Seriously, It’s All About Don Hill’s
A very famous man, who no one can remember, once said “There are no words!” I never met him, or him me, unless we did meet and I just can’t remember a word of what was said. Anyway, for arguments sake, I’m going to ignore what he did say, didn’t say, or I can’t remember him saying, and say it: Don Hill’s leaves me speechless. We all know that can’t happen, so I’ll just continue. Don Hill’s is beyond-words-great. There, I said it.
They really killed this week, and I don’t even know what happened yesterday, ‘cause I was too tired to go go go. Thursday opened with Black Rebel Motorcycle Club, and a tone was set. I immediately started spewing out accolades faster than a Jersey Shore Bimbette gets rid of her hotdogs, tacos, and vodka after a night out. Don Hill’s is a purge of all that wasn’t, because nobody had the balls or the talent to do it. Twenty minutes into the place, I knew it was real. I knew about Friday, but couldn’t tell you without the wrath of Khan (Nur) and Paul Sevigny. Iggy showed up, and the scene knew it. It was Woodstock on Spring Street, as everybody wanted in. My entourage of Q-Tip, Mercer/Standard door god Richard Alverez, and my lovely didn’t get there in time. I was lucky to slip in with Erik Foss, and his lovely. Don Hill’s isn’t actually a venue. It certainly can be one, if it wants to, but the scene it attracts goes well beyond waiting for the show, seeing the show, leaving after the show. Slick DJs like the Misshapes and DJ Rock 1 keep the cocktail conversation lively, and it’s a to-be-seen scene. The beautiful, the artsy, the credible mix with the famous, and it’s more fun than anything in recent memory. It’s been a whirlwind, so if my celeb sightings were actually on another night, please forgive me. I’ll just mention the ones I brushed into: Andre Balazs, Adrian Grenier, and Selma Blair, who introduced herself so sweetly: “Hi, I’m Selma.” She was hugging and jumping up and down with Village People Cowboy Randy Jones, who she met when she was an 8 year old backstage in Chicago. Randy didn’t remember, but thought it was so fabulous that she did. Mary-Kate Olson, Chloe Sevigny, I think with Natasha Lyonne, Perry Ferrell, Jon Varvatos, and Terry Richardson. Patrick and Liam McMullan snapping shots. It was a 2-McMullan affair. I heard Britney was there, and Gwen Stefani, but I didn’t see them. It was marvelous mayhem, so maybe, but I’m not a gossip columnist, and all that.
Iggy hit the stage hard looking like a Viking Iguana, or one of those Time Machine Morlocks. He was older than when I last saw him. Well, I guess everyone is. He was still naked from the waste up. I never saw him with a shirt on. Probably owns two. He was blonde, tan, and ripped—in great shape for a man his age. He assaulted the crowd, pouncing, prancing, dancing, threateningly physical. A mad dashboard troll, with demonic bulging eyes (no wisecracks please). His face contorted into 15 emotions in 30 seconds. He points to people in the crowd, begs them to join him onstage, and we all surged to touch him. Iggy is very touchable. You know what he played. He played his songs. “I Wanna Be Your Dog” was great. It was amazing, and the next day the 300 people who experienced it will be joined by a thousand more, who said they were there. By next week, it will be 5,000. The crowd stayed after, as they know it’s a club, and you don’t leave clubs after the act. I returned Saturday night for Courtney Love. I’ve been seeing her around, being her fabulous self. I had never seen her perform live. She was brilliant. “Sympathy for the Devil” won me over, and then she shocked me senseless. Her cover of Gaga’s “Bad Romance” was super sweet, even though she apologized for hitting us with it. She closed the show with, “Thirteen,” this time without the band, save for an acoustic guitarist. It was as jaw droppingly gorgeous as the shoes and couture she featured. I’m a fan. I buy into Courtney. I think she just gets a bad rap, overly persecuted for the bad things she has done, the bad breaks, the bad hair days. I’m sure she can be problematical but aren’t we all? Nobody is perfect, but she was Saturday night. I thought I saw art legend Jeff Koons saunter by, and was told it actually was him.
I went back on Sunday for Crystal Castles. The streets were dead, like any given Sunday, but Don Hills had its following. It was jammed again. Nur promised me a bed in a back room, or a busboy job, as I’m there so often. I think I’m going to need one. Crystal Castles hit the stage in a tornado of sound. Alice Glass was a strobe light of frenzy, it was a dancier, younger, more hipster group for this night. My iTunes says it’s electronic and they are surely right. The crowd was dancing and bumping as they played their anthems. I was just hoping Alice wasn’t going to hurt herself as she plunged and jumped and climbed around.
Last night it was Michael H. and Andy Hilfiger, and I was told ZZ Top was trying to make it. I don’t know what happened. Read about it someplace else. I may say yes to the Yeah Yeah Yeahs tonight after the Lavo opening.
Don Hill’s has arrived for a scene so ready for it. Somebody wrote in that maybe it was too soon to proclaim greatness. I say it’s about time. It’s not about the acts. It isn’t great because the acts play the room, it’s great SO the acts play the room. Each night was different. The crowd’s nuanced, appropriate for the happening. Rock and Roll has many layers, many scenes, many gurus. Don Hill’s will have it all. It’s all about the pursuit of happiness for a crowd that hasn’t had a joint to hang in for more than a minute. It’s DJs and vibe vibe vibe. I walk in, and the vibe hits me like a pie in the face. Bang! I’m having fun, I am surrounded by people who are into art and fashion and pushing the envelope. Sure there are the familiar starlets, debutantes, and models. Sure there are the trust funders looking for meanings and tangible distractions. Those people are everywhere, and so the fuck what? The snarkers have nothing to say. Don Hill’s is providing it. Don Hill’s is answering the call of the wild, the bored to death, as well as the enlightened. It is a 100-watt lightbulb in the darkness. It is the hub. It is the answer. It’s the best joint in town. Am I being too subtle or do you get what I’m saying?