Monday, September 28, 1998
Mix it up at happenin’ L.A. clubs
MUSIC: There’s a different scene every night; you just need to
know where to go
By Tommy Nguyen
Daily Bruin Contributor
Many UCLA students think it stinks that we can’t have dance
clubs in Westwood Village. But seriously, how long would it take
for a Westwood club to feature sloshed little girls up-chucking in
the parking lot, or some guy in a Hawaiian shirt climbing on a
table and gyrating to "Gettin’ Jiggy Wit It?" You may not notice
it, but our little neighborhood’s no-dancing ordinance is a
blessing — it saves Westwood from further embarrassing itself.
In any case, a change of scenery will do us all some good –
especially if we want to dance – and the move couldn’t come at a
better time, considering the exciting changes spreading across our
nightlife territories. No more front-stage rockers throwing sweat
and beer bottles at your face or mosh pits leaving you bloody and
bruised. Welcome to the moontribe of the next century, where the
respect and good will of community are mixed and remixed at the
DJ’s turntable.
To help guide you a bit, here’s a map of the most happening
dance spots in Los Angeles for each day of the week. True, the
tunes and crowds described here won’t be for everyone – and indeed
if our opening scenario seems familiar to you as a good ol’ time,
then we apologize for any hint of ridicule. But for those of us who
have been attracted to or are already in today’s explosively
ecstatic, optimistic dance culture – the first one we’ve seen after
more than a, decade of punk and grunge rock jadedness – then by all
means stick with us. We’ll show you places.
How did we pick them? Well, electronic music has jump-started
this dance movement forward; obviously it has a big presence in our
choices, though surprisingly not an exclusive one. Swing dancing’s
getting attention these days, but we sidestepped any club that
required lessons or a regulated dance move: We say use what you got
and let the rest rot. Disco is ignored entirely – thank you "54."
And finally, all these clubs have a certain young, informed, no
dress code, hideout or raved-out vibe to them – you’ll find no
Florentine Gardens on our list.
Sunday
On Sunday nights, this city’s moon definitely rises in the west,
the Westside that is, where two of the most rabid gatherings
challenge each others’ midnight howling.
All the experiments in drum ‘n’ bass – the mixing, the fusing,
the mind-bending explosions – get tested at a club called Science,
Los Angeles’s best attempt to catch some of that fever coming out
of New York’s own Konkrete Jungle. Sure the rinky-dink Pink (home
laboratory of Science) is no Wetlands. But the Pink’s lack of
space, lighting and visuals does have its own style of urban
crawling. With blue canvas moons looking down on the hard, brick
walls and unknown mass of undulating bodies, the club feels almost
like a secret bash beneath a city bridge.
Science gets packed and sweaty quickly, and when it does the
thick, sweltering jungle music (by Raymond Roker, Jun and MC, along
with famous explorers Diesel Boy and Photek) won’t be forgiving.
Only the machete of your dance moves can get you through the jungle
– the sharper they are, the more room you’ll make for yourself.
If you can’t hang with the natives, just a few blocks down at
Venice’s St. Mark’s Bar awaits a candy coated fantasia called The
Realm. "Be sure to mention," said resident DJ Ginger, "that we were
the first L.A. club to go all night long." Five o’clock, to be
exact, and thanks to the club’s right-on audacity, Los Angeles is
now seeing a handful of other clubs rolling past 2 a.m.
But it’s all about knowing where it all sprung up, and the roots
run way underground at The Realm, where bar swingers and rave
ringers alike flip and fly through the club’s wildly psychedelic
light tweaking. House music (mostly progressive) is on the payroll
here, but expect some speed garage and funked-up grooves being
sneaked out beneath the turntable, courtesy of the always
free-spirited DJ rotation.
When it comes down to it, though, there’s no real competition
between the two clubs. We mean that literally – sharing the same
neighborhood and hard-core mission to extend the weekend, Science
and The Realm go more hand-in-hand than head-to-head. The crafty
thing to do is to drop out of Science by 1:30 a.m. so you can beat
The Realm’s 2 a.m. pile-up, when the 18-and-overs are allowed in
and the Science whizzes, still dreaming about physics, scramble for
a place to finish solving their problems.
Monday
Sunday nights will take a lot out of you, so come Monday you
might want to decelerate with The Move, located at the venue the
Room. It’s not quite a dance club (it’s actually a dark, teeny bar
without a dancing license), but the ultra-laid-back Room mates –
ranging from Los Feliz easy riders to the Adidas crew – do have a
habit of making the most of the cozy tapping space when the DJ
starts spinning rare hip-hop, funk, acid jazz and reggae around
midnight. Before then, resident Mark Farmer helps the libation flow
with his equally smooth ’70s soul and lava lounge selections.
As much as we would like to recommend The Move, we can’t lie to
you and say that the Monday Social doesn’t exist. Because Monday
nights are so dead in Los Angeles, this place sucks up all the
energy running free in the city until sometimes there’s a power
surge – you can see the lifeless exasperation on some people’s
faces as they simply can’t find a comfortable place to chill, let
alone dance. The doorman needs to respect the room capacity at
Louis XIV – the trendy, hoity-toity restaurant which serves up the
Monday Social – and it’d crackerjack if the waiters can get rid of
some of the the dining tables even before midnight (the time when
the kitchen closes; you better call for reservations if you want to
eat).
But, we are writing about spots that are happening, and
undeniably this place is, even though what might happen is a big
pain in the neck. It’s a place to be seen, clean and lean – to
dance, however, is an even trickier sort, since the dance room is
an upstairs attic no bigger than your kitchen. The sounds vary,
from old skool hip-hop to anything that guests such as Doc Martin
and Alex Gifford (Propellerheads) want to play.
Tuesday
Living in Hollywood, of course we understand your urges. So if
you insist on having some catwalk swank to go with your cakewalk
sweat, at least wait for Tuesday night when the club Datum can
dissuade you from the slithery, gaud-awful antics going down at The
Gate or The Century Club.
Now Datum has done the impossible in Los Angeles by joining posh
stylishness and great sounds at the hip. Located at the beautiful
Mamagaya restaurant, Datum offers trip-hop, down-tempo break beats,
world beats and soulful acid jazz for the mostly upscale, upbeat,
upper-20s hobnobbers. Sure, they can’t dance all too well, and the
small contingent of young, loose-fitted skaterdudes and dreadsters
who can dance – and who obviously came for the beats – are too
afraid of those who can’t. (When Datum was hosted by DJ Cam at the
Atlas, breakdancers took to the sidewalk and drummed up a small
party outside.) Hey Datum, some advice: Lose the lame slide show of
those smiling, cutesy, past Mamagaya patrons. Prom night was over a
long time ago.
When you’re through playing dress-up, go to Atmosphere, where
yet another beast in the jungle rages during the week. But why on
earth would anyone put up with the lines, crummy Viper Room
doormen, cramped locker-room heat and outrageous covers (sometimes
$15)?
"It’s the DJs, man, do you hear me!" suggests 23-year-old
Marcela Sores, an Atmosphere loyal, and she’s absolutely right. The
frustrating truth about good music is that if you play it, people
will come, no matter what – the promoters at Atmosphere have made
us their slaves by featuring no less than Goldie, James Lavelle,
Kemistry and Storm, Carl Cox, Ed Rush, Optical and Aphrodite within
recent months, with the superb DJ Carbo already being the club’s
own spin doctor. We are simply powerless.
Wednesday
The club Release (at Deville’s, formerly known as the Firehouse)
lets loose some of the most uplifting, crowd-pleasing house music
around; DJ Mark Farina caused a big ruckus here about a month ago.
There’s some serious stepping going on the wicked, roomy dance
floor, but feel free to hang out with all the good-looking people
on the front porch or back patio (the crowd looks mixed, but
perhaps they’re just really hip-looking straight people). Ask
around for those free Camel cigarettes.
But traditionally, Wednesdays have always been about the
spinning club called Magic and, even though the club’s somewhat
coming down to a tired hocus pocus, it can still sling a few spells
at you. With the World’s (the usual home of Magic) furious optic
barrage of laser beams and hot flashes, heart-racing sonic blitzing
from the 7-foot speakers and vendors peddling glow-in-the-dark
swords and medallions, the club still reigns as the brave rave
warrior’s weekday Valhalla. Too bad a lot of them can’t afford to
fight these days (cover’s $15 for the big acts), and it’s a bigger
shame that they insist on hanging around outside, forget themselves
and act like downright hoodlums.
But with resident DJ Thee-O programming the knuckling techno and
trance, and recent guests such as Atomic Babies adding to the
computerized frenzy, you’ll find most of the people inside (Magic
is all ages) moving the body electric. And boy are they electric –
the best dancers of Los Angeles are all here to represent. Magic
has a second room too, sometimes even a third, usually with R.A.W.
or Trixie giving you a stern lesson in all the drum ‘n’
bass-ics.
Thursday
Jason Bentley may be the best thing on the radio waves (KCRW’s
Metropolis), but in the real world he’s just not enough to bring us
consistently back to Life – the club that is Bentley’s (and Bruno
Guez’s) weekly stint at the Pink – where a bland yuppy element
postures with the worst of them (the cell phones tend to get out of
control).
If you still want to continue with the electronica current, then
you go right ahead – but we actually found an outlet we like
better. Yes, Thursdays should be the nights to take a break from
the breaks and scratch the scratches and head for the red hot Cafe
Bleu, which has become the weekly mania for lovers of Britpop, ’60s
and ’70s soul, mod and indie ever since its prettier sister Shout!,
lowered its volume to just a monthly calling at the El Rey.
Spinning Pulp to James Brown, the Who to Elastica, Small Faces
to the Jackson Five, all the resident DJs (Dia, Chris B. and
Shalyce) know how to send out the crystal-Bleu persuasions to the
vividly groovy, Austin Powered vamps and scamps (go-go boots, shiny
wigs, neck scarves) whose hearts cry out, "More baby!"
"I’ve met some of my best friends here," says James Willis, 22,
and the tight outdoor patio at the Tempest is probably where he met
them, where eyes greet you with pussycat glitter or Liam Gallagher
faux-malaise. Live bands around 10 p.m. are usually of no immediate
interest.
Friday
ICU Production’s club, Government, has all the makings to become
the biggest night in Los Angeles: the big Club Lingerie space; the
big, startling visual effects; the big-name DJs (the one and only
Christopher Lawrence is the resident) and a big running time – open
until 4 a.m., 6 a.m. on special nights. For now, it’s too bad
Government can’t seem to outlaw that remaining Club Lingerie
stench: mafiosos in tacky Armani shirts and their gals in stilettos
trying hard to imagine a Club MTV camera looking up at them. That
doesn’t really matter when you’ve got detonating guest DJs (like
the Cream tour’s Paul Oakenfold and Dave Seaman) to close your eyes
and send you some place else. And take note of the growing
population of glow-stick throwers causing some anarchy at
Government – in time there might be a new order around these parts,
so do keep up with the club’s glossy flyers.
Until then, it’s back to St. Mark’s to get a load of the club
Spaced. The people here are a bit older and stiffer than Sunday’s
wild bunch, and they’re more defenseless against club sleaziness
too (oh, yes, people freak each other outside the Roxbury). But by
L.A. weekend standards, Spaced is way above anything else;
certainly the most attractive young women know where to go.
Promoter Freddie Casiley says she doesn’t want the long lines and
bad jitters which come with club-land hype; she likes the snazzy
clientele she supports now. But with all the rave word of mouth her
shindig’s been receiving – along with the club’s gnarly hard and
tech-house DJs such as resident Slink-e of Moonshine and guests
like DJ Dan – that’s going to be hard to maintain. So maintain,
guys.
Saturday
Have you ever gotten to a party early and the DJ was spinning
some incredible stuff, crazy mixes he thinks he can get away with
since no one’s there to complain? Your small crowd is totally
digging the set, but then more and more people start showing up,
all of them giving the DJ annoyed looks, and before you know it the
DJ has lost his nerve – Adam F and Frankie Bones have been replaced
by Smashmouth and Puff Daddy.
And that’s why Saturday nights are so awful in Los Angeles –
since everybody’s out, all the dance clubs have to appease the
lowest common denominator or risk losing the business of the city’s
extremely powerful mainstream majority.
Not only that, it used to be that Saturdays, in most major
cities, were the nights when the gay parts of town showed us a
completely wild and daring dance scene. That still may be true in
New York and London, but not in this city. Sad, but for a community
that was once largely responsible for the hottest dance and music
crazes of the two earlier decades, a clueless faction of that same
community now seems merely content to relive them. And if they’re
not retro-active in the stale disco or ’80s trash, then they’re
waving their hands to top 40 dance pop, usually ballyhooing some
cheese-stuffed diva yelling her lungs out. But if you like that
sort of stuff, then Saturday’s Axis is probably the best of Los
Angeles’ sorry lot.
As of now, we refuse to recommend any dance club for Saturday
nights; perhaps you can rest up for Sunday or go home and visit
your mother. Or maybe you can get the skinny on some cool
after-hours (the club Insomnia is well-established) or an upcoming
rave. But be wary of any rave advertised too heavily or not taking
place in the desert or the mountains, no matter how awesome the DJ
lineup may be (the Orange Show in San Bernardino should be avoided
altogether). And stay away from the dumb drugs. Well, at least
try.
GENEVIEVE LIANG/Daily Bruin
Revelers jam into the single dance room at Science for the
high-energy underground vibe on Sunday nights.
GENEVIEVE LIANG/Daily Bruin
James Willis, 22, a frequent clubgoer at Thursday’s Cafe Bleu,
takes a break from the dance floor in the outdoor patio lounge.
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