#nowchild

It's 9:55pm. Percolating spectators with low eyes and jazz player grins are trickling through the door. A drummer named Supaman paradiddles his way around the bass player's sketchy riff while St. Paul, with his freshly polished alto sax, softly chirps out a warm-up scale to the tune of C Minor in the corner. What seems to be a dithering jangle of vagrant notes being played is the houseband,seeWEED, just loosening up for the evening amidst the ambient buzz of a growing crowd. Still, above the playful disonance of live instruments, an impressive wall of subwoofers and tweeters resonate with the thump of GangStarr's "Mass Appeal". DJ Kyle, staring intently into his laptop, is busy queuing up a solid playlist of Hip Hop classics. Anticipation is the scent of the night and it lays thickly in the air, wafting over cliques of aspiring artists eager to step on stage. The open mic sign-up sheet is almost full and there are still hungry, young spitters stirring, waiting to grab the magic marker and add their handles to the final slots. Outside, in the back, is a congregation of mixed variety partaking of their sacraments of libations and aromatic vapors. This is the mellowed ceremony and relevant preclusion to a joyous and melodic uprising that will reach every corner of the building when the church service known as the JukeJoint climbs to its height. At the mic, which serves as a fiery pulpit where freestyles will be the predominant gospel of the evening, three things are certain. All will endeavor to invoke the holy spirit of street music. All will seek to appease the gods of the gathering with song as the sacrifice. All will have to submit themselves before the audience and apply the ultimate post-sermon petition. "Can I get another one?" This is the weekly ritual every Thursday in a sacred musical sanctuary on 409 E. Preston St. known as Nowchild Soundstage. The communion, until 2am, is Judah's JukeJoint.  Right now, it's only 9:55.