TROUBL

It was love at Love. We were 7 deep, courtesy of Troubl Media top executive team, CEO and first officers. I was simply along for a ride. A good ride I must add. Love, far from a conspicuous spot, is on the cut street MacDougal, off of West 4th. If you don’t know about it, then you will not know about it.

Shouts to Claudio for the hot photo.

Escorted inside by a white gentleman dressed in traditional black bouncer garment, I went down a set of stairs into a cave. I paid an entrance fee of $15.00, considerably low to hear ?uestlove of the Roots play with the tables ( The nigga was late though, but “Niggas…late…”). A green fluorescent “S” emblem was stamped on my hand for re-entry. And I was off–straight to the bar. A tall glass of Goose, $12.00, but it was full, no mix. Drinkers don’t find mix necessary. Plus, that mix shit make you sick.

There were four rooms. The first was the bar, shining a fluorescent “S” on a hanging transparent wall. It led to another room, which was covered with carpet, fluffy cubbyholes, perfect for doing what you’re not suppose to be do. There was a lounge following it, leading straight into the room with the DJ booth, where the legendary Roots crewman was spinning old school, new school, and newer school.

Whether you were searching for women, men, dance, music, or drinks, the love was there. A neat ratio set the parameter for the distribution of a concept in need and desired. A black woman and white gentleman moved within a zone, shaking their hips, though offbeat; they represented the universal attitude of love. Two women, uncaring to all else, moved and laughed with one another, palms gesturing in an old school groove theory to 8 track beats smashed into vinyl, raking beneath ?uestlove’s needles. The initial attractive element was everywhere. It was obvious. ?uestlove provided it. The crowd provided it. And Love provided it. Troubl was there to take part, promote, and document the transaction

.We promise to have photos next time…