Life in Paradise:

Give your body up to the music!

My first encounter with house music was in high school, sparked by a friend whose vivid descriptions ignited my curiosity. He’d talk incessantly about the nights he spent immersed in music, lights, and an electric atmosphere filled with beautiful women. His enthusiasm was contagious, but something about his stories felt too surreal for me to fully grasp. I had never been to a club like the ones he described. My clubbing experience at that point was limited to local spots like the Ponderosa and the Audubon in uptown neighborhoods—places where everyone looked like me and the vibe felt familiar. This description was too different for me to grasp.

One afternoon, while working at Station Break in Penn Station, a group of friends from my neighborhood burst into the game room. It was just around noon, but they looked like they had been up all night. They began recounting their experience at a club they had just left, the same club my other friend had spoken so passionately about. Their descriptions were so detailed and colorful that I felt transported. Statements like; “Have you ever seen a chocolate chip jump off a cookie?” “I was on the roof and saw Jesus walking towards me”. They painted vivid pictures of the sounds, the décor, and the unique rooms—details my other friend had failed to mention. And then there were the “tabs,” which added an entirely new layer to the night’s allure. By the end of their stories, I was hooked. I couldn’t stop thinking about it.

We planned to go the following week, it was a weekly occasion by time I joined the party. “Striped shirt night” is what we called it—striped Oxford shirts became our unofficial uniform for the night. I don’t remember whose idea it was, but it was genius. In such a massive space, it made it easier to spot each other, at least for me being in a new spot for the first time. My anticipation grew daily, and when the night finally arrived, it didn’t disappoint. The experience was like stepping into another dimension. From the moment we walked up the long ramp to the entrance and feeling the base like the brick walls were breathing, I was on edge, not knowing if I’d get in because I was underage and I didn’t have a memebership. The thrill of that uncertainty only added to the excitement.

And then, I was inside.

The music was like nothing I’d ever heard before. It didn’t just play—it consumed you. The lights danced across the room in perfect synchrony with the beats. The people were a kaleidoscope of energy, each moving to their own rhythm yet somehow perfectly in tune with one another. There were rooms upon rooms, each with its own unique atmosphere. The movie room, the roof, the crystal room—it was like discovering a new world with every step. Each space offered its own magic, but the best part of the night was simply being there, feeling the pulse of the music and the energy of the crowd.

Week after week, we would pick different shirts. One week, our favorite cartoon characters; another week, rock bands. The list goes on. We were being led by the creative forces from the artists, the music of Frontline Orchestra, Salsoul Orchestra, Taana Gardner, Instant Funk, Celestial Choir, Skyy—man, the creativity within these walls was infectious. The structure, the layout, the lighting, the sound system, the interior decoration—it was a tour de force and forced us to be creative in other aspects of our lives outside of the club. Well, it did for me!

The club, known as the Paradise Garage, was a universe unto itself. It wasn’t just about dancing—it was about losing yourself in the experience. Theme nights made each visit feel fresh and exciting. Beach Night transformed the space with sand and beach balls, while Halloween was a spectacle of costumes and elaborate decorations and New Years was always huge with an amazing performer. The lights, the confetti, and the towering speakers big enough to sit on were unforgettable. And then there was the DJ. Larry Levan was a master storyteller, weaving narratives through his music. He didn’t just play songs; he created a journey. “Come go with me take my hand, Come go with me on a Journey” One night, he played Imagination’s “Changes” while projecting the transformation scene from An American Werewolf in London on the screen on the stage. Genius. I lost my mind!

I remember during the membership drives there would be just as many people there as a party night. The excitement of being a member and not having to worry about being turned away because you were too young was about to be a distant memory. The performances added another extra advantage from Madonna, Grace Jones, Loose Ends, Patti LaBelle, Colonel Abrams, and many more! This added an element of exclusivity because some of the artists were mainstream, and to be able to be that close and even sometimes dance right next to them before and after a performance was humanizing. It made having a membership like being a superstar.

I only experienced the last few years of the Paradise Garage, but those years left an indelible mark on me. The Garage was more than a club; it was a cultural phenomenon, a place where music became a way of life. It opened my ears and my heart to a new kind of love—a love for music that transcended anything I’d felt before.

The Garage was my official initiation into house music, but it was so much more than that. It was where I learned that music could be a sanctuary, a celebration, and a form of self-expression all at once. Even now, decades later, the memories of those nights linger, like echoes of a song that never really ends. Sometimes there is a thought then a shiver, like the “tab” was still running through your veins.

I am truly what we call a "garagehead" now "househead" Don’t get me wrong, I have an admiration for all forms of music, but house music is life—what I refer to as soul music because it has so many elements to it—it reaches everyone in some shape or form.

To this day, I can still hear the echoes of Larry’s bassline and the collective roar of the crowd when the beat dropped just right. I can still see confetti fill the room and dim the lights and rain down and covering us in a sea of colors. The floor becoming a rainbow of spinning souls. It’s a feeling that’s hard to put into words but impossible to forget. The Paradise Garage wasn’t just a place; it was an experience that taught me how to live, how to dream, and how to love through music. And though the Garage is gone, it remains eternal in the hearts of those who lived it. We didn’t just dance—we soared.

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House Music All Life Long!