentioned the DJ was from Germany.
Despite the club's rustic decor, the party itself was very well done. The sound system had oomph, and to my surprise, there was a coat check, as well as a fairly stocked bar, and even some organic hot chocolate on offer. When I asked for a bottle of water, the bartender offered me a word of advice: "You can just fill this up for free all night in the sink if you want." Pretty obvious, but I had to admire his attitude.
By the time we got on the dance floor, Anthony Parasole was just starting his set. He played a lot of modest, low tempo house, and while his mixing was precise, his set had the inevitably blank quality of a warm-up. Nonetheless, the crowd was loose and dancing a lot earlier than I expected. Anthony even got a few whistles. I mostly stayed on the sidelines.
Around 2am, Move D took over. His appearance was very muppet-like; wearing a snow-flake speckled fleece and matching ski-cap, he had the appearance of a cool dad on his way to the slopes. His attitude was equally endearing—from the start, a warm smile spread across his face. Parasole had finished on a fairly low-energy vibe, so Moufti followed suit, starting off with tracks like Keith Worthy's "Deep for Dayz." The Brothers' Vibe "Feelin' House" took things up a notch, and after a half hour or so, Move D had worked up a nice and frothy vibe.
The majority of Move D's set oscillated between bouncing party tracks and his signature blue note house. His mixing was top notch, with fantastic transitions and careful attention to levels. The sound system had a good amount of bass, but not too much clarity on the high end—Moufang swiftly adjusted to this by favoring tracks with rolling bass lines and heavy kick drums. In the midst of at least a dozen songs I hope to eventually track down, I remember hearing Matthew Styles' "We Said Nothing," Nick Curly's "Dubnoise," Johnny D's "If You Read My Mind," and a climactic rinse of Jus Ed's "CT Beat Down." As for the unknown tracks, there was one epic quasi-ballad revolving around the vocal line "one step forward… into the future" that got me going, despite its cheesiness.
It was hard not to get the impression that Move D was having an amazing night. His track selection was filled with a surprising number of familiar party house choices, as if he was was not the least bit preoccupied with impressing anyone and cared only about enjoying himself as much as possible. The vibe was fantastic—such an intimate space was perfect for Move D's style, and everyone was seriously digging it. Moufang himself was no exception—his visible ebullience played no small role in the energy that galvanized the room. He smiled broadly at his own ideas, and sometimes got so excited that all he could do was grab his woolen scalp and rock back and forth like a maniac. At one point, he had a weird outburst of enthusiasm and barked a surprisingly audible "YEAH!" (or something similarly blunt and positive).
Sadly, it all came to an end very suddenly in the middle of "You'll Never Be Mine" by Ray Valioso. The sound cut out, and Moufti turned his palms to the ceiling in a "What can you do?" kind of gesture as the lights flipped on, revealing a dozen or so boys in blue. The night was over, two hours earlier than expected. Still reeling from the set, we all lollygagged for ten minutes or so until someone got on the mic and said "uhh, in case you didn't notice… the party is kinda over…" And with that, we lurched back into the Brooklyn night and made our way home through a light snow flurry. I had anticipated making that walk beneath the first licks of a frigid sunrise, and was inevitably disappointed to be on my way home during what should have been the final stretch of Move D's set. Nonetheless, we all got a nice two-and-a-quarter hours of groovy Move D goodness—more than enough time to reassure Moufang's status as one of my top three DJs.