The Politics of Dancing

First off, an announcement...Full Contact Poetry will be opening for Gojira and Diamond Doug's band (which I regrettably do not know the name of) on Saturday April 14th at Sudsy Malone's. Stop on by, have a beer, do your laundry, listen to us screaming from our soapboxes. Oh, and you might want to bring earplugs. The music promises to be LOUD.

Of course this means I need to piece together a set. How many times can I read "The Unbearable Niceness of Being" before someone rips my head off, muttering, "Write some new poetry, bitch!" under his breath? I do have a new piece, but I wrote it for a collaboration with Roger Mexico. I'm not sure what he plans to do with it (adapt it into lyrics? do some sort of spoken word thing? crumple it up and make an ultra cheap cat toy for Iggy and Bowie?), so I'm a little reluctant to perform it until I know what's going on with it.

OK , now that I have that out of the way (and I will remind you a million times before the show), it's time to step into the Wayback Machine and set the dial for the late 80's....

Back in the days when I was a naïve young woman, my best friend from high school snuck me into a bar downtown called the Metro. It was my first experience in a club, and I was in awe. The bar itself was a dive (it was in an alley downtown), and women were in the vast minority (it was a gay bar, but they were for the most part hetero-friendly), but I was completely sucked in by the music and the lights and the ebb and flow of the dance floor on the second floor. (I was also drunk off my ass, and underage, but that's not important right now.) By the time I transferred to college in Cincinnati, I found myself going there practically every weekend. In the burgeoning days of alternative dance music, the Metro was one of the hot underground spots.

Somewhere around 1987 or 1988, the Metro changed its monkier to the Clubhaus. At this point, I practically lived there on weekends. There were other places to go on other nights, and clubs came and went and changed formats, but the Metro/Clubhaus held a special place in my heart. It was the first place I'd heard the music I liked (remember when Depeche Mode wasn't Top 40?). I'd hung out there until 4 or 5 in the morning with my best friends. I'd seen my first drag show there. I'd seen local bands like Redmath and Sleep Theatre there. I'd been part of idiotic melodramas with other regulars. It felt like home.

Somewhere in the early 90's, the Clubhaus lost its liquor license for what had to be the hundredth time, and it finally closed. We moved on to other clubs, but every once in a while someone would mention the Clubhaus and the older members of our group would get this glazed look in our eyes as we reminisced about the good old days. Ah yes. I remember my friend teaching me how to dance (in a non-Top 40 way) before he took me there the first time. I remember the go-go cages. I remember hearing Ministry for the first time and not knowing how to dance to it. I remember sitting out on the fire escape when it got too hot inside. I remember helping my best guy friend put on eyeliner for the first time (it was the 80's, it was an alternative club...shut up.). I remember the point where I didn't need my ID anymore because the doorman knew me. (Actually, the doorman was one of the few - if not the only - straight employees, and was constantly hitting on me. As a result of this, he consistantly stamped me for mixed drinks when I was only able to legally buy beer. Thanks, Breeder John.) I remember sitting on the back couches, singing along with the DJ's mixes when we got too tired to dance. I remember being herded downstairs at 2:15 in the morning so the bouncers could clear the alcohol, and then rushing back upstairs to reclaim my spot on the dance floor. I remember trying to appear somewhat awake in the morning after staying out all night. (I was a breakfast waitress. My shift started at 7:30. I drank more coffee than the customers. Come to think of it, I think I owe my coffee addiction to weekends spent at the Clubhaus.)

The alleyway that I walked down so many nights was repaved and rehabbed when the Aronoff Center for the Arts was built. It's now considered the "Backstage" district, and the shady alleyway is now well-lit and home to an Italian restaurant and the patio for the local Scottish tavern. My office building is right next door. (I didn't realize this at first. I was standing in the alley on a smoke break, and déjà vu set in. I was smoking a mere 50 feet from where I'd spent too many weekends of my formative years.)

There is a point to this trip down Memory Lane (or Gano Alley). In a fit of nostalgia, the Warehouse is organizing a Clubhaus reunion. That's right, it's a party for the old kids. The old DJ's will be spinning, and Red Flag (remember them? "Russian Radio?") will be playing, along with Love Assembly. (Damn, are they still together?) I CAN'T WAIT. I think some of us are even dressing circa 1987.

I checked the Warehouse website, but it seems someone's slacking because it's horribly outdated. But I called Kevin for the details, so here they are.

Clubhaus Reunion Party
Sunday, March 25th
Warehouse Nightclub
1313 Vine Street, Cincinnati
(513)684-9313
Doors: 9pm
Cover $15.00

Featuring: Red Flag
Love Assembly

Featured DJs: Joe Nicholson
Christian Wilhelmy
Brian Arnberg (DJ Troll)

I can't believe I'm skipping the Oscars for this. I guess that's why I have a VCR. Does anyone know where they sell orthopedic Doc Martens? I think I'm gonna need 'em.

(Yes, I came back to edit this. Seems I forgot to include the date - thanks Jooles! - and it's apparently been so long that I forgot tht Clubhaus spelled their name with the "oh-so-cool" pseudo-German ending. So now it's fixed. Quit your bitchin'.)