After 50 years of looking, I found my purpose. To make asses shake and souls quake. To make nasty beats which make you levitate. I’m a DJ in the House of NAE. This is my manifesto. Remember to allow, my friends. Because sometimes when you do, you have a EUREKA! which was meant to be. PULSE NIGHTCLUB. Speak their names. Never forget. This purpose is for them. This purpose is Soul Revival. This purpose is Club Church.
House of NAE, Live at Club Church With Cosmographer Green Jeans, aka Disco Giraffe
by Nae Cole Whitman, 6/12/22
“MANIFESTO” usually means a big red alert to Crazy Town. The word for me is a sign of commitment because in the past I’ve only made ones “half-ass” which Momma always said was my middle name. Keeping one foot out the door just in cases, as the movie goes. Hoodlum at heart, thief of gold, whore with a conscience, a rapscallion and scofflaw keeping my back to the wall like the gangster movies I also love because they look familiar somehow.
Today, June 12, 2022, I’m solid. Making a commitment the way I did on 2/2/22 when all the planets went crazy, and I had the EUREKA! I was meant to be an artist. My poor neighbors. I’m sure they were ready to call the white coats I was so loud. When you know a thing, you know a thing, and you must let the world know immediately. Like the last scene in When Harry Met Sally which was always better than “I’ll have what she’s having.” in my humble opinion. Letting out several “YAWP!” yells, I danced around like Matthew McConaughey slapping his bongos naked in the living room. I might’ve even been naked for a bit the exultation was so great. After a lifetime of searching, I was no longer afraid of my purpose. In that moment I fully committed with every cell of my being to making the world better through art. My art. Through music. My music, and the genius of folks like Frankie Knuckles, Todd Terry, Louis Vega, Dimitri, and Pete Tong. I’ve never been so scared in my life. Or Vibing so hard.
I’m a DJ. I’m an artist. Meniscus Fine Art drops 7/1 with a big PRIDE-centered music video I’m still storyboarding. House of NAE drops 11/22 (if not before) because Momma needs to upgrade her mixing game and find a space. Any space. All I need is my truck, a playlist, and a mobile setup to begin the healing. I’m going to spin nasty House beats. I’m going to have mad sick Club Church graphics. I’m going to create my own mixes under House of NAE auspices. And I’m going to make my art available as merch whether that’s digital video for your wall, a print for your office, or a tee shirt to hug you tight when I can’t, Darling. Believe me, you ain’t ready for what my mind is blowing up with right now. An Army of Me, Miss Bjork. An army of NAE.
I’m an artist who spins House Music. I’ll do it all like Prince does. With flow and style like Sade does. My two muses. I’ll be a sun instead of a planet and ask friends for help so together we can mix a mighty orbit for the world.
This is my chosen profession and I commit to this today as the career of my lifetime. Because finally, I figured out a way to take care of people which doesn’t kill my spirit. Encapsulating this persona within the mighty House of NAE incorporates my art, my joie de vivre, my beauty, my sexy, my tits, my ass, my feminine wiles, my vibes, my colors, my glitter, my style, and every galaxy inside my soul.
Club Church is who I am because within the vibration of movement and sound, I come alive. That’s what was missing, and I bet it’s missing in a few others. Within the space of sound energy all my senses fire. I’m horny, hungry, joyful, exuberant, and exalted in prayer. It is within the club I first found safety, and it is within the club where I will thrive. Create my art. Create my music. Design a life full of friends and different kinds of food than the ones I’ve been stuffing against the pain. Not the foods of comfort and blankets, but growth food. Spiritual food. Food in the form of light, sound, art, energy, color, dance, movement, glitter, stardust, dreams, and many, many disco balls. Where before I comforted folks with meals, in Club Church I’ll comfort them with beats. And light. And love. And much ass shaking. On and on ‘til the break-a-dawn.
We need this now. We need Soul Revival. We need some Club Church. Just like back in the day. We need a safe place to heal. A place to be the person you were always meant to be. Because maybe, just maybe if you SEE that person, you can chrysalis into them. Even if that person is a whole shit-ton of crazy to someone else. Club Church will be a place to let your hair down, put it up, or shave it off entirely. A place to try out different versions of yourself in front of a funhouse mirror and see what fits.
Just like I did during the 80’s and 90’s inside Scandal’s, The Pyramid, The Fifth Column, Trax, and Fielden’s, night after night after night. I spun like Saturn in front of the full-length mirrors, DJ George spinning Frankie Knuckles while I was bathed in rainbow light usually with a boy on either side of me. Cocktail in hand so I wouldn’t get roofied. Trying to figure out who the hell I am and what the fuck makes me tick. Drunk because bartender Russell poured extra Gilbey’s in my G&T or high because Chip slipped me an ecstasy or a line of coke.
I’m sober these days, and sady, all those lovely men are gone. I’m still here because for one shining moment, they made me feel safe. Now I’d like to do that. I’d like to make that my cause. My purpose to march for. My protest. I’ll never forget these men, nor the dozens of others. The ones still here, some thriving, others struggling. They took care of me. Took care of this mousy quiet girl trying to find her place. Locate her tribe. That lonely girl wearing too much bright red lipstick for her thin lips and tottering around on heels she can’t afford on her ramen salary. I don’t recognize her or even remember how she felt. What I remember is the safety.
I’m not stupid. There are thousands of great DJ’s, spaces where people dance to heal. House of NAE is mine. Club Church will be ours. I know there will be obstacles, many times I’ll want to give up entirely. I’ll want to give up but won’t. I’ll want to drink but won’t. There will be lessons and tempting temptations on this journey for a sober, fierce bitch at the middle of her life with a streak of cobalt running all through the middle of her soul. It won’t all be Sunday Tea Dance. But I must do this for my boys. For myself. For my species.
Club Church for me was a place of discovery and refuge. I’d like to provide others with that same chance. Sometimes shaking your ass like a maraca can be much-needed medicine. Back then the club was a secret place, dark and not talked about at work. I want to flip the script. Make it a healing place. Be your freaky self. Fly any flag you want. This time, no hiding. Everyone emotionally naked even if it’s only for a few hours. Let all your ugly out and leave it there on the dancefloor for the janitor to mop up. Because tomorrow’s another day, Miss Scarlett.
It feels important to commit to something. Fully. The way I committed to a nomadic life of art back on 2/22/22 when there was another eclipse like the one which caused my turntables to turn once again. In the coming months I will travel and take notes because everything, everything now is in service to my vision. Me underneath two statues of a king and a queen somewhere in Spain, spinning, spinning, spinning. The energy so big it fills the world. I’d like that. Wouldn’t you? Why the fuck not? We need this now. We need a vision like this every moment of every day until everyone gets back to themselves. As long as it takes. I’m just a soldier willing to be drafted into service. A vision of church without organized religion, of dance, of release, of honest feeling and liberation. A safe retreat of authenticity, honesty, and safety.
Maybe we’ll end up a bunch of disillusioned galactic hippies, maybe we won’t. Who cares? All we have is now. All we have is this. All we have is change. Let’s dance, David Bowie, who I pray to a lot these days. I’ll be calling on every spirit guide in my army for this venture: Frankie Knuckles, DJ George, Russell, Chip, as well as so many others whose names I’ve forgotten. Puddin’ will be my bouncer and Divinity Laurence, my favorite featured drag performer and constant muse. Henry will be the brother I consult to get all the Reluctants out into the lights. Noodle my dancing boy in the cage. There he is bobbing and loose in the way which earned his nickname, Bud Lite in hand, always Bud Lite. Always the oversized houndstooth jacket from Willi Smith who is also no longer with us but whose AIDS quilt square we visited all those years ago on a day so hot we thought we’d die. How we got cocktails after to forget. Maybe by dancing, we can raise some spirits of a different kind. Maybe, just maybe, they’ll join us.
Nostalgia is funny. It can be painful, but it can also be an important signpost. Turning toxic into medicine. Decades ago, I went to a party which happened to include the bass player for Sparklehorse. He was a lovely, tall willow of a thing who I wanted to dress, kiss, and paint. Instead, I went to the stereo, put in One Dove, and pressed play. Immediately, the entire vibe of the party changed. Chatting turned into head turns of approval. People softened, then swayed. I saw the glitter slowly arising from their bodies in a sunshower. The start of something I stored away for a very long time.
House of NAE Live at Club Church premieres 11/22. If not before because who knows? Momma just might get a wild hair. Watch this space if you like glitter and rainbows and disco giraffes. Because believe me, it’s going to be so EPIC. A place so safe its PULSE, its PULSE, its PULSE, its PULSE, its PULSE will never be silenced or tamed or forgotten. Remember and speak their names. Always speak their names. Because at the start of every show, I will. I’m committing to that too. That’s my protest too. This isn’t some serious shit to bring down the vibe, I’m doing it to RISE. Because more than anything, I believe, truly believe, in SOUL REVIVAL. A nomadic, traveling one-woman circus full of wonder, magic, glitter, rainbows, spinning planets, galaxies, and disco ball giraffes. All mixed with Deep. Nasty. House. So much nasty you can’t even call it House. You have to call it Church. Club Church. Join me if you dare.
YASS!! Nearly everything you said, truly was/is who I am, too. I will be waiting for this, and I hope to be able to contribute any suggestions you may welcome.
Thank you, Nae!
Thank you Ant Beeeeeee! Sent you an email kiddo, so happy to hear from you. Honored you took the time. Truly. Big Love!
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