| “I know I got a
bad reputation.”
When the NYC online messageboard community heard
that Danny Tenaglia was going to take his Be Yourself show
on the road to Sayreville, New Jersey’s Abyss, the sardonic
cyber-laughter could be heard ‘round the world. Abyss
is known as “that club in the middle of nowhere with
the Phazon,” a quick turn off the darkness of Route
1 and into oblivion. It’s a hotspot for young Jersey-ites
who don’t want to make the trek into the city, but a
punchline to hipper-than-thou Manhattan scenesters. So of
course we sent some of them to check out the gig: An international
DJ in a notorious pick-up joint.
Oddly, the club brought in a rental system for
Tenaglia, temporarily replacing their main room’s Phazon.
Hmmm.
Stalker #1
Rolled up around 11 (this is Jersey after all) and from the
looks of things thought we’d have trouble at the door,
but we didn’t. The requisite squad of meaty-men-in-black
was gruff but friendly. But why do clubs with ample public
parking around them have valet service, while places without
parking for miles don’t? Don’t answer that question.
I’ll confess, I really dug the layout of this place.
It was a long rectangle without a centralized dance floor,
basically a giant room for mingling and one section (in front
of the booth) for serious dancing. The lights were spread
throughout the entirety of the rectangle, rather than all
aimed at a specific location, and this made you feel involved
even if you were lounging on the corner couches. Neat and
different.
There was a long bar on the right, and some sort of barbecue
going on in the room adjacent to the entry hallway? I didn’t
investigate too closely, but I did smell food in a nightclub
for the first time.
I felt odd Twilo nostalgia upon seeing the unused Phazon
Berthas in the corner, functioning tonight only as deluxe
clubber stools. The “replacement” sound was good,
but the stack in the front lost its will to live during Tenaglia’s
last hour.
Stalker #2
So the dark and menacing Abyss was more like the pleasant
little Valley. I thought it would be pitch black, but the
room was bright and clean looking, with white as the most
used color. And the people were so very pumped for DT! The
usual smattering of NY freaks at all his gigs balanced the
“normal” people nicely, but the vibe on the whole
was very good and pure. No one eyeing you weird. No one too
messy. No men groping. And not even that much intentional
shoving. Bravo.
But, um, here’s my complaint. I order an apple martini
at the bar (yes I AM a glutton for punishment), and rather
than confess that she did not have the stuff to make one,
the bartender instead gave me a plastic shot glass cup half
filled with ice, half with vodka, and a sprinkle of some sweet
liqueur (not enough to taste for more than a sip). I got hammered,
but it was nasty. And not worth my $7.
Stalker #3
There was a downstairs? Why didn’t someone tell me there
was a downstairs? Damn, does this place sell cigarettes? |
