We Locate The Loft: June 1, 2007

B: The evening started out with a normal PartyChart occurrence: a club with exterior lights still shining and advertisements still running on the web is closed down. In this case, the lovely Lotus. Or maybe it wasn't lovely. We won't ever know, it seems. The obligatory pictures were taken, and we trudged back to the truck of our comrade in arms, A. She was happy to tote us to our second choice for the evening, The Loft, at 22nd and Stout. Approaching the corner, the club was nowhere to be found. But M & A insisted on looking around some more, and wonder upon wonders, the club existed, and was open for business there at 22nd and Champa. It didn't look like much from the outside, but inside were two large rooms where the importance of the dance floors seemed to be almost equal to the importance of lounging. As for the top floor, that importance was skewed a little more like 70-30 dance floor/lounge, and there probably weren't more than 5 people at any time on the dance floor, if that. The three of us tried to boogie down, but maybe it was the lighting, maybe the DJ, the dance was spotty and difficult. We tried downstairs, where more people seemed to be grooving to the music, which was some kind of industrial/80s flashback/new wave mix that also left a difficult spot for the dancing. This wasn't a club for the serious-minded dance people, but we could still make a go of it. So we did, back and forth: upstairs, downstairs, and we tried. We had it sometimes, and it was better than other places we've been, but I'm not going for either of the DJ's names to find them again. I guess I'd try that Loft again, for the semi-lack of pretention, compared to other places in Denver, but until that point, we'll keep on eliminating the other options and let the DJs skill up. Highlights of my night: A man sandwich between two overzealous bud light-drinking friends, who understood that it was funny, not sexy.  Oh, and A & M allowing me to practice my skills of a teacher as i shouted dance instructions at them in a mock dance club lesson.

About Rise, February and May, 2007

B: Ah, Rise.
Avoided it for years, for oh so many reasons. Besides the obvious fact that it screams NEEDY SEXDEN, it's just got an overall seedy vibe, like a fetish club after last call and the lights have all been turned on. This is one of those places where there are go-go dancers in matching bikinis acting like strippers while everyone who isn't watching them pretends they're a VIP. No one is there to dance, unless it's to jiggle their arse for the benefit of the opposite sex.

But after one long Thursday night of one disappointment after another in the dance club scene, we ended up walking by this joint. No cover, and we needed to dance, so we ventured in. The place was empty, by god. And the DJ seemed to know what he was doing. Sure, the songs were Top 40, but the Top 40 hits proved unusually danceable at that point in time, and were helped along by the odd motown hit here and there. We started to dance, and kept on going. The place didn't get much more populated, and we even earned a few free drink tickets from the DJ for "just being ourselves." Or something like that.

So it was without hesitation that one Thursday evening in the spring, with several willing friends at our disposal, that we steered the group back to Rise for a night of dancey fun. Still no cover, but this time the place was crawling with hungry kids, out on the dance floor with their drinks in hand, spilling booze all over the floor and each other, dropping glasses, standing on the dance floor, touching other people's afros and making dumb comments; basically doing everything but getting down. But that was ok, we reasoned: the DJ would pull through for us. This was the same DJ as the last time we were there, but egad, what happened? The R&B songs interspersed into the mix were poor remakes of what were once great songs (except for Celebration, which is just a bad song and for some reason was played full through as the dance floor emptied), and during about an hour period, no song played for longer than one verse. Talk about ruining any chance of flow. On top of that, it was as if catering to a heavier crowd compelled the DJ to turn down the music and sing or shout over the lyrics again and again, or try to scratch out some interlude badly, so badly. We tried to dance, but the guy was making it virtually impossible. It was an early night. And don't even ask me about the crap we encountered after Rise.

So long, Rise.

Lipgloss Confuses B, Winter 2007

B: I don't understand Lipgloss.

Never have I seen so many kids acting as if they were just let out of their cages, throwing themselves around in a fury to such undanceable music. I tried to dance. Believe me, I tried. But it wasn't happening. I just got more and more frustrated. Where was the beat? Most of the music I'd never heard before, which is ok, but I thought this was supposed to be an 80's night. The 80's music they played was the type that you just don't dance to, like Phil Collins. Or stuff you just can't dance to. Or I just can't dance to.

Lipgloss made me feel like I had missed something. Maybe I'm just getting old. If you can explain it to me, I'm all ears.

No Fun II, December 2006?

B: For some reason, we found ourselves out again on a Wednesday night with our good pal CB. Knowing that 80's night at the Hi-Dive is now less than fabulous, we planned ahead and decided on the Snake Pit, who advertised an Industry night on Wednesdays on their website, as follows:

HUMP

Service Industry Night

Hard Hittin' Base-Driven Beats

DJs Diabolic, Danny Marin Nevin& Francis Gold plus special guests

$2 U Call Its

NO COVER

A little after 10pm we were at the Snake Pit for hump night, and the Snake Pit was dark. Closed. Nothin doin. We walked down to Bender's, where only weeks before, we'd happened upon a very fun (and seemingly one-time) dance event. Tonight, there was a very loud, very non-dancey band playing, and we were forced to move on. But what to? Most dance clubs were dark on Wednesdays, and we didn't think to employ M's handy palm thing that gets internet everywhere. That might have been a good idea, because for lack of ideas, we headed back down to the Hi-Dive, in hopes that they used rotating DJs, and 80's night would be back to its rip-roaring place in the Denver scene.

As we stood at the bar listening to Journey and basically reliving the previous week's devastation (see No Fun), I took a vow to ALWAYS have a backup plan.

As of June 1, the Snake Pit still advertises Hump night on Wednesdays. Ug.

No Fun, December 2006?

B: We were SO excited to get out on a Wednesday night. The last time we'd been to the Hi-Dive for 80's night it was insane. The dance floor is tiny and was packed, but the kids were dancing, really dancing, and the DJs were decent. But the action doesn't really pick up until after midnight, and most working and family gals such ourselves are nicely tucked into bed at 12am on Wednesday nights. But this Wednesday, we planned ahead, got naps, started the night out right, meeting at the Galleria for some discount beverages. When I got there, M was already drunk, so there was catching up to do. Three martinis later, we hopped a bus downtown for a night of fun. Or so we thought.

New DJs: ok. Debbie Gibson, Paula Abdul: Not ok. A young guy and girl traded off with one sad set after another. Maybe they were just waiting for midnight, when the throngs would pour through the door and the dance music would be released! But no, everyone seemed to have gotten the hint already, and the few who trickled in stuck to the bar. Of course, there were M & B, desperately trying to shake it to El Debarge, along with that one middle-aged guy who frequents the opening hours of dance events, standing in place, slowly waving his arms in new-wave hippy-type gestures. Him and us. We were too drunk to really believe that the fabulous 80's night at the Hi-Dive was such a bomb, but we left there wondering, all right.

A Good Party at Benders, Winter 2006

B: Our great friend CB was ready and rearing for a good time, and it was our duty to show that to her. In fact, we were all jonesing for fun, as dancing had not been the priority for many moons. Somehow we ended up at Bogarts where we were ushered into that room to the left of the door, where it was to be hip-hop night or something. Frumpy-faced, yet stylish, 20-somethings crowded the walls and mingled on the dancefloor, though the beats were enticing. We smiled at them all, but only the bartender smiled back. Thankfully, we found a wonderful spot up away from everyone on the scaffolds, where we proceeded to boogie down to some very decent dj-ing. We were mostly left alone except for some drunk guy who kept coming over to pat M's fuzzy head and try to talk slurringly over the music. We tried to make him stop patting and talking and dance, but it was obvious once he started moving that he was there for something other than that. I don't remember a lot more, except that there was karaoke next door and that we left that evening quite sated.

It seems this was a special event, and we have been reminiscing about our lovely evening at Bogarts ever since.

The Night Hunter Died, Some time in 2006

B: M has to tell you about this night at the Snake Pit, where she dressed as Hunter S. Thompson and we had a great time dancing despite meeting a dog fucker and turning him into the cops.

Spies of Today: April 18, 2006

B: Once again, we headed out to see what Denver had to offer spies like us. Our identities were dutifully concealed behind complex disguises, and of course, action was bound to follow. I believe we started somewhere around the Purple Martini, which is now a hotel bar for that fabulous Westin with its fluffy beds so much like my own. Except for its complicated entry, calculating miami-in-denver interior and terribly annoying canned club-esque music, the place suited us just fine. We ordered the special, and Henry took pictures for posterity.

But the night had just begun. Leaving the bar, we boarded the 0 down Broadway, taking on a willing collaborator along the way who saw past our masks, and to keep him quiet, we invited him to be our surprise guest and willing collaborator to the night's events. The three of us eventually exited at the Blue Ice. This Blue Ice had some enticing happy hour offerings, and we took full advantage, while M chatted up the adorable folks at the bar with their spiky mohawks and standoffish demeanors. Her confidential report described them as follows: "Don't look at me! Look at me [spiking hair]!" Lo and behold, as the presence of our new compatriots might have indicated, soon the dark chords of goth/industrial music were chiming, and skinny kids in tall black boots appeared out of nowhere (maybe that was the liquor in me not noticing), stomp-kicking their way around the dancefloor, hands in their pockets, bent over from the waists. About then, a devastating beauty of the city joined us for a little birthday hoorah. And we all took to the dance floor, clomping and spinning with Denver's sweet little goths.

Soon it was time to move on to new horizons. The birthday girl had arrangements to meet her associates at Vinyl, another local dance hall. Unfortunately, Vinyl did not have the spunk or sinister satisfaction that Blue Ice had to offer, and we found ourselves sitting with pouty faces in a cold, dirty room, as the rotating dj's competed to find out who could spin the most disjointed, undanceable sets. They both won. Alas, there were also scantily clad women about, peddling jaeger or some other nasty syrup posing as liquor. We tried to talk some sense into them, to give them the key to escape, but they would not listen. M made sure that some of their blow-up toys were no longer standing as we breezed out of the joint. Dance club: HA.

Results:
Blue Ice 8.5
Vinyl 0

M:

Our First Excursion: March 27, 2006

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B: Here's what I remember: we got all dolled up in our wigs and overalls, looking forward to a night of dancing and parties. 1st stop, we attempted to spend time at a local artists' event, but it just wasn't cutting it. Ducked out of there, and walked up Santa Fe looking for action. Unfortunately, the town, she was sleeping. Entered King Soopers grocery on Speer in cold desperation. Purchased candy for pep, danced to their muzac because something needed to be done. Out of there and across Colfax, we trailblazed our fancy selves down 15th, into the depths of downtown, now focused on finding a good hotel bar where we could, well, who knew what would happen? The sparkly new hotel across from the DCPA was not yet open, thus we were relegated to a very downtrodden Holiday Inn. The bar was even more so, and the crowd was a motley crew of middle-agers who all looked like they had narrowly escaped from a cousin's badly performed bachelor/bachelorette party. Still, they visibly leaned away from our corner, where we sat at a low round table, respectively sighing into our cocktails. They were not the adventurous types. I think a woman asked us if we were in some sort of act, and we appreciated that. Mariah got a priceless pic of a woman giving us an "oh lord" look at the bar. When we had enough of that scene, we ventured out to 15th, where we greeted newcomers to our fair city at the bus stop and take random videos of ourselves with Henry, who warmed up to me after a short while. Our bus, of course, never arrived, but J did, and whisked us home.
In short, we resorted to self-entertainment. Dance factor: 0

M: