Shhh!
Posted on January 20th, 2009 by admin
There’s no real term in the lexicon for a DJ house, there’s no shared understanding like there is if I were to say punk house or frat house. Last year, Chicago lost two great party spots that doubled as boarding houses for wayward DJs: The Velvet Elvis and Private I.
I’m about to drop some nerdiness on you.
You know that scene in X-Men 2 where Magneto is on the jet with some of the new mutants and the kid who is going to become the villainous Pyro introduces himself as John, and Magneto asks him, in all of his Ian McKellanous intensity, ‘What’s your real name?’
I was sitting at a table at Velvet Elvis with Mr Automatic and LA Jesus and OneFiftyOne and half a dozen other DJs and they’re all introducing themselves to some girl as Bill and Nate and Chris and whatever, and I want to be Magneto here and demand, ‘Tell her your real name.’
—
That doesn’t really have anything to do with anything, except that the cats who run Members Only are all living at one of the great next-generation DJ houses. Everyone there is doing awesome shit and when they come together it’s like the Justice League or the Teen Titans or Power Pack or something. A good rule of thumb is that you shouldn’t shit where you eat, and I’m hoping the separation between the DJ house and the party space means they both have a good, long life in this city.
