Deep Soulful Gospel House: Liner Notes on a Black Sapphic Romance
Under a full moon in Sagittarius at the start of Gemini season, I popped the tag on a custom made to order NorBlack NorWhite hand dyed multicolored two piece set. I slide into the caterpillar skirt made with the wideness of my hips in mind. Then I pulled on the matching crop top jacket joining just enough of the hook and eye closures over my breast. I purchased the piece about two months prior. I didn’t know where I would wear it first but I knew the perfect moment would present itself. The moment would be the night of the pre-opening celebration of Mickalene Thomas’ solo exhibition “All About Love” at The Broad.
I requested an uber, zipped up my black and white cowboy boots, and walked over the full length triangle shaped mirror that sits in my office. I snapped a few pictures and sent them to my group chat featuring three of my closest girlfriends.
I write, “I look great. I’m so glad I had this made. I’m leaving this gallery tonight with SOMETHING!”
The girls agreed, sending affirmations and placing heart and fire emojis on the photos. The full moon was in my sun sign and according to the few videos I watched on my feed about it, the astrological conditions were perfect. Something about it being a good time to explore intimacy, intention, and taking true leaps of faith. I was looking forward to an evening of Black lesbian art and the friends, colleagues, and new strangers a night like this was sure to bring out. But more importantly, going into this year I had decided I was ready to start dating again. My strategy was to be intentional about shooting my shot, go low and slow when establishing a connection, and if the person was right, I would know. Simple. I completely trusted myself after taking the last two years off the scene for personal development and to reset my coochie to my improved standards of care and comfort following a series of unfortunate situationships. See Black Capitalist Coochie for reference.
My uber dropped me off to dinner with April Bey. I was her plus one for the invite only event. April is a phenomenal visual artist whose work explores American and Bahamian culture with an Afrofuturist tint. And one thing about artists whose work is informed by culture and imagination through the diaspora is that we tend to know good food. It was a great way to start the evening catching up on each other’s lives, while we shared plates at Budonki before riding over to the event, happy and full.
I twirled around the exhibit, kissing the cheeks of my friends, posing in front of the art, tossing my ombré butt length French braids around the dance floor, and taking in every compliment poured onto me in the gallery. The crowd of Black people, and others, were stunning on their own yet amplified under the glittery gaze of the large portraits and images of Black women crafted by Mickalene that hung throughout the institution.
The night was young and the second I got wind of the after party, I knew April and I would be going to that too. Something you should know about me is that I’ve never allowed a list to keep me out of somewhere I want to be. After a quick chat and finesse of the lady with said list, we walked right into the garden of the Soho Warehouse in downtown Los Angeles. DJ Jihaari was spinning an all vinyl set inspired by the exhibition. By the time I made my way to the dance floor Diana Ross had just begun singing from his turntables,
/It’s my house and I live here…it’s my house and I live here…/
That’s when I saw her…again.
The first time I remember seeing Ashley Younniä was under similar circumstances. Near a dance floor at a Black queer Los Angeles industry event. Her silhouette drench in blue and red lights. However, the first person I spoke to that night was actually Siaira Shawn. Siaira is a sultry RnB vocalist who uses her falsetto to sing love stories about women loving women. I was surprised to see her because she had recently moved from LA to New York but was back in town for this function. Moments after we greeted each other, I noticed that she also dapped up the mystery lady with the deep skin and shiny cheek bones. I waited just long enough, to scooch my way back to Siaira to ask, “Who is that? The woman you just spoke to?”
“That’s Ashley. She’s a DJ and runs a coffee shop in Inglewood.” I stay silent and wait.
Siaira finally finishes with “Oh! I think she’s married.”
I sigh then laugh with her because of how long she made me pause before answering the rest of the question I was actually asking. “Thank you Siaira!” with a touch of friendly sarcasm before making my way to the bar thinking, these lesbians ain't never single in LA.
I filed the information in the back of my mind and went on about minding my single ass business. There is no greater stress than dealing with married queers, ethically non-monogamy or not. Trust.
/There's a welcome mat at the door…and if you come on in…you're gonna get much more…/
I had ran into Ashley five times before this summer evening, just a few days into her Gemini season. The chill in the night air broken up only by Black bodies in flow, heating towers of contained flames, the warming sound of vinyl records, and our passionate curiosity that pulled us to each other yet again. Here’s how each collusion went before we found ourselves here…
I walked into the Salt Eaters Bookshop. She was laughing with Asha, the owner who would later become a great friend. I said hello to both Asha and her guest. Later Asha would whisper to Ashley that I was Amber Abundance in that special way that Black queer women who love other Black women do when talking about me and the work they have come to know me for. Ashley, steeped in her world of corporate creative direction and being a music executive, had never heard of me. They continued with their conversation. Ashley made a joke I don’t remember. But it managed to find my hustling ears making me chuckle out loud, causing both of them to look at me across the shop. Ashley acknowledged that I was indeed all up in her mouth with the sign off to Asha, “I’m going to go. You have customers.” before leaving.
A friend was in town and wanted to go out. Sevyn, a DJ I’ve grown to love in Los Angeles, was hosting a party that I knew would be a good time. Not only is Sevyn one of my favorite people, I’m a huge fan of her sound. Sevyn plays with a swagger that pulls directly from her sonic love affair with jazz, deep house, and the queer underground and ballroom culture of the DMV. Tucked away in the back of my mind, of course I noticed that Ashley was also on the line up. Still curious about this woman with the bright eyes and reserved demeanor, I figured I should at least hear her play. When we arrived at the venue, my guest realized they forgot their ID. Not wanting us to miss out on a good time, I drove home, grabbed the ID, and came back to the party. Realizing we missed the party by the let out of Black folks happening outside of the venue, I pulled up with all my windows down blasting the song of the moment “Water” by Tyla. The handful of queer Black folks holding court on the street from the club laughed and yelled “Ayye!”, some of them doing the little dance that made Tyla popular in a way that I’m now annoyed by. I jumped out of my car and greeted the group with “What’s up niggXXs!” With the hard ER….ultizing my Black privilege of being able to say what I want in closed company. Ashley says “Whoa!” Again, moments later, she heads out. But not before taking a moment to stand in each other's gaze.
Outside of Sip and Sonder. I was saying good bye to Tracee after a morning co-work session. Tracee is everyone’s favorite shit talking non-binary young uncle and was helping me pull the logistics of my life together following a year of random bullshit and straight up Ls I was taking in private. Ashley was sitting close by on a bench looking like she was putting her life together as well from the sound of some deep sighs she was releasing. She managed to still be present in the same poised power stance I had grown to always experience her in during these run ins. By this time, I had become frustrated with seeing her and not speaking. So I decided to completely ignore her when I knew without a doubt that we saw each other. That would surely smother the spark that I was growing inside of myself for her.
I had finally achieved my LA goal of moving into the most perfect 1920s apartment in the historically Black neighborhood of Leimert Park. Enjoying the vintage chairs I’d recently thrifted for my kitchen dining nook– I was eating breakfast looking out of my beautiful French windows when I saw a familiar figure coming down the street. She’s on the phone. Her head crowned with locs tossed in a folded messy bun that leaned forward perfectly framing her face. Wearing a black shirt and cobalt blue running shorts that highlight the curves of her legs, the perfect contrast. Unnecessarily offended, I talk to myself out loud, “Now why would she live over here!”
My final straw was her art. I heard her play. Few things are more risky than witnessing a hint of a romantic crush be in their artist practice. If it’s bad, the lushful purr silences itself and I’m freed from the grip of sapphic limerence. But if it’s good, god forbid great, all of sudden I’m fully locked in and must see the storyline through. She appeared in my Youtube queue playing a deep soulful gospel house set in the living room of A.L.T. Home via now defunct platform Black House Radio. Ashley Younniä handles her CDJs like an instrument. She carries herself behind the decks like a sonic auteur– telling a story through her selections and blends moving bodies across any kind of dance floor to a place of full body release and unspeakable joy. Her sound entices new listeners to the Black origins of house music while also tapping into a feeling of home for longtime house music connoisseurs. Especially if their ear was born and raised in New Jersey. In her fullness, Ashley Younniä is undeniable with a glow that’s impossible to forget.
There comes a point where you must get active around finding out if a crush is actually viable. And I was at that point. I alerted my trusted friends to help me gather second opinions, oppositional research, and backstory. And what I discovered was that no one in my circle at the time actually knew much about Ashley’s personal life. In fact, the information that folks thought they had was incorrect.
My final hail mary was another musically inclined Gemini whose name I’m absolutely leaving out…I can’t give you all of my sources. TUH! It’s amazing how one mysterious Gemini can be the key to helping you find out more information on another mysterious Gemini. A few days after I shared with my beloved Gemini siren queen about this Ashley lady, I received a text days later “Guess what!! I’m meeting up for dinner with my friend and your girl is joining us!!! WILL REPORT BACK!” I stayed up for the most epic kiki filled with all the necessary details.
It turns out, Ashley was never married. Engaged, yes. And weeks before we first glanced at and passed each other, she was graciously ending her previous relationship. Ashley was giving herself plenty of space to grieve and return back to herself on her own terms. My friend ended the conversation with, “Overall, I think you both would be good to each other and have a good time if nothing else.” Remembering that I trust myself, I was sold. I didn’t know when or where I would see her again, but I knew I would. Ashley tends to float around notable parties and dance floors. And as the bossy femme I know myself to be…I would be ready.
/There's a candle to light the stairs…where my dreams await someone to share…ooh, there's music on the radio…and good vibrations won't let me go…/
Diana Ross's vocals continue to pour over us in the garden and I feel Ashley moving past me as she softly croons near my ear, “Excuse me.”
I stop her, “Hi. We haven’t formally met before. My name is Amber. And I think you live in my neighborhood!”
As I extend my hand for her to shake, she smiles and holds it instead. “Yea. I know you live in that pink house on the corner. I’m Ashley.”
Visibly glitched at the indication, I released an “Oop. Well ok then!”
The rest of the night played out like a type of Black lesbian romantic meet cute I wish I grew up watching. Down to witnessing other women scramble to figure out what I already knew as to why Ashley was outside by herself. We laughed into each other. Flirted. Allowing ourselves to be empowered by the relief we felt finally landing beyond all of our misconnections, she placed one hand on my waist and them the other as an invitation to dance. Melting into the grip of her groove, we felt like everything I had asked for…low, slow, simple, and right. As the night grew late, we allowed the people we came with to leave us behind, giving us the space to feel each other out without the watchful community of care we were also growing here in LA.
The night left us wanting to uncover more about who the other was and what kept bringing us into space together. Flushed with excitement for what might be next for us but eager to take my time with it all, I handed her my phone with a request, “I’m going to head home. Put your number in my phone. And I’ll text you mine.” Ashley agrees, taking my phone into her hands, “Ok. What else, Ms. Amber?”
We smile. “That’s it. For now. Have a goodnight , Ms. Ashley.”
