House Foundations, a podcast about House Music history
**New eps weekly** About: Meeting someone new inspired me to start this ASMR podcast about house music history. Learning about Disco Demolition night in 1979 triggered me to put together a list of other house music history and events I wanted to know about. That list led us here and I'm pleased to be your host, C-Dub. I'm also an audio book narrator. I'm a sucker for a good word pun. I'm trying out spoken word podcasting and when I get more comfortable I will be freeform with guests in my episodes. I'm using a Yeti Nano, and MacBook with Audacity and Beats Pro Studio headphones to produce the audio.
House Foundations, a podcast about House Music history
NYC House Music at The Sound Factory, Shelter, The Loft, Body & Soul, Cielo (early 90s)
Send us a text if you like it and want more of it.
Hey everyone, welcome back to House Foundations. I’m your host, C. Dub.
Tonight we’re in New York City—not just the skyline, not just the clubs—but the spirit.
Because house in the early 90s? It wasn’t just a sound. It was church.
It was sweat.
It was survival.
New York didn’t birth house music—that happened in Chicago—but when it reached the five boroughs, it evolved into something more theatrical, more emotive, and more unapologetically rooted in identity. This was a city where disco had thrived, where dance culture had never really gone away, and where communities that were often erased elsewhere carved out entire universes on the dancefloor.
Let’s start with the clubs. The Sound Factory. Shelter. The Loft. Body & Soul. Cielo. And yes, the long shadow of Paradise Garage still lingered, even after its closing in 1987. These weren’t just nightlife spots—they were institutions. The Sound Factory was where Junior Vasquez reigned, remixing Mariah Carey tracks and creating Sunday morning church for ravers. Shelter, under the vision of Timmy Regisford, was all about the deep, the soulful, the emotional. You didn’t go to Shelter to be seen. You went to feel something.
You’d walk in at midnight and maybe not leave till noon the next day. The music wasn’t predictable. It built slowly. It pulled you into its layers. Gospel breakdowns. A cappella intros. Piano riffs that felt like sunrise. These DJs weren’t just beat-matching—they were storytelling. They were creating emotional journeys.
And the music reflected that. We’re talking about tracks that carried you somewhere—"Deep Inside" by Hardrive, which felt like a personal testimony. Barbara Tucker’s "Beautiful People," which was an anthem for community. India’s voice soaring over Louie Vega productions, giving us everything: rage, joy, longing, release. Masters at Work brought live instrumentation into house and gave it elegance without losing the grit.
And while all this was happening, ballroom culture was thriving and intersecting with house in powerful ways. The House of Xtravaganza. The House of Ninja. The balls where categories like runway, realness, and femme queen performance lit up the room—and behind it all, house music kept time. These were not just dance battles. They were declarations. A queer Black and Latinx language of movement, pride, and resistance. This was also the early wave of voguing’s mainstream moment. Think of Madonna’s “Vogue” as just a whisper of what was really going on in basements and community centers all over NYC.
And let’s talk about the sound itself. New York City house in the 90s had its own fingerprints. Gospel chords. Latin percussion. Warm basslines. Vocals that weren’t just there for texture—they carried messages. You’d have a four-minute spoken word monologue right in the middle of a dance track, talking about self-love, spiritual freedom, the daily grind, heartbreak, sex, forgiveness, everything.
House music in NYC wasn’t escapism—it was confrontation. But it was also healing. It let you sweat out the week, cry about your ex, laugh with a stranger, sing at the top of your lungs, and walk home feeling like you’d been baptized in bass.
This was also the golden era of New York house labels. Nervous Records. Strictly Rhythm. King Street Sounds. Cutting Records. These labels didn’t just release music—they defined the sound of New York. They gave us artists like Armand Van Helden, Roger Sanchez, Barbara Tucker, and Blaze. You couldn’t walk into a record store downtown without hearing something that would end up in a Shelter set that weekend.
Even the radio had its moments. Tony Humphries on Kiss FM. Frankie Crocker. Little Louie Vega’s H
House Foundations podcast about Music, hosted by C Dub
Hey everyone, welcome back to House Foundations. I’m your host, C. Dub.
Tonight we’re in New York City—not just the skyline, not just the clubs—but the spirit.
Because house in the early 90s? It wasn’t just a sound. It was church.
It was sweat.
It was survival.
New York didn’t birth house music—that happened in Chicago—but when it reached the five boroughs, it evolved into something more theatrical, more emotive, and more unapologetically rooted in identity. This was a city where disco had thrived, where dance culture had never really gone away, and where communities that were often erased elsewhere carved out entire universes on the dancefloor.
Let’s start with the clubs. The Sound Factory. Shelter. The Loft. Body & Soul. Cielo. And yes, the long shadow of Paradise Garage still lingered, even after its closing in 1987. These weren’t just nightlife spots—they were institutions. The Sound Factory was where Junior Vasquez reigned, remixing Mariah Carey tracks and creating Sunday morning church for ravers. Shelter, under the vision of Timmy Regisford, was all about the deep, the soulful, the emotional. You didn’t go to Shelter to be seen. You went to feel something.
You’d walk in at midnight and maybe not leave till noon the next day. The music wasn’t predictable. It built slowly. It pulled you into its layers. Gospel breakdowns. A cappella intros. Piano riffs that felt like sunrise. These DJs weren’t just beat-matching—they were storytelling. They were creating emotional journeys.
And the music reflected that. We’re talking about tracks that carried you somewhere—"Deep Inside" by Hardrive, which felt like a personal testimony. Barbara Tucker’s "Beautiful People," which was an anthem for community. India’s voice soaring over Louie Vega productions, giving us everything: rage, joy, longing, release. Masters at Work brought live instrumentation into house and gave it elegance without losing the grit.
And while all this was happening, ballroom culture was thriving and intersecting with house in powerful ways. The House of Xtravaganza. The House of Ninja. The balls where categories like runway, realness, and femme queen performance lit up the room—and behind it all, house music kept time. These were not just dance battles. They were declarations. A queer Black and Latinx language of movement, pride, and resistance. This was also the early wave of voguing’s mainstream moment. Think of Madonna’s “Vogue” as just a whisper of what was really going on in basements and community centers all over NYC.
And let’s talk about the sound itself. New York City house in the 90s had its own fingerprints. Gospel chords. Latin percussion. Warm basslines. Vocals that weren’t just there for texture—they carried messages. You’d have a four-minute spoken word monologue right in the middle of a dance track, talking about self-love, spiritual freedom, the daily grind, heartbreak, sex, forgiveness, everything.
House music in NYC wasn’t escapism—it was confrontation. But it was also healing. It let you sweat out the week, cry about your ex, laugh with a stranger, sing at the top of your lungs, and walk home feeling like you’d been baptized in bass.
This was also the golden era of New York house labels. Nervous Records. Strictly Rhythm. King Street Sounds. Cutting Records. These labels didn’t just release music—they defined the sound of New York. They gave us artists like Armand Van Helden, Roger Sanchez, Barbara Tucker, and Blaze. You couldn’t walk into a record store downtown without hearing something that would end up in a Shelter set that weekend.
Even the radio had its moments. Tony Humphries on Kiss FM. Frankie Crocker. Little Louie Vega’s Hot Mix shows. They brought house into living rooms and car stereos—off the dancefloor and into the everyday. And when the sound crossed into hip-hop, we got incredible hybrids: think early Puff Daddy remixes that kept the 4/4 pulse but layered it with swagger.
And you know what? Through all of this, what tied it together was a sense of release. That the dancefloor was the only place where you could be all of yourself, and nothing had to be explained. No one asked your job title. No one asked your pronouns. They just let the music take hold.
There’s a quote I think about from DJ Timmy Regisford—he said, "There were nights at Shelter where the music broke people open—strangers hugging in tears, sweating out trauma, forgiving their whole damn lives." And that’s exactly what it was.
New York didn’t invent house music—but it gave it feeling. It gave it gospel. It gave it edge. And most of all, it gave it truth. This was house music as healing—sung from the gut, felt in the feet, lived in the lungs. From the garage to the church to the ballroom, this was the city’s soul, dancing.
I’m C. Dub, and this has been House Foundations. Thank you for taking this ride through New York City with me—through the sweat, the soul, and the sacred rhythm of a city that never stopped dancing. Until next time, keep the beats alive.