“It’ll never be over for me.”

Jun 26

The first time I attended a Suavecito Souldies event was nearly 10 years ago. I’d already been in the bay a couple of years having transplanted from Los Angeles, and I was diligently searching for community. A friend of mine, who had seen my stash of 45rpm records, told me about a vinyl-only night at The Golden Bull bar in downtown Oakland where DJs played sad soul tunes. I marked it on my calendar and made plans to go.

I showed up early with no idea on what to expect. The Golden Bull is this small and narrow hedonistic watering hole, featuring a stage that hosts all sorts of musical events for Oakland’s thriving underground music scene. On the night in question, there must’ve been a punk show right before the Suavecito event, because when I walked in, the crowd was not at all what I was expecting. There’s no way that this place hosts a vinyl-only oldies night, I thought to myself. Punk music was still blaring through the speakers (decent sound system!), and as I stood there in my pressed cuffed Dickies with black Cortez Nikes at my feet, I imagined just how out of place I must have seemed. But as I pushed through the crowd towards the back of the bar, past the mohawks and studded leather jackets, I saw a figure stringing up the Suavecito Souldies banner in front of the turntables up on stage. This is the first time I saw Rene. There was a small table next to the turntables that held several boxes of 45s. My interest piqued. A few minutes later, the music cut, and I heard the distinct sound of a needle treading along the outer groove of the first record of the night. The event had begun. And I immediately felt at home.

That night, I was a wallfower chugging Tecates and sopping up every single stellar cut that got thrown on the turntables as if photosynthesis depended on it, observing the dizzying ebb and flow of the bay area’s souldies crowd take charge of the dance floor. I can't remember who spun that night, but I do remember feeling like I had stumbled into my long lost tribe. I even naively attempted to Shazam a few tunes before giving up; whatever they were playing was far too obscure for the app’s algorithm to recognize. It was intoxicating.

I kept showing up every first Friday of every month to the rotating roster of DJs and selectors. Every event was a sort of high level crash course of deep and achy rarities, the sort of stuff that ultimately filled out my Discogs wantlist with countless impossibilities. After a few months of taking in the scene, I finally introduced myself to Rene, who then introduced me to some of the kindest and most knowledgeably faithful soul collectors and curators the bay area had to offer. I felt humbled to have been brought into their world.

Over the years, I was invited to spin at a few Suavecito Souldies events. And every time I did, I treated it like an honor. At one point, Rene even gifted me a hoodie with the Suavecito Souldies emblem on the back and my name up front, accent and all, like I was patched in. I still wear that sweater with pride. Because for me, Suavecito Souldies was more than just a night of music (with a touch of healthy debauchery). It was intersecting touchpoints: it was culture, education, community and connection, love and hope, heartbreak and smiling then to cry later. It was a night out of every month in which we could all stand together to let loose and feel what we needed to feel to get the month started off the right way.

And then the pandemic hit. After the world shut down, I stopped attending public events. And like everyone else, I sort of… lost track of time; it continually shocks me just how quickly time flew over the course of the last four blurry years. Next thing I knew, I saw on my social media feed that there was to be a Suavecito Souldies’ 10th anniversary night, and it was presumably the last SS night ever. I instantly felt that achy pang of nostalgia in my chest, which compelled me to immediately buy a ticket. I may have missed many SS events over the last four years, but if this was indeed the last one, there was no way in hell that I was going to miss it.

I showed up that night to a long queue of folks waiting to get into the Crybaby. And once I was inside, I was in awe of the sort good kind of pandemonium that I was observing. Even the venue had changed a bit from the last time I was there; they had knocked down a wall that had previously separated the bar area from the main event space. And it was all filled to capacity with bodies. I had my little X100v with me and I began to snap photos here and there as keepsakes for myself. And I was so happy to see just how big and how beloved the night had grown; the merch sold out quickly, the photobooth with the SS logo as the backdrop was busy, it took forever to get the bartender’s attention, the lines for the bathrooms were extra long, there were even folks getting tattooed to the sound of oldies banging loudly over the speakers. I saw and reconnected with many old friends who I had met at past Suavecito shows, and we all embraced, caught up, sang, drank, and swayed to all the classics one final time, making the most of this final night.

Suavecito Souldies may be done for now. Maybe forever. Hopefully not.

But if so, in the immortalized words of Thee Midniters, it'll never be over for me.