Chances With Wolves

Text by Sahara Borja

Intro – My People

On a snowless night in January there is music coming from the attic of Isa, on S. 2nd street in Brooklyn. Inside, it is sweaty as fucking hell except there is a fantastic soundtrack moving the people, all of whom are very much alive, all very ecstatic. The floors are wood and there is a lot of stomping happening, resulting in a somewhat spontaneous percussive call and response. Someone has his shirt off. “Lonely Boy” from Gossip Girl is walking around looking lost, overdressed in a beanie and scarf. We pay him no mind: there are girls swishing their skirts to watch and people hopping up and down in overalls. One of them lands on my foot, hard, with one of those L-train heels. I almost murder, but the room, you don’t understand, the room by midnight is filled with a high that doesn’t register aggression. There are couples swaying and there is a release in their faces. There is a French girl who swore to me she doesn’t dance but now finds herself next to me, her signature truculence slipping away quickly to reveal in her response what only music and movement can reveal in each of us. What is happening?! As an undercurrent of conversation laces the perimeter of the room, the DJ’s of Chances with Wolves are moving us all. Kray is wearing a poncho, long locks over face as he hunches over, selecting songs, occasionally moved himself to dance along with the sea of bopping heads beyond the speakers. Kenan is close by, and comes over quietly to exchange headphones when it’s time to switch it up. The hand-off is in silence, communicating like they do from the booth down at East Village Radio, where they’ve been broadcasting live every week since the spring of 2008.