A Nightclub In A Water Tower? Underground Clubland Alive & Well
Somewhere along the line, people forgot that Memorial Day was a day of rememberance. It is a pause before summer fun, when we need to remember those who gave their lives so that we could enjoy ourselves. The world seems to be getting worse with only a bad end in sight, and as we cling to the things that distract us from certain realities, we must honor those who gave up so much and who are in harm’s way as we sip expensive swill. If you see a uniform this weekend, club people, push him to the front of the line; somebody buy the man or woman a drink or at least hold open a door for them. Respect is in order.
I’m not sure where I will spend my weekend. I like it like that. I may have a DJ gig out East, but if not, it will be spent walking dogs around my beloved Williamsburg. I’ll try to take advantage of the great escape and attempt to get into St. Anselm again as the last few attempts have proven futile. Two-hour waits are the norm and I don’t do that. Unless my girlfriend is shopping for shoes.
I am constantly bombarded with talk of "the good old days." People often want to reminisce about a time more wonderful. I remember having fun and all that, but refuse to agree with the assertion that life in clubland was better back in the day. I think the perception of clubs is a perception of how you were at that time.
To a certain generation, there was nothing like the disco era. To others, the 80s were the end all. Many without knowledge of those eras or the roaring 20s for that matter loved the good ol’ days of the 90s and 2000s.
I think there is always a scene. My memories take me back to Danceteria and Save the Robots, The World and Area, and the Paradise Garage. But today, I love The Box and the underground Brooklyn stuff and Frankie’s Westgay at Westway, and Patricia Fields’ crew and their Chicken and Diamonds party, and anything Susanne Bartsch does, and a zillion other soirees. These are the good ol’ days and dont let anyone talk you out of it.
I read in the NY Times about a water tower in Chelsea that some genius built out and made into a small illegal joint. It was up a dozen flights of stairs and a scary ladder through a small hole etc. This shit is happening, but in an age where everyone knows everything in a second, it’s harder to keep "underground."
I gotta go, but before I do, I’d like to honor my dad who at 90 and a veteran of World War 2 is still making memories.
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