Hot Wheels display at the Petersen. Yes, they're mounted on that awesome orange plastic track!

Of course, Los Angeles is a car-guy’s paradise.  The weather’s friendly to old vehicles, and there are twisty mountain roads and speedy freeways and slow-n-low cruising spots within an hour of one another.  The streets are filled with equal numbers of everyday exotics and awesomely-preserved daily drivers, and if I tried to shoot them all we never would’ve gotten anywhere.  This is one of the few places where you’ll see a Maserati Quattroporte or Lamborghini Gallardo in the wild, however.  It’s definitely one of the few places where you’ll see those cars sharing space at the traffic light with original Austin Minis and Volkswagen Microbuses.  Mercedes is a common nameplate in the area, both old and new.

We visited two wonderful automotive attractions while we were in town as well.  The Petersen Automotive Museum you may have heard of.  Located in downtown Los Angeles, this museum of American (and especially California) car culture displays vehicles in elaborate dioramas that help to put things into context in a way that most car museums don’t bother with.

The GM showroom from 1939 doesn’t just have a brace of contemporary products; it includes the whole Art Deco showroom complete with advertising, sales desk and customers, the picture windows and front door, and a sidewalk out front with some older vehicles parked outside.  Other dioramas show a hot rod shop, a design studio and a typical 1960s suburban garage, including the Studebaker Lark Wagonaire, scooter for bopping around town and luggage on the garage shelves.

The Petersen also features special exhibits in its upstairs galleries.  The current crop includes a Hot Wheels retrospective, a selection of alternative-power cars, a Hollywood Gallery of movie cars, and the amusing “What Were They Thinking?” display of failed and wrong-headed automotive anomalies through the years, which ran through late September.

This exhibit ranges from commonly-known failures like the Edsel and AMC Pacer to one-offs you’ve probably never heard of, like the 1908 Scripps-Booth two-wheeler and the 1957 Liberty Mutual Survival Car.  A couple of cars were familiar, too:  the Survival Car was on loan from the Henry Ford Museum, and the 1932 Helicron and 1947 Gregory are cars that we’ve seen multiple times at the Lane Motor Museum.  I wonder if Jeff Lane drove his Helicron all the way to California?

The Petersen Museum is right downtown, on Wilshire Boulevard.  Admission is $10 for adults and $5 for seniors and students.  Don’t forget to cruise around the Petersen’s parking garage, too.

There are vehicles on exhibit, like the Vagabond–the first fifth-wheel travel trailer, complete with purpose-built tow vehicle–and there are usually a few interesting guests as well.

We found a derelict ’58 Buick and an MGA parked among the ordinary commuters in the garage (the Buick looks like it might be a permanent resident, actually).

Less well known, but equally cool, is the Mercedes Classic Center down in Irvine.  The Classic Center is tucked away in a small industrial complex, but for Mercedes owners, enthusiasts, and car people of all stripes it’s a must-see.  This unassuming building is like Mary Poppins’ bag for Mercedes-Benz vehicles.  If you’ve got a Mercedes of any vintage, you can get any factory part you need from the Classic Center–literally.  They’ll even restore your old Benz to its original specifications.  Since we’ve got a classic Mercedes in storage back in Michigan, this place was of great interest to us.

The Classic Center acts much like a dealer with an unusually extensive service department.  They’ll do everything from routine maintenance to ground-up rebuilds.

Parts for anything Mercedes has ever built can be found, and those that aren’t on hand either in the Classic Center’s massive parts department or in Germany can be reproduced, as the Classic Center has access to the original designs and specifications for all of Mercedes’ cars.  “We can get anything for anything,” says Mike Kunz, manager of the Classic Center.

The focus is on authenticity, and the Classic Center keeps massive stores of OEM hose clamps and bolts on hand, never making do with off-the-shelf parts from an auto parts store.  Some parts have been upgraded–old horsehair seat cushions, for instance, are now made with a material that looks and feels the same but is produced from ground coconut shells for a more durable and environmentally-friendly product.  Parts can be had in one day from the Classic Center, and three days in the rare event that they have to be ordered from Germany.

The Classic Center’s activities are split mainly between parts sales and restoration, but there’s also a mini-museum out front, and there are a few cars on sale as well.

A garage off of the main showroom features cars representing most of the marque’s history, displayed on two-tier vehicle lifts.  Some of the cars for sale have been restored by the Classic Center, and others are consignment vehicles; either way, it makes for an interesting showroom.  Vehicles are also provided for concours events.

We lucked into a quick tour of the facilities, where several restoration and repair projects were ongoing.  The Classic Center has about nine “restoration specialists” on staff, and we saw a variety of vehicles getting the treatment, from a 600 Pullman in for extensive hydraulic repairs to a 1961 330D Adenauer in the midst of a two-year full restoration. 

Not far from it was a Pontoon sedan that was also getting the same treatment; the Classic Center will do a back-to-original restoration on any Mercedes, not just the rare or special vehicles.   It’s not inexpensive, of course:  a ground-up restoration from the Classic Center carries a six-figure price tag.

Most of the center’s “patients” are Mercedes products from the 1950s and ’60s, but we saw everything from a 190 convertible to a fully restored 280SE 3.5 on the shop floor.

The yellow SLK/G-Class hybrid that circumnavigated the globe almost a decade ago was even hiding in a corner (it’s been there since at least 2006 in fact), awaiting repairs before joining the Classic Center’s museum.

The Mercedes Classic Center is a worthwhile stop, whether you’ve got a Mercedes in your garage or not.  It’s located on Whatney Street in Irvine, and the showroom is open to the public.

Of course, we can’t go to a major city without seeking out its goth club.  Las Vegas’ is called sKizoFrenia, and it’s in the Harmon Theater which is part of the Planet Hollywood casino/hotel shopcenter (which used to be the Aladdin).  The approach to the club is kind of annoying; because it’s basically right on the Strip, one has to park in the casino’s lot, which then opens out into the PH Shops. So, you essentially have to walk through a mall in your club gear, to get outside, to go down the block to the door. Walking through a mall in full club gear is fun on some days, but never something one should be forced to do. It’s not that we don’t like looking this way, but the stares are somehow more open and more intense when you’re in The Mall, and before you’ve gone a hundred yards you want to elbow somebody in the face and scream, “Shake your head, boy, your eyes are stuck!” But meh, there are worse things to endure.

Once you brave the normal-people gauntlet, however, the Harmon Theater is an inviting place, situated right next to a flamboyant gay bar.  A dark entryway opens out into a playground with high ceilings and red curtains on the walls.  Square velvet benches line one wall across from the curved bar which wraps around to the left, framing the dance floor.  There’s a small stage on the right, and while we were there it sported pair of go-go dancers (one male, one female) up on pedestals.  SkizoFrenia has a good feeling and I couldn’t wait to get out onto the smallish dance floor.

The go-go dancers were very stompy, which was a shame because there was not much stompy stuff. They spun TSWFYU and Sparrows & Nightingales and Days of Swine & Roses and Reptile (not the NIN one, the one by The Church) and after that it kind of petered out. Lexie got mistaken for her friend Mija, who currently lives in San Diego, which was bizarre in a small-world kind of way as we ended up visiting Mija less  than a week later.

Apparently drinks are expensive in Las Vegas. Lexie remained livid about the $3 PBRs for a solid week. That, and it was hot, and the music tapered off into interesting but not-really-danceable goffy stuff, so we decided to go early. As we were headed out, a guy met us out on the sidewalk and asked what it would have taken for us to stay longer. We said, “More stompy stuff.”

As it turned out, we had met Rust Ryu, who introduced himself as the head DJ for sKizoFrenia, and we all chatted on the sidewalk for a while.  Later, I was able to chat via email with him about the Las Vegas scene:

1. Can you give me a quick rundown of how you ended up in Las Vegas?

It is a little cheesy but it is from a blurb at the beginning of a chapter in a fiction book that I can’t remember the name of. The preface of the chapter was “When cities of steel fall into dust, dragons will rise from the rust.” It really struck a chord with me and I am a huge fan of the Japanese aesthetic, so I took up the handle of Rust Ryu around 1997. I went through a bunch of previous handles including some very GAF and Hax00r ones.

sKizoFrenia takes place weekly, and even though the Las Vegas scene has its uphill battles, it’s an awesome night out.  Get the details at http://www.myspace.com/skizofrenialv.

Another unexpected oasis was found in Boise, Idaho.  If asked, we’d have said the closest noise-fixes available were in Las Vegas or Seattle, but no!  Boise’s got a place to go as well.  The Terrapin Station hosts Nocturnum on Sunday nights.
During the week, the Terrapin’s more of a hippie bar, but Nocturnum manages to darken the ambience, with gel covers on the lights and a cool stage setup that includes a well-placed ceiling parachute and strobe light that highlight DJ Bones’ presence.  The dance floor is bar-sized, offering plenty of space for a couple dozen people to get their stomp on.  Low seating surrounds the dance floor, for spectating and/or discreet spanking, depending on your activity preference.

The comfortably scruffy décor and requisite video games and TV behind the bar confirm that this is a traditional venue most of the time, but don’t let that scare you away.  There’s even cool graffiti in the bathroom.
Toward the street-side of the venue, ample seating and a small separate front room provide room to socialize without having to scream.  The Terrapin doesn’t charge a cover (it is 21+) so the sidewalk out front offers additional chatting-space (and if the man known as “Johnny Monza” is there, check out his gorgeous customized Chevy Monza which would’ve been the coolest car in The Road Warrior if it had a chance.  Don’t get too close though–it might bite.).   Nocturnum’s regulars are a friendly bunch as well, skewing mostly to the People Worth Meeting end of the spectrum.
DJ Bones knew we were coming, so he went all-out with a good mix of old and new stuff.  He’s a very receptive DJ and open to requests–and unlike many, he’ll remember your likes and dislikes from week to week.  Nocturnum has a compact but well-used dance floor, and we gave it a good workout thanks to a mix that included VNV Nation, Run Level Zero, Aesthetic Perfection and Ayria.  DJ Bones likes to find new music as well, so expect to be introduced to new tracks and new artists. We got our first tastes of Menschdefekt, Psy’Aviah and reADJUST, all in one night!

We even managed to show up a few days after the long-standing requirement that all of Utah’s clubs be “private clubs” requiring a separate membership fee was lifted.

Area 51 didn't respond to our requests for a photo. So here are my funky green velvet Doc Martens instead.

The first thing you’ll notice about the place is that it’s fairly large.  The club has space for three dance floors (one upstairs and two downstairs), a half-dozen pool tables, an outdoor smoking patio and plenty of comfortable loungers.  Walk inside, past chain link and corrugated aluminum décor, and you’re in the first area.  A small dance floor hung with camouflage netting and a collection of socializing tables greets you; to the left is the entrance to the larger dance floor.  On our two visits to the Dungeon , the small floor featured harsh, stomp-able stuff, while the bigger floor was devoted more to synthpop–or at least that’s what the reclusive DJ Viking felt like playing.  The large dance floor is fun, with elaborate lighting, well-placed AC vents and a two-level stage area.  Large projector screens provide visual entertainment in the form of fetish videos.   The mix included Imperative Reaction, Stromkern and classic Skinny Puppy.

One of the things that impressed me about Area 51 was the separation of these various spaces.  From one dance floor, the beats from the other were barely audible and never obtrusive.  This is especially impressive considering the third dance floor upstairs, in Area 51 proper.  Spinning more conventional/edgy pop like Lady Gaga and Shiny Toy Guns, Area 51 was 18+ during our visit, adding a bit more versatility to the overall scene.  Go up there in your goth-gear and you’ll feel a bit out of place, but the energy is still good.  There’s also a juice bar, for those who can’t/don’t drink.  The complex seems to include a snack bar as well, but it wasn’t open when we visited so we can’t say for sure if it’s functional or not.

Our first visit to Sanctuary fell on the same night as a nearby VNV Nation concert, unfortunately, so attendance was reasonably sparse.  Let’s hear it for poor timing!  That said, the crowd was reasonably friendly and we found some locals to talk to.  The accommodating DJ spun stompy stuff for us on the small dance floor, keeping us busy until close.  When we returned to Sanctuary the following week, there were a few more regulars, and the music mix was just as good.

The danger is in the vital link to shore power.  Computers, televisions, microwaves and other electronic appliances are susceptible to power surges and drops–and so is your recreational vehicle.   Every time you plug your RV into an external power source, its electronics are at risk.  An unexpected power surge or voltage drop can fry all of the electronic devices in your RV, from entertainment equipment to kitchen appliances.
You might assume that lightning strikes are the primary cause of fried circuitboards in RVs.  This is not true.  Even considering the affinity that thunderstorms and tornadoes seem to have for RV parks, the real threat is much more common than lightning; it’s the power pedestal that provides electricity to each RV site.
The pedestal can zap your RV in a number of ways.  Power surges can provide too much power–or not enough.   On hot days, when everyone in the RV park turns on the air conditioning at the same time, the voltage drops, creating a “brown-out.”   Any voltage that’s above or below the UL standard of 102 to 132 volts can damage your electronics.
Poorly-maintained power outlets can also cause damage.  A post’s polarity may be reversed, allowing unchecked voltage to flow through your coach before reaching the circuit breakers.    This can result in overheated circuits, cooked appliances and fire.   Reversed polarity poses a danger to you and your family as well; if the post’s circuit breaker trips, there will still be power flowing through the umbilical, waiting to shock an unsuspecting RVer.  If a power pedestal has been miswired and the ground or neutral circuit has been left open, the RV’s chassis can build up a dangerous electrical charge that will zap the first person unfortunate enough to step out the door and create a circuit with the earth.  Without testing equipment, there’s no way to be sure if a power pole is properly wired or not.   “Open neutral” situations are the number-one cause of power pedestal related electrical fires, and the results can be catastrophic.
The way to avoid these hidden dangers?  Surge protection.  In most cases, it’s up to the new owner to protect his or her investment.   Built-in whole-coach surge protectors are available, but they’re only installed on two to three percent of new RVs, according to engineer Steve Antman at the Technology Research Corporation (TRC).  The Incorrigible  definitely lacks a built-in surge protector, so we checked into the options.  TRC offers a full range of aftermarket electrical protection for RVs under its Surge Guard brand.

To save the cost of having a surge protector hardwired, we chose a TRC Surge Guard 34730 30-amp portable unit, which attaches to the 30-amp power cord between the RV and the power pole.  This $289, weather-resistant unit offers 1050 joules of power surge protection, as well as an automatic shutoff in the event of severe voltage drops or spikes.  When plugged into the power pedestal, the Surge Guard can automatically detect a reversed-polarity situation, causing it to cut power and illuminate a warning light.  Open-ground dangers are also indicated by a warning light.  During operation, if power drops below 102 volts or jumps higher than 132 volts for more than eight seconds, power is cut.   A 50-amp unit is also available.

Our unit has been easy to use, and has performed seamlessly at several hookup sites.  Our unit has popped and cut power three times this season–one during a thunderstorm–so we know it’s doing its job.  After cutting power, the Surge Guard automatically turns back on when it’s safe.  If you’re still worried about lightning, we saw a local RV shop that had a used 30-amp Surge Guard on display.  The unit had been struck by lightning, taking a catastrophic blast that melted the case and caused it to explode.  The coach that it was attached to suffered no significant electrical damage.

If you’re concerned about your Surge Guard unit going missing while you’re camping, TRC offers a lock hasp to which a padlock can be affixed.  That said, of the RV owners we’ve talked to, nobody has ever reported having an external surge protector stolen.
TRC’s portable and hard-wired surge protectors are available from many RV supply outlets, including Camping World.

If it weren’t for the noisy music and clever faux-stone painted walls, you might mistake the place for a typical honky-tonk bar:  you’ve got a dance floor and a stage at one side, some tables and circular velvet couches in the center, and the bar and some red- covered pool tables at the other end, and you’re constantly going up or down steps: two down onto the dance floor, or one up to the bar.  There’s an outdoor patio as well, for people-watching.  Look closer, though, and you’ll notice the Bauhaus and concert posters on the walls, and random sigils and art that decorate the walls.  Austin does have a goth scene, and this is the place most of them call home.  It’s also where the noisy folks like Funker Vogt and Voltaire come to play, when they’re in town.

Arrive early and you’ll think that there aren’t many people in the aforementioned scene, but by midnight the Elysium’s too crowded to throw an elbow, on most Saturday nights.  The dance floor is old-school wood and a bit smaller than average, because the club’s set up for live music, the bread and butter of Austin’s club scene.   On Haven nights, the stage is open for showing off if you like.  Be careful, though–the surface is a little bit uneven.

Like the Church, Elysium’s staff and patrons are friendly, especially if you’re dressed to the nines and beyond.  Most any form of dress is acceptable, however.

The sound system is also biased toward live music, so the sound is better at one end of the dance floor than the other.  There’s the requisite smoke machine, of course.  A good Haven night will lean heavily toward older synthpop and very new stompy stuff:  VNV Nation, And One, Faderhead, ohGr, Ladytron and Combichrist.  Expect a bit of Depeche Mode and Ladytron to pop also, as well as the odd Rammstein throwback.  Resident DJs Void and The Gothfather spin a good mix that’s fairly constant throughout the night, and since they always play the original mix of “Le Disko” by Shiny Toy Guns, never bothering with any of the many nasty remixes, they get a thumbs-up from me.

Neo did not look like this when we were there.

The place looks promising, with a Sunday night flyer promising “Sanctuary,” a night of electro, synthpop and industrial.  It’s another veteran club, located down a delightfully foreboding alley.  Inside, Neo is compact, with a flowing, multi-tiered layout that could’ve been carved out by monstrous ants.   The dance floor’s a bit uneven, and the mirror that lines one side of it is faded, but the sound system is good and the bar staff is friendly.  The crowd couldn’t be called that–there were only five or six other patrons at eleven-thirty, but then it was a very chilly February evening in Chicago, so we couldn’t blame folks for staying home.  Even empty, Neo feels comfortable, like an oasis from the real world, and that’s the right way to go.

Unfortunately, the same couldn’t be said for the music on the night we were there.  In spite of the “Sanctuary” flyer, the DJ seemed content to spin Gang of Four, Modest Mouse and Franz Ferdinand tunes.  When I visited the DJ booth to ask for something stompy, I got a disinterested, negative response, and then he grudgingly spun some ohGr for us, before going back to the indie-pop.  Quite disappointing.  Fortunately, there’s no cover charge on Sunday nights, so we didn’t have to feel badly about leaving after about an hour.  Maybe we’ll give Neo another chance the next time we’re in town…or maybe not.

Credit: the churchpictures.com

Dallas’ Lizard Lounge hosts a couple of noisy-stuff nights a week, under the name The Church.  On Thursdays and Sundays, the DJs spin neo-gothic, industrial and electro (that’s according to The Church’s website) tunes in one of the cooler club environments I’ve experienced.

The Lizard Lounge isn’t a goth club every night of the week, but the atmosphere and building lend themselves well to the task.  The building dates to 1899 and is registered in the Texas Haunted Building Registry, so that’s a good start.  Head through the front door and you’ve got a choice of turning left, right or going straight, up a curved staircase.  To the left, you’ll find the main bar and a good-sized, multi-level dance floor that includes a platform with a stripper pole.  A seating area curves around the front of the dance floor with a walkway in between, providing good people-watching space.  The sound system is fantastic, loud enough to make your chest hurt but clean enough to keep the music clear and distortion-free.  The lighting and other décor are equally well put together.  Random trivia:  the video for Joan Jett’s “I Love Rock & Roll” was filmed in this building.

On the other side (that is, if you turn to the right after entering) you’ll find a more conventional dance floor and a secondary bar, as well as the doors to an outdoor patio.  There’s smoking allowed inside the bar as well (though that may reportedly change soon depending on Texas law) but when the weather permits the fresh air is nice.  The two downstairs dance floors connect at the rear in a small maze of hallways and seating areas.

Done exploring yet?  Nope.  Upstairs there are wingback chairs lining the balcony, the better for people-watching and socializing, and yet another small bar.  Plenty of places to get your drink on in the Church.

The Church’s main dance floor is the most fun, and it’s where the club’s carnival atmosphere is most noticeable.  The multi-tiered space is shallower than most dance floors, which gives it a very stagelike feeling.  There’s no fading into the background here; if you’re dancing, the people watching can see you.  Rather than being intimidating, however, the Church’s dance floor is inviting.  Even if you don’t know what you’re doing, the friendly regulars would be happy to see you take a turn on the pole, or up on the uppermost stage level.  The social hierarchy isn’t oppressive, unless of course you’re a complete jerk in which case the security staff will politely ask you to leave.  Otherwise, the Church wants you to come in, have a drink or two, meet someone, and go strut your stuff on the dance floor when you’re ready.

In my six or eight trips to the Church, the music has gone one of two ways.  Of course, I’m happiest when it leans toward the noisy end of the spectrum, with Rob Zombie, Skinny Puppy, Combichrist and VNV Nation well represented.  DJ Joe Virus is creative, too, putting together excellent “themed” sets:  the “R. Lee Ermey” and “nasty girl” groupings are especially cool, as is the Homestar Runner/Rammstein mashup that’s only available at the Church, to the best of my knowledge.    On other nights, the Church’s main floor is a retro-New Wave paradise, all a-swirl with Depeche Mode, Dead or Alive, Sisters of Mercy and Shriekback.  If New Wave is your thing, the Church’s smaller dance floor is perpetually stuck in the Day-Glo Eighties.  This lends itself well to long club nights; bored of one kind of noise?  You can go over and relax to another.

Of the clubs I’ve been to, the Church comes the closest to creating that “home” feeling that I get back in Detroit, at City Club.  We don’t pretend to have an objective club-ranking system, but to date I will call the Church my second-favorite dancin’ place, and that’s high praise indeed.

The Leland City Club is the first club I ever went to, and quickly went on to become the nighttime place that I unashamedly call home.  City Club’s not like any place else, for better or worse.

The club is ancient (it’s been open since the 1980s), and single-purpose.  It exists at the whim of the Leland Hotel’s owner, which means both that it does not particularly need to make money, and that it can be only one thing.  City Club is only open Fridays and Saturdays (and occasional holidays), and only as a goth-industrial club, unlike most other nightclubs which rotate through different-themed nights during the week.  As a result, the place has a comfortably shitty, lived-in feel to it.  There’s a good chance that it’s haunted, and the condition of the building mirrors the decay of Detroit in spite of recent minor renovations.  And in a way, that’s part of its charm.  If the speakers didn’t occasionally short out, if the heat worked on twenty-degree December days, it somehow wouldn’t be quite the same place.  More than one regular calls it “Shitty Club,” but they still keep showing up, generation after generation of punk, goth, rivethead, cyber, electro, lolita and emo kids.  Gay, straight and anywhere in between are present and welcome.

City Club’s big.  Here’s the nickel tour:  you enter through an unmarked door in the back of the building, climb a set of dilapidated stairs (note that there are no railings on them any more, something that you’ll want to keep cognizant of if you plan to be leaving intoxicated) and push your way through a set of carwash-style plastic flaps.

At the door, you’re frisked, mostly for drugs and weapons.  It’s Detroit, after all, and there are crazy people out there.  It may seem a little bit invasive (you won’t be allowed to bring in a camera, a weapon or wear dangerous-looking spikes) but the result is that the club is safe on the inside, and that’s what counts.  Immediately in front of you is a frequently-changing open area that’s one of City Club’s four primary socialization spaces.  On our last visit, it had been set up with a pair of opposed couches on one side, and an L-shaped homemade chaise lounge/futon that I call the “pillow ship” on the other.  Furniture at City Club has a relatively short shelf life, leading to frequent replacements and redecoration.  To the left as you come in are the vending machines (cigarettes and candy) and coat check.

Proceed forward and you’re between the bar and the bathrooms.   This narrow space is, much to the frustration of the security staff, the second major socialization area.  The wall across from the bar has a mural on it, and it’s perfect for leaning up against and chatting.  Anita and Marvin, the current bartenders extraordinaire, are on hand behind the glass-block counter to take drink orders.  Décor in this section of the club is also mutable; most recently there are plastic skeletons and military camouflage netting hanging from the ceiling, which lacks a drop ceiling so the HVAC ducts and wiring are all visible.  At the far end of the bar, you’ll often see local scene fixtures like the Latex Twins or luminaries from the Detroit Gothic Network (DGN) hanging out.  In the summer, this is partly because there’s a small air conditioner at that end of the bar, or at least that’s where it used to be.  In the winter, City Club is cold inside, and that’s just how it is.  Recent repairs have improved the heating situation, but it’s still going to be cold.

City Club’s bathrooms are just like most club bathrooms, except with a tendency to malfunction.  At least once every two months the water stops working in one restroom or the other, or in both.  At least once a year, some angry drunk will rip out one of the sinks, toilets or bathroom stalls in the men’s room (the urinals have never been molested; apparently they’re tougher than the other fixtures).

Continuing past the bar, you’re in the third socialization area, consisting of tables and benches on both sides.  It’s dimly lit, with the only illumination usually provided by candles on the tables and a ceiling-mounted television that is as likely to be playing a bootlegged new release as it is hentai, and it’s just quiet enough to hold a conversation if you raise your voice.  City Club’s not overtly spooky, but the building’s general mien of decay and the abundance of dark corners create an atmosphere that suits the mood of the average spooky kid quite nicely.

Did I mention that this space will be choked with smoke in a variety of flavors?  Detroit’s goth scene is populated heavily with chain smokers.  Guests with tender lungs should be aware; in spite of its size, City Club’s a secondhand smoke farm.

By this time you’ll be able to hear the dance floor, which is around a couple of corners yet.  The dance floor is straight ahead, but the entryways are staggered so you have to turn left and then right.  The small hallway that this layout creates is where the DJ booth is (you’ll approach it from the back side) and is the club’s fourth socialization space.  It’s loud, but folks hold shouted conversations here nonetheless.  Many of the long-time regulars hang out in this area, as it’s one of the brightest spaces of the club, and the high traffic makes for good people-watching.  City Club’s elite will be able to tell you where Coffey’s Corner and Chad’s Chair are, and where Mark often puts his incense.

Finally, you reach the dance floor, the fifth and final circle of City Club.  Housed in what was once a ballroom popular with Detroit mobsters, City Club’s dance floor is cavernous compared to that of the average club.  The murals on the walls change about once a year, on average.  The most recent repaint hasn’t been particularly popular, though the blacklights and bench seating along the walls are much appreciated.  Massive speakers mounted at each corner of the room are far from cutting-edge, but what they lack in quality sound they make up for in quantity.  The dance floor itself is tile, and the regulars know how infrequently and indifferently it gets cleaned, which is why we wince when an enthusiastic break-dancer puts his hands or head on it.  At the far end of the dance floor, a raised stage provides another seating area.  Sometimes it’s used as a VIP area for special events, but most nights anyone can hang out up there.  It provides a decent view of the dance floor, as well as yet another dark corner, but if you try to have sex up there they’ll kick you out.

It’s hard to describe what’s special about City Club’s dance floor, because it’s not exactly tangible.  Objectively, the club is a shithole.  But from an emotional standpoint, once you swim past the human drama that’s smeared all over any club, City Club’s got a feeling of being more than just a place.  It’s the difference between a building being a house and being a home, and whatever that X-factor is, City Club has it.  Regulars, newbies and tourists alike seem to recognize this once they hit the dance floor.  The masterful thing about this club is that nobody cares.  City Club’s just not that judgmental, as a whole.  You can be gothed to the nines, or just wearing a polo shirt and jeans, and once you get out to the dance floor it’s clear that whatever your thing is (unless you want to slam-dance), you can just go for it.  Can’t dance?   Doesn’t matter.  Nobody’s watching anyway; they’re paying attention to whoever’s in the mood to show off.

City Club’s playlist consists of a steady diet of industrial, synthpop and danceable goth, with a sprinkling of powernoise and electro.  To put that in plain English, this means that you can expect to hear VNV Nation, Assemblage 23, Combichrist, Rotersand, Switchblade Symphony, Snake River Conspiracy, Apoptygma Berzerk, NIN, Stromkern, Covenant and KMFDM almost nightly.  The local juggalos keep trying to get the Insane Clown Posse into the mix, but are unlikely to succeed, and this is a good thing.

Hosted by SecretRoom.net at 2High Studios, the bash promised good music, burlesque and fetish shows, alcohol and dancing.  Noise, noise, noise!  We just had to see if it was worth a 150-mile one-way trip.  Emmy hasn’t danced in a month, and Lexie could probably use respite from Emmy’s Huge Extended Family, many of whom live in Birmingham.

Having secured crash space with our friend Chet in Atlanta (Chet is an amazing, wonderful artist and an all-around good guy), we fed 2High Studios’ address to the TomTom and found our way there.  The cover charge was reasonable (less expensive for folks with XX chromosomes, as is often the case with fetish shows) and the folks at the door actually overcharged us, then sent a bouncer in with a refund ten minutes later when they realized their mistake.

The Secret Room puts on a pretty good show, if I must say so.  An enthusiastic and generally into-it crowd was treated to a gallery-turned-club with ceiling drapes separating the dance floor from the photo and fetish-booth spaces, ample comfy seating and a large dance floor that was never empty.  A four-corner sound system provided seriously stompy beats that didn’t let up all night.  I didn’t know a lot of the tracks but couldn’t help dancing to them anyway, and the only real downside to this was that the DJ’s booth was up on the stage, making it difficult to run up there and ask what had been played.  I’d have gone and asked for six or seven different songs during the course of the evening, given the chance.   It was a welcome break from several weeks of not being able to go out and “play.”  The event attracted a lot of very good, enthusiastic dancers as well–there was none of that “why am I the only one dancing?” feeling that I sometimes get at unfamiliar clubs.

The crowd was dressed to the elevens, which means not tuxedos and evening gowns but plenty of patent leather, latex, PVC and chrome that was mixed with just the right amount of flesh.  A great many beautiful people in Atlanta, there are.  We didn’t talk to many folks; the feeling was that most of the locals know each other already, so as obvious outsiders Lexie and I were an unknown quantity.  Photographer NINSalvation did snap our pictures though. 

Up on the stage, The Secret Room’s show did a good job of entertaining without dominating the festivities for those who weren’t interested.  Gia Nova’s stroke-of-midnight (pun intended) burlesque routine was properly oily, the shibari rope demonstration went on for perhaps twenty minutes longer than it needed to, and the bellydance/fire fan performance by Emerald was an absolute showstopper.  Between these events, go-go dancers like Defenzmechanizm and Kerri Taylor took to the stage and showed the many people on the dance floor how it was done.  Many of the name performers spent time down on the main dance floor with the guests, as well, which made for a comfortable blending of the paid and paying talent.

It was a good way to ring in 2009; an event with a proper Special Occasion feel, that wasn’t too overblown or stuck on itself to be enjoyable.  With luck, we’ll be able to trek out to Atlanta and visit the scene again before we leave the area.