Parts & Labour like niche-niche but sweet, obviously

February 6, 2016


Remembering what Scott Wade told me about Parts & Labour being a blessing and a curse and thinking about how this fits perfectly as a colourful name, like Parts (blessing) and Labour (curse).


It is really kind of a niche market inside of a large mainstream market that is basically the same thing but feels like something you do on your own anyways and now you have everyone there with you.


“Serve it up, D-I-Y,” said Scott Wade, a staff bookings agent at Parts & Labour, referring to the pro-modern DO IT YOURSELF attitude that people may sometimes see a waterfall of value in.


But then I walk simultaneously as I write this story through a night that I had experienced, sometimes in my dreams and often while I was open-eyed and breathing the city around me.


Parts & Labour has gone through changes in terms of culture but now it usually sounds like a night of hip-hop and EDM, mostly DJs and collectives sometimes with hype men or MCs to get people that high level of excitement they may want, but otherwise just simple and real shtuff, said our friend Scott.


Sounds sweet. I’m in. I just need to finish this essay or I’ll never finish my sexual history MA.


Ah, damn. But I already poured you this glass of champagne. Vous-bonjour-vous-bonjour.


According to Scott, the main floor is generally what is regarded as the P&L bar and the basement has a name for its voice, which is “the shop.”


Excitement. Excitement. Down dance, up drink; down drink too. All fun.


Walks into the club thinking about how part of God is not conscious so you can never ‘feel’ like God and how this relates to how much Vodka you can look at before thinking it might be a good idea to get Pizza and maybe one without meat because you feel special today.


“In general, Toronto is focused on hip-hop,” said Scott.


This is obvious from the billboard success of people like Drake and The Weeknd.


“And maybe tomorrow we should go to ADULT SUMMER CAMP! Yeah! And get married and just c.o.u.c.h.; all day all time.”


There is a lot that is special about Parts & Labour. Like, awesome music with a low key atmosphere, no dress code and no VIP just so everyone feels like people-people.


Real shit, AHEM.


Fast forward to sleeping as I have a sip from a beer and somehow I know I will be talking about Satanism and sexual frustration to a very beautiful Bosozoku girl in a bar basement and then wind up backwards and in bed remembering the next few days in the future where I dance-flex in the shower really baked listening to A$AP Ferg’s – Doe Active with sunglasses and a bathing suit on.


And yes, we talked.


Keep it simple?


That’s basically what the booking staff is trying to do at P&L.


And they want people to know they don’t want to be a part of a “cash grab” and the routine is good for regulars.


And then conversations about Donald Trump with security before you met that girl but actually long after turn into why are you not afraid and some weird question about why you aren’t when you know you got this but someone doesn’t seem to get anything or worse be happy about it.


But then one day girls have beard dance vine porn and it sustains lots of long staring and feeling like SYTYCD. Just dudes who probably have cat hair in their morning coffees dancing like they went through the black rights movement in a past life.


And thinking about what the linguistic opposite of the French sentence “J’ai vendu ma coeur a une fille avec rivière toujours et presque une finalitee humane,” is.


If I could just open up my honest opinion for a second on Parts & Labour from my time spent there its just something that feels like a place full of attraction at essence.


Sexy sexy.

One percent left sexy.

Finna fall asleep after this night and dream about making you waffles sexy.

And then I’m like gotta brush my teeth and not look at the toilet.


Brought to you by a fan request that will one day resonate through those halls of syncopation and conversation.


And then the night ends and people sometimes roll over on their stomachs and arch their backs and whisper ‘AU.JOUR.D’HUI.’ without knowing French or actually saying anything but actually just hearing something tap on their window like a decompression from the air conditioner or something and we all forget and the next morning is just like ‘Oh. Check. Phone. Wait. Do again?


Check bank account.

Feel the shame. No. We embrace. We like. We strong. We like look at bright and feel like shades but no wear shades.


Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzmnyaahhhhhhhhhh. HEART.

© Shaun Fitl, Music Vice

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