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Jiggling asses and starting fights with the
queen of Baltimore club music, K-Swift.
Words: vivian host Photos: Shawn Brackbill
Swiss producer Robi Insinna gets down with split
personality disorder as Headman and Manhead.
words: vivian host photo: dieter seeger
This is music as martial law. Tons of stuttering trombones
bleat out a shuffling time like “Taps” on cocaine. Snares
back up against each other and pop-pop like automatic gun
fire. Demanding bass reinforces the boom-clack-bounce-shuffle
of the breaks and the militancy of the samples–repetitive
staccato orders like “Watch out for the big girls!” and “Open it
up! Give ‘em some room!”
In the middle of this mayhem, behind a p-popping
honey with inch-long green and white acrylics and
a wifebeater-sporting man so buff he looks like an
action figure, stands all 5’ 4” of Baltimore’s Club
Queen K-Swift. Despite her size and her baby
face, 26-year-old Khia Edgerton cuts an authoritative
presence behind the turntables. Surrounded
by scattered CDs and vinyl, she’s full of studied,
pouty-lipped cool, even as the sound system
repeatedly gives out. The second it comes back
on, she’s back on the mic again, entertaining the
crowd with such salvos as “Everybody who wants
to get laid tonight scream!” and “Everyone who
has $20 in your pocket throw your hands up!”
That last command is clearly delivered tongue-incheek,
as Edgerton is playing to a warehouse full of
Baltimore indie rock kids, most of whom probably
don’t have more than $5 to their name.
On a normal Friday night, Edgerton would most
likely be controlling the decks at urban nightspot
Club Choices. Choices–with its roster of guests like
Rod Lee, Redz, and DJ Technics–is the place to
hear what’s known as “Baltimore club” (or, if you
live in Maryland, simply “club music”). Though
it’s been around since the early ‘90s, Bmore club
is slowly becoming the next form of regional bass
music–like Chicago’s ghetto house, Detroit’s ghetto
tech, Washington D.C.’s go-go, and Houston’s
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