Ron Hardy and Screamin' Rachael at
The Music Box, Chicago, 1987.
Photo by Richard Fairbanks.
Trax Records has been called the Motown of its generation—and with good reason. The iconic label launched the groovilicious sound known as house music 20 years ago right here in Chicago.
This year, Trax celebrates its two-decade milestone with the releases of several CDs, including Trax Records: the 20th Anniversary Collection and Trax Records: The Next Generation. The former CD has such classic tracks as 'You Used to Hold Me,' with Ralphi Rosario and Xavier Gold. The latter, mixed by DJ Maurice Joshua, features such gems as Jere McAllister's 'Let the Music Use You.'
Windy City Times recently sat with the president of Trax Records, Screamin' Rachael, whose voice is on both the Collection and Next Generation. The vivacious and gregarious executive dished about everything from the start of Trax to her friendship with infamous club promoter Michael Alig, whose life was fictionalized in the film Party Monster. Believe me, she's lived one colorful life.
Windy City Times: Since you're a bona fide expert in the field, what is your definition of house music?
Screamin' Rachael: To me, house music is not disco but it's stripped down. It's known for its thumping kick drum. It has the whole kind of melting-pot feel that Chicago has. There's an uplifting feeling about it. So, I would say that it's stripped-down, uplifting, thumping dance music that's not disco—but that has roots of disco in it.
WCT: What was the first record you ever bought?
SR: Wow, this is hard. You know what? This might sound crazy, but I remember getting a Billie Holiday record. I love blues. I always think of blues and house music as being similar. Blues is stripped down and simplistic on a certain level. It's not how many notes you play but how it all comes together—which reminds me of house music. Also, there's that Chicago magic with blues as well. Chicagoans make music not to hit the charts. They make music just because they love to—and that's what Trax is all about.
WCT: How did Trax get started?
SR: It was such a simple thing. In the early '80s, there was nothing for teens to do. [Influential DJs] Frankie [Knuckles], Ron Hardy, and I started these warehouse parties at a time when the music was morphing into something else—because the crowds were becoming else. We knew that the key to the next musical movement was vinyl. And who had the vinyl? Larry [Sherman, Screamin' Rachael's business partner]! Larry had this vinyl pressing plant. We needed to put the music on vinyl so the DJs could play it. My friends and I made a deal with Larry and Trax became a reality.
Sylvia Robinson, one of the forces behind Sugarhill Records, was a mentor to me. Original hip-hop music [which Sugarhill introduced to the masses] was so great and I figured that one day I wanted to have a focus for house music. It was so sad when she sold Sugarhill. That company had classics like 'Rappers' Delight,' 'White Lines,' and 'The Message.'
WCT: Your company has been centered around vinyl. How hard was it to switch to CDs—something you've done recently?
SR: The reason why we had to [switch] is because everyone needs to hear this great music. Think of all the people who haven't heard these wonderful songs! It's time to bring house music to people's homes—which is my ultimate dream. It's [the result] of all my years of travel. It's an incredible feeling when you can hear your music being played in a nightclub in China, which is what happened when I heard my record in a place called 1997.
WCT: It must be something reaching out to different cultures. It's true what they say: Music is a universal language. Everyone can groove to the same beat.
SR: (Nods.) Exactly. That is the magic of it. People put too many boundaries on things, such as ageism, sexism, racism, and [fashion]. Music knows no restrictions—and it's going to outlive us all. You can't contain its magic. No matter how down I've been, music has always lifted me.
WCT: You mentioned Ron Hardy and Frankie. What do they mean to you?
SR: Wow. Ron was something else. (He passed away in 1991.) He was so funny and experimental. He elevated house music to such a high plateau. He brought so many extra elements into the music. He would mix the more hip-hop and street-wise elements, like [singer] Colonel Abrams, into the music.
As for Frankie, they're actually naming a street after him in August. It's around where the warehouse parties were. His parties used to be right up the block from my parties at Fulton and Morgan. So many of us—including Marshall Jefferson and [singer/songwriter] Jamie Principle—used to follow Frankie. I reminded him a little time ago that he got me into this. (Smiles.)
WCT: I actually heard Colonel Abrams songs back in my little spot in Virginia.
SR: [At one point,] I made this song called 'My Main Man.' The man who discovered Colonel Abrams—Apache Ramos—found me and told me that I was going to be bigger than Madonna. He said that I had to come to New York and work with Colonel and Loleatta [Holloway, the singer].
I started talking about 'house music' and people reacted badly to it. People made fun of me. Unfortunately, Streetwise Records [which signed me] closed down. I just decided to keep plugging and I set out to bring house music to New York.
Then, I landed in Sugarhill—where I met Sylvia. I even worked with [R&B singer] Angie Stone there. It was really great. I missed the Chicago gang but I would fly back on occasion. It was fun being with Ron, Larry, Marshall, and the others. Hip-hop was new; I got educated by Rock Steady Crew and [hip-hop founder] Afrika Bambaataa.
WCT: Wow! Afrika Bambaataa?
SR: He was great. He was the one who really urged people to give house music—and me—respect. People would say that you couldn't mix house music and hip-hop music because one was more 'macho' and the other was more 'gay.' I said that there was no separation in music. Afrika and I did hip-house music in 1987. People's jaws would drop because they didn't [realize] that a white girl sang those songs.
WCT: Do you have a favorite type of house music? There are so many subgenres, like gospel house, deep house, and [now] big-room house.
SR: I would have to say no. I'm always finding something new but I love a lot of the classics. The messages and the beats of those songs—like 'Can You Feel It'—are so important.
WCT: Which do you enjoy more—running Trax or performing?
SR: You know what? I love performing more than anything else—but I knew that someone had to [run things]. I went to people like Sylvia. I told them about this new music and that we needed someone to distribute the music. People like Russell Simmons said that they wanted no part of house music; they said it was a Chicago thing. Sylvia was ready to get out of the business—and did so. I ended up bringing house music to people like Jellybean Benitez and Little Louie Vega.
I have to give Larry [Sherman] a lot of credit. We were the kids with the dream but he believed in us. However, he said that house was like jazz; he thought it was an underground thing that was not going to be this huge vision I had.
I cried when Sugarhill closed. I told Sylvia that she was going to lose everything she had built. The people who should be remembered were not going to be remembered—and I didn't want that to happen to house music. We couldn't have all the great people associated with house music just disappear. People think that hip-hop started with Russell Simmons. Don't get me wrong; he's great—but there were people before him who laid the groundwork. I realized that I had to [keep the memories of house music's founders alive.
WCT: So it's like you're on a mission.
SR: Yes! That's it!
WCT: How instrumental were gay clubs in getting house music out there?
SR: I think they were absolutely key. A lot of gay people seem to be very creative—and accepting. The gay clubs were wonderful springboards because the people were open to accepting something new whereas a lot of other people were not. The people in gay clubs wanted to dance—and house music was there for them. I see a positive side to every negative thing. Even something like AIDS might have [played a role]. Out of that time (the mid '80s), I think people found a release with this raw house music. Dancing is very cathartic, you know. So there were the timing, fear, and the angst that was all around.
WCT: You have a CD coming out.
SR: The title of the CD is Extacy. The album is a journey. You get some insight about me in this album. The producers want me to include some of my classics. I decided to do something different; after all, I believe that we can't just let go of the past—we have to build on it. I got DJ Billy the Kid to do a special megamix of my classics that actually ends the album. However, most of the album is new material. So [the listener] goes on a trip from the old to the new. There's a lot of goodwill and love in my album because my friends helped me with it.
WCT: Tell about your relationship with Michael Alig. [Note: Alig was the club promoter who created the whole 'club kid' scene in New York City. He was later convicted of the 1996 murder of club kid Angel Melendez.]
SR: I used to do these parties at a club named Tatou in New York City. A guy introduced me to a guy named Prince Teddy who became my business partner. However, he was brutally murdered—and I was on TV shows like A Current Affair and in tabloid magazines like The Globe. However, Michael thought that the whole thing was fabulous! I told him that it was not fabulous. That was the first time I noticed that he was off the bean.
I first met Michael and his friend James St. James because of an article in New York magazine about club kids. I read it and decided to meet the club kids, then and there. I went to either Danceteria or Tunnel and talked my way in. I met Michael and told him about house music; he had me meet DJ Keoki. They thought the music was cool and I became part of that club kid scene.
For the longest time, it was great. Then it started eroding. Something that turned me off was the racism. I put [hip-hop maestro] Melle Mel on my guest list one night and they said that he couldn't come in because he wasn't some trendy Black VIP. Also, the club owner was starting to turn against house music because he thought it would bring in the 'wrong' crowd. They all put [restrictions] on clothes that Blacks wore.
Soon, Michael became a shadow of himself. People kept giving him drugs to the point where people were just leading him around to take them to parties. I remember asking, 'What has all this become?' I remember the last time I saw Angel. People were carrying him out of the club Limelight. He was kicking and screaming. It was very sad.
At one point, Michael showed up here in Chicago. (I returned here after getting soured on the whole scene.) Michael had confessed to a lot of people—except me. He had made up his face to look like he was bruised. I think it was his own sick way of trying to show something on the outside. I remember him telling me I was going to hear things about him but not to believe them. Strangely enough, he wanted to watch the movie Seven. Looking back, that was really twisted!
Several nights later, I was at a Chicago rave. Someone told me that Michael killed Angel. A girl from the New York scene spread that among Chicago kids. This girl told me details about how Michael killed him. Then she had the nerve to say that Angel wasn't cool and no one liked him. I thought that was so sick. Actually, most people liked Angel. The only reason some people didn't like him was because he didn't give his drugs away. By the way, Angel never took drugs.
I still get letters from Michael (who's in prison). However, sometimes I can't open them until months after I get them. It's all a cautionary tale: Things can go too far.
WCT: How did you get the name Screamin' Rachael?
SR: I got it from [singer] Screamin' Jay Hawkins—and it's also a reflection of attitude. Sometimes I feel like I need primal therapy.
WCT: Your life should definitely be made into a book. If that ever happened, who would you dedicate it to?
SR: (Pauses.) Oh gosh. It would definitely be Ron Hardy. He's done so much for house music—and for me.
I also want to thank two very special friends for helping me. Maurice Joshua came back to Trax and blessed me with his wonderful song 'So Sexy.' After winning the 2004 Grammy for remixing Beyonce's 'Crazy in Love,' he still made time to think of his homegirl. That really means a lot to me. (The song is featured on Next Generation.)
I also want to mention Farley 'Jackmaster' Funk, who came in at the 99th hour during a rainstorm to deliver the first single from my album, 'Please Don't Go'. God has blessed me with wonderful friends who have been with me from the beginning and who are still here today.
Trust me: The 20th Anniversary Collection, Extacy, and The Next Generation are all slammin'. The Web site for Trax Records is www.traxhouse.com .
I'm at westelm406@yahoo.com .
