{"id":6387,"date":"2019-06-14T13:49:44","date_gmt":"2019-06-14T17:49:44","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/splice.com\/blog\/?p=6387"},"modified":"2026-01-14T15:04:46","modified_gmt":"2026-01-14T20:04:46","slug":"the-warehouse","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/splice.com\/blog\/the-warehouse\/","title":{"rendered":"The Warehouse: The gay club where house music got its name"},"content":{"rendered":"
Frankie Knuckles and David Morales in 1989, <\/em>courtesy of David Morales<\/h6>\n

It was a late night in 1971 after a show at Stage 45, and DJs Frankie Knuckles and Larry Levan happened upon a parked pastry truck.<\/h1>\n

At that point in their careers, both had graduated from regular gigs at the Continental Baths – Levan had made a name for himself at The Loft and Knuckles was DJing regularly as well. That night, hungry and seizing the opportunity for some free food, the best friends lifted a few bags of donuts and ran – right into a police car. Arrested and sent to Spofford Juvenile Center in the Bronx (with their parents refusing to bail them out), Knuckles was panicked and distraught.<\/a> Levan was unphased. But then by chance, a juvenile counselor approached the duo – a man they recognized from the parties they played, named Robert Williams. In a few years, Knuckles (who passed away in 2014) and Williams would change music forever at a club called the Warehouse.<\/p>\n

\"the-warehouse-in-post-1\"<\/p>\n

If you were in downtown Chicago, you probably could have walked right by the Warehouse and never noticed. But come nighttime, the former factory came to life as a place where young predominantly black and predominantly gay men came to dance in an otherwise heavily segregated club scene. At the helm of the DJ booth was now musical director Frankie Knuckles. The funky tracks, meshed with relentlessly hard-hitting 808 kicks, embodied a new sound: \u201chouse.\u201d<\/p>\n

206 South Jefferson Street, downtown Chicago<\/h2>\n

Prior to starting the Warehouse, Robert Williams was a regular attendee of several NYC queer staple clubs including The Gallery, Better Days, and David Mancuso\u2019s The Loft, where he met Knuckles and Levan. Finding the club scene underwhelming, Williams left New York for Chicago in 1972.<\/a> Inspired by The Loft\u2019s invitation-only, alcohol-free (but drug-heavy) parties, alongside several former fraternity brothers Williams founded US Studio, a space on South Clinton Street. A number of police shutdowns and inspections soon caused US Studio to fold. In 1976, however, he and his partners came across a nondescript, white brick building with blacked out windows in the industrial part of downtown. The former factory was perfect. In June of that year, Williams signed the lease at 206 Jefferson Street and started hosting parties at the newly christened Warehouse.<\/p>\n

Williams went in search of a musical director. Disco was still popular among gay and black clubs, but anti-disco movements, rooted heavily in racism and homophobia, arose all across Chicago.<\/a> He decided to call up his old friends from Spofford Juvenile Center – Frankie and Larry. Levan, on the heels of starting a new club (the eventual Paradise Garage), turned him down. Knuckles, however, was interested – but only kind of.<\/p>\n

Frankie Knuckles becomes musical director<\/h2>\n

\u201cI had to offer him a roundtrip ticket and pay him to fly out,\u201d Williams recalled to Red Bull Radio in 2018.<\/a> \u201cIt\u2019ll be your club,\u201d he told Knuckles upon his first visit. Williams would handle the business, and Knuckles the music. Knuckles attended the grand opening in March 1977, but resisted moving out permanently. Only once he gained a bit of a following did he decide to make the permanent move. In July of 1977, he packed his bags and moved into the Warehouse – literally.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhen I first moved to Chicago [in 1977],\u201d Knuckles recalled to Red Bull Music Academy in 2011,<\/a> \u201cI lived there in the building for maybe the first two years. It was in a remote part of the city that had been abandoned because so much industry and business had moved out\u2026 I had to travel so far out of the neighborhood, just to get groceries and things like that.\u201d Growing up in New York City, he was surprised how segregated Chicago still was. \u201cThe only place where you found different colored people living together was on the north side of Chicago like Newtown, that type of area, which is where I [moved],\u201d he told DJhistory.com in 1996.<\/a> \u201cIt bothered me at first, when I didn\u2019t see enough white or other races on the dance floor at the beginning, and then I realized\u2026 I had my job cut out because I had to try and change that.\u201d<\/p>\n

Like The Loft, the original Warehouse was membership-only and alcohol-free. Regular attendees packed the halls, wanting to partake in the increasingly popular parties which could see up to 450 dancers at a given time. There were three levels: reception upstairs, downstairs, and an additional basement party as well. There was a custom lighting and sound system. The Warehouse was a juice bar, so no alcohol was served. The parties only happened on Saturday nights through to Sunday afternoons. Although originally populated by a black, gay majority, Williams was eager to create an open, diversified space. \u201cThe Warehouse was predominantly gay,\u201d Williams recalled. \u201cBut some of the heterosexual members came and wanted to become guests. So the membership grew, which was a good thing. It taught Chicagoans how to network interracially. The more you attended, the more you became part of a family.\u201d<\/p>\n

DJ Craig Cannon, another Warehouse staple, shared Williams’ sentiment on Resident Advisor in 2012.<\/a> “My fondest memory is the mixed crowd,\u201d Cannon said. \u201cRacially, ethnically, sexually. That was the best thing. I hit on all the straight guys, unbeknownst to me.”<\/p>\n

The sound of the Warehouse, from disco to house<\/h2>\n