Nile's autobio is a treat throughout, a highlight story available in excerpt on GQ's site is about the initial reaction to Everybody Dance:
A mere three weeks after we’d recorded it, Robert, who had made a few lacquers (lacquer records that could be reproduced quickly), made an "emergency" call to me because he was DJing and had to be sure he’d get me between records. "Hey, Nile, you’ve gotta come over and see this," Robert said."See what?"
"I can’t explain it, you just have to see it. Come to the Night Owl, and when they stop you, tell them you did ’Everybody Dance.’ "
The fact that I’d be stopped was inevitable. The Night Owl catered to an upscale black crowd that adhered to a strict dress code. I didn’t have the duds or the dough to get in, so I asked Robert, "What do you want me to do?"
He repeated his instructions, then emphasized, "Tell them you are the one who did ’Everybody Dance.’ That’s all you have to do, no matter who stops you. You got it?"
"OK, cool. See you in a couple hours."
I’d started dressing while still on the phone because the curiosity was killing me. I ran to the subway and rushed to the club to see whatever it was that I had to see. As soon as I got to the door, the huge bouncer said, "Hey, man, you can’t come in here dressed like that."
"I’m a friend of Robert Drake."
"I don’t give a damn if you are Robert Drake, you ain’t getting in here dressed like that."
"Oh, I almost forgot. I did ’Everybody Dance.’ "
" ’Everybody Dance?’ Brother, let me shake your hand. What’s your name?"
"I’m Nile."
"Yo, this is Nile. Let him in," the bouncer told another bouncer inside, working the ticket booth. I took the elevator up. The door opened, and the next bouncer said, "Hey, you can’t come in here looking like that." Right away I said, "My name is Nile, and I did ’Everybody Dance.’ "
" ’Everybody Dance?’ Damn, no shit? Come in, brother man. Can I buy you a drink? Hey, Tom," he shouted to the white owner of the black club, who was smoother than a gravy sandwich. Tom was the seventies version of my stepdad, Bobby: sartorial perfection, slick rap, and an appetite for sisters.
"This is the dude that did ’Everybody Dance.’ "
"Hey, man, my name is Tom, and this is my place. You can come here anytime you want and it’s on the house."
This all seemed like Robert was playing a practical joke, because I’d never met any of these people and they were treating me like I was the man. Tom and I chatted for about ten minutes about his new club in my old hood, and then he escorted me through a heavily cigarette-smoke-clouded room over to the DJ booth. Robert was talking to a beautiful buppie hottie who worked on Wall Street. "Yo, Nile," he said as soon as he saw me. He didn’t spend any time with idle chitchat. He screamed over the music, "You’ve got to check this out," and started laughing.
The stylus dropped onto the lacquer, and after Tony’s opening drum fill, Bernard’s killer bass line came in. I hadn’t heard this for almost a month, but I knew the song right away because I’d written it. The Night Owl patrons let out an almost bloodcurdling "Oww www." Then my guitar entered along with Rob’s piano, David’s vibes, and Tom’s clavinet. The room filled with voices—"Everybody da-ance, do-do-do, clap your hands, clap your hands." A frenzied crowd of dancers, playing air guitar and air bass on the dance floor, lasted through seven continuous replays of Robert’s two lacquers— approximately an hour of the same song. I’d been into dancing and nightclubbing since my days with my ex-girlfriend Karen, and I understood why DJs played a popular record repeatedly to keep the dance floor hopping, but this was ridiculous. An hour of the same song, and it was my demo!
― niels, Sunday, 23 July 2017 08:40 (six years ago) link
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