Stay Debaucherous

It was freezing, absolutely freezing. This was to be expected for mid-December in Chicago, but still, it was freezing. It was my third time around the same block as I searched for the deliberately covert address that I had just received four hours earlier. This was by design. It was a clever way of quite literally keeping the creeps away. This wasn’t my first time at this event but it was my first time since it had gained somewhat of a reputation. On my fourth pass, I was starting to wonder if there was going to be an event at all. I did notice a modest crowd starting to form around an unmarked door. I was desperate for any sign that I hadn’t fallen victim to a massive GPS error, so I slowed down to see if the crowd would grow. I noticed more cars slowly pulling up to the location, each one pausing in front of this unmarked door, seemingly waiting for some sign of confirmation just as I was.

I was confident enough at this point to park in the spot I had magically found and been idling in for twenty minutes. I was ready to brace the cold wind that was waiting for me outside of the car door. I had been a videographer in Chicago for some time at this point so late nights and run and gun setups were a norm for me. With a combination of preparation and a bit of good fortune, I would get the footage I needed. This was years before I was producing documentaries, so I was not there for any ethnographical research adventure. I was simply asked to shoot the event by my friend Khari and it was as much a fulfillment of curiosity as it was a video shoot. He had started the event as a way to celebrate his birthday and I knew three things about it: it was secretive, they played house music, and it was called Thee Debauchery Ball.

As I gathered my equipment and started for the door, I noticed that knee-to-ankle-length coats were popular amongst the crowd waiting to get in. It was understandable due to the evening weather, but there was a sense of something clandestine in the air. We entered the elevator and rode up together with a low murmur of small talk until we arrived at our floor. As the doors opened, we rounded the corner into a typical office and studio building. We could feel the music before we heard it as the distant volume seemed to slowly rise in the room. The crowd around me began to shed their heavy coats, hats and gloves revealing an array of black, erotic clothing that ran the gamut from night-out sexy black dresses to body paint and very little (if anything) else.

We came to a table at the entrance of the last door in the hall. The woman at the table saw the camera in my hand along with all my accessories and waved me into the venue. I entered with only a spattering of light here and there to guide me. At first, I could only see the outlines of people—silhouettes against the shadowy background. As lights flickered and pulsated, I could see flashes of lace and skin. To my left, I caught a glimpse of glossy leather and metal accessories. Behind that, bright pink ropes were wrapped around a female figure who seemed almost oblivious to what was happening as she moved to the music. Before even turning on the camera I scanned the room and saw a mass of Afro-eroticism and liberation. A ball-gagged woman wearing nothing but a sheer catsuit grooved in the same space as the masked woman covered in a cloak that did nothing to cover the pasties and black thong underneath. The room had a sense of unbridled sexuality with an overarching playful and consensual tone. This was clearly going to be...unconventional.

This was not the first party I had shot and I never found them to be overly complicated. No matter how unique the host tried to make them it came down to the same basic elements. Browse the room, look for the most expressive people, and search for those personal moments between individuals that tell a story of the event. But House music changes things. It moves differently. There's no preoccupation with a preset list of favorite songs but rather an indescribable moment of sounds based on the feel of the crowd and energy in the room. It speaks with each dancer in the room and everyone responds whether they know it or not. That was my challenge, how do I find the personal moment in a room filled with personal moments.

I decided to start from one corner and work my way around the room. Quietly navigating past the bodies in a personalized expression of inner sexuality. The loincloths around the masculine and feminine waist and black Gothic mask accompanied by ankle-length cloaks and nude bodies unless you count the body paint. My first stop was the corner of the venue that seemed to be designated for rope play. The bright pink rope that I had caught a glance of earlier was now spun around multiple women in various designs and configurations. It was easy to tell the difference between the curious and the experienced. Some looked on with the sense wonder of a novice and others settled into relaxed states that made it apparent this was definitely not their first time. I moved deeper into the venue and walked directly into fishnet stockings wrapped around the legs of a tall woman. As I scanned up and passed the black lingerie, I stopped at the cat o’ nine tails whip in her hand. Somehow, I didn’t immediately see the willing participant bent over a chair, awaiting a moment of discipline. I was consumed with the figure and her commanding black whip. She playful stalked her partner, staying with the beat of the music in the room. Light jabs became substantial hits that, with nonverbal consent, turned into heavy blows across the lower body. After one incredibly strong strike, the recipient stood and stared deeply at her whip-wielding aggressor. She took two steps forward and embraced her in an almost familial hug. Consent is beautiful.

I decided to follow the music and was struck by a tall, broad-shouldered figure towards the back of the venue. He stood behind a table filled with audio equipment, in full control of every sound coming out of the speakers. This was William Dunn, better known as DJ Big Will. To say Big Will makes an impression gives the word understatement new life. Living up to his moniker, he stands well past the six-foot mark with shoulders that seem the same length. A booming voice that seemed audible even when the music drowned out any other sound. He was the head DJ and was there at the beginning when Khari was still forming the event. House music always revolves around the DJs and each one speaks their own language with the tracks they select. Big Will's language was so pronounced and unique it was clearly the voice of Thee Debauchery Ball and everyone seemed to understand it intimately.

Suddenly, all attention was directed to the front of the venue. A band had almost covertly set up while people were distracted by the music and were now trying to gather people around with a series of announcements, guitar riffs, and drum rhythms. People started to migrate towards the seating area around the band, some with a sense of anticipation and some with high levels of curiosity. The band built to a mix of funk, soul, and gospel music. Suddenly a black-caped figure draped in silver Afrocentric jewelry took center stage. It was the man who had created everything I had experienced that night: Khari B.

I could describe Khari, I could find fancy words to explain to him as a person and an entertainer but I tend to avoid futility. I will simply say that if a tempest of art, charisma and unfiltered commentary form a sentient being Khari would still be more interesting. Commonly carrying the title of the “Disco Poet,” he has been a paragon of the cities art scene for as long as I can remember. Matter of fact, if you want to out yourself as a tourist, simply state “I don't know who Khari B is.”

But tonight he was a musician as much as a poet. Backed by the all-female band of his own creation dubbed “Osun's Waters”, he takes the stage bare-chested but nearly concealed in glimmering silver Afrocentric necklaces, medallions, and bracelets.

He warms up the crowd with a combination of introductions, instructions, and jokes. The first song was a surprising mix of rock and poetry with an erotic tone, which seemed to be a summation of the event itself. Each transition from song to song seemed to evoke another genre of music and each one had a unique poetic flow. I realized that this mix of genres was his non-verbal way of stating an overarching theme of the event and the culture around it. It’s all house, it’s all accepted, and it’s all about community.

As the band began to wind down and peoples’ attention turned back to the DJ, I was certain that I had captured enough footage for multiple projects, but I couldn’t leave. I realized what I saw. I saw beauty, sexuality, no exploitation, no shame, judgments and inhibitions left at the door and friends and lovers enjoying a safe space. There were stories upon stories but one thing seemed clear, this was never just about sex, it was never just about lust. This was a living art exhibit, an exhibition of community freedom and expression. We need more of this whether we realize it or not.

As the final song played and lights were slowly turned on, I gathered my equipment and headed toward the exit with almost the same crowd I entered with at the beginning of this journey. We rounded the same corner and rode down in the same elevator. As I opened the door and was hit with the same Chicago winter air. I knew things were different now. This needed to be documented but it's clandestinely needed to be protected. It needed to be celebrated and kept safe from those who would exploit it. But at that moment, in the frigid night air, one trivial thought would not leave my mind. I’m so glad I found parking.