photo by Kyla for BlackNBlingCEE BROWN IS MY BOY. Specifically. You got your friends, who you could take to tea with mother and are pretty boring for precisely that reason (well, more like YOUR mother - mine is a riot). Then you got your dogs, who are good fun, but you only recognize them when they're standing next to a keg with a red plastic cup in their face. Then you got pals and buddies, which I don't have because they sound a bit gay. But your boy is all-purpose: knows when not to use the word 'motherfucker', will buy you a beer without you having to remind him about that twenty he still owes you, and has a craft: something he brings to the table at which we men of enterprise draw up our dreams. I've known Cee Brown since high school, and Cee is my boy. His craft is rocking parties. He's been doing it non-stop since then, and he just keeps getting better.
Cee is a throwback to the old school party DJ of yore, who kept every record some kinda funky, kept no record on too long, and kept moving till everyone in the place was moving too, and then kept moving some more. My deejay routine consists of me pressing buttons on my laptop between drink orders. This guy works up a sweat on the turntables. The shit's like fucking aerobics. And your dancin ass will be pretty greasy by the time he's done too. Cee Brown plays party music - that hip-hop, funk and r&b nobody can resist. A lot of overrated deejays play a lot of goofy ass music these days, but Cee turns out every event he's at, and he doesn't have to play French elevator music to do it.
You can catch Cee Brown in motion every Sunday night at Phat Laces, a weekly jam at Carbon where I hold down hosting and toasting duties alongside deejays Panamami, P.U.D.G.E. and Dizam, who aren't exactly chopped liver on the tables either. Entry is free, and Cee brings extra amplifiers, so it's like the speaker room at Best Buy in there. The bass makes the ice cubes in your drink quiver.
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