Fucking Sheryl Crow, had me convinced Santa Monica Blvd.’s attractions included nothing more than that Billy guy, and disrobing Budweiser longnecks. I didn’t hear her say shit about Jimmy’s Lounge. See…that’s why you don’t ever have any fun Sheryl. Of course, how was she to know that 8-2-08 was part 2 of Peanut Butter Wolf’s 888 tour on Funky Soul night at Jimmy’s?
A relatively unassuming shell of a building on Santa Monica home to festivities, inside shit was pretty nuts.
Equal parts chill, drink, and dance, PB’s 2nd stop was delightfully charming, wooing patrons with environment, and funky as fuck soundtrack. Shiva-limbed B-girls drew immediate infatuation, multi-faceted skill sets of popping, locking, booty gyration, ballet? Yeah, despite the Missus draped zarape-status, the sirens-of-sorts lassoed my affections from 10 feet out. As things funked up, the dance floor populated and the apprehensive B-boys found their balls and “got up offa’ that thing”, styling, toppin, freezing, an encouraging bunch. Peep the scene at midnight, no two-steppers, just every hipster, hip-hopper, b-boy/girl, and funk aficionado grooving speak-easy style (see Idlewild and you’ll get it). A scene to behold, the little Michael doppelganger, and the mohawk-ed miss lifting her dress to get full rotation on those hips, enough about the dance floor.
The back area, patio/lounge hybrid, was more grubbin and gabbing. Here is where it went down. PB and a cadre of DJ’s and Stones Throw affiliates crowd the DJ cabinet, and the mob from inside assimilates into the patio’s mob, an army of hip, unhip, dread-locked, fro-hawked, fedora topped anticipation. PB did not disappoint, after some tech stall, up comes the video projection to the immediate left. DJ Rhettmatic (Beat Junkies/ Visionaries) handling hype duties, the music video mixing was a new experience for me. One might assume that the somewhat younger crowd may not appreciate “oldies night”, and I would have to Homie The Clown their asses across their crown, everyone was sold. 50’s to early 70’s, funk to hippie-rock, the mixes of the videos and the music was audio/video ecstasy. I dug, they dug, it was a good time. Kinda makes me wish I didn’t miss Disco night on 8-1. No, strike that, I’m sure I regret it. I felt way too unhip at times, though Im glad their weren’t oppressive cool people elitists in the house, just professional chilllers sharing a love for life and music. With a beer at 7-8 bucks with tip, the juice wasnt worth the squeeze and Dodger capped PB had to be my intoxicant, and man did I get smashed. Oh, big ups to the house DJ’s too. On to 8-3!
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