|
Finding yourself outside the world that is Toronto can be both scary
and exciting. Nothing is familiar, everything is new. Being of the Gothic
persuasion, I tend to be a bit of a lurker, and maintain faithful patronage to
the dwellings I know intimately. Yet the beckoning of nightlife in a new city
is something that I can’t resist. Over the last two months, I have found
myself traveling for work quite a bit. This is the main reason you haven’t
seen a new column until now. So I decided to take advantage of my travels and
explore the Goth scene in three places: Ottawa, chilly Manitoba, and balmy
Florida. I was Darq Angel: Journalist by day, Dark Clubber by night.
Ottawa:
It’s our nation’s capital, and as
such, did not expect much from Ottawa from a clubbing perspective. I was more
excited about discovering the darker side of Quebec. Sadly, timing was not on
my side and I was unable to traipse through the cobblestone streets of old
Montreal-except for work purposes.
In Ottawa, I managed to squeeze in two
nights at Zaphod Beeblebrox: Industrial Strength Tuesdays
and Electric Ballroom Fridays. Zaphod’s is small, dark, and cozy with a
bar that seemed to go on for a zillion miles. That alone made me one happy
cookie. It’s a great combination of a comfortable hangout and a place to
let loose and dance.
Perched at the bar after a long day, I was gratefully
swilling a beer, and watching the patrons. This will sound silly, but I was
surprised at the alternative crowd. I’ve never enjoyed Ottawa’s
nightlife on prior visits. I was always used to seeing tourists and
politicians. But this time, I was kicking back with a Labatt Ice, listening to
Ministry and making new friends, who were definitely not regulars on Parliament
Hill.
It was so much fun and I felt so comfortable, almost as though I was
at Velvet on Thursday night. On top of which, my new
pals made me proud to be a Torontonian. They were going on and on about how
much they love Toronto and its club scene. They spoke glowingly about
Savage and Velvet…. and a certain website. They
even mentioned the writings of a certain columnist. Being a devilish angel, I
grilled them for the goods on Toronto-Goth.com and Adventures in Gothic Clubland. Yes kids, it was all
positive. I finally revealed myself and reveled in their reaction as staunch
disbelief turned to embarrassment, then glee. So here is a big scream out to my
Ottawa friends. Thanks for a great night out. It was a much-needed break in an
otherwise insane work week.
But oh my Goth, does Ottawa ever need more dark
bars. One Goth hangout just does not cut it.
Winnipeg,
Manitoba:
Two things signaled that the nightlife was not going to be
promising.
1. The guy on the plane beside me was reading a book titled
“The Case For Christ” while feverishly writing notes and glancing at
me suspiciously every five minutes.
2. A friend told me to “beware of
country music.”
My prospect for a fun night out was diminished even
further upon visiting two Goth clothing stores. At
Crypt Clothing- “Being from Toronto,
you’ll find it pretty damn boring. It’s like a tomb and not in a good
way.” And at Lucy’s Hidden Closet- “Sadly the Goth scene here
tends to be full of holier than thou 18 year olds who think Marilyn Manson is
the grandfather of Goth.” I figured I should have left my fishnets at
home. But I took my chances anyway.
First stop, Die Maschine in Osborne
Village. Their actual Goth night is Friday and Saturday. But alas I was only
able to club on Thursday night which happened to be their 80s night. The club
and its patrons seemed darker than the music itself. The venue was small, big
couches against black walls surrounding a well-worn dance floor. It felt like a
combination of Neutral and Savage Garden with DJ Lazarus spinning at Panic
night. I could only imagine how much fun Friday night would be.
The crowd
was minimal, the music was decent. That is, until Lips Like Sugar segued into
Girls Just Wanna Have Fun. This girl decided it was time to hop into a cab to
The Pyramid.
The Pyramid was holding their weekly Mod/Alternative Night. The
Cure mixed with Blur, Depeche Mode mixed with The Doors. A DJ with shaggy black
hair spun the tunes on a small stage. The walls were covered in cool posters:
Robert and Siouxsie giggling, The Cure’s Boys Don’t Cry, Depeche Mode
Violator, and the coolest accessory of all: A giant black chandelier with
skulls with glowing red eyes in place of light bulbs. It was mesmerizing! I
would have stolen it for my own place if it were physically possible.
The
club was cavernous by club standards and it was packed. That ensured that I was
not alone for long. A group of friendly boys invited me to their table. And
soon we were drinking, talking, laughing and making merry to a great
soundtrack, as though we were long lost friends. I forgot I was even in
Winnipeg until I had to search out the ladies room. (Oh yeah, and when I
spotted a dude in overalls-eeew.)I did make a remarkable discovery at The
Pyramid that night. It’s a species I like to call the Mod Goth Boy.
He’s dark, handsome, aloof, and knows how to dress. I saw at least 12 at
The Pyramid before I finally started losing count. Most of them sported dark
spiky hair, crisp button-down shirts or graphic tees, a sharp black blazer,
dark pants or jeans and glossy black boots. The look was kind of like Brett
Anderson meets Peter Murphy. Very, very hot. They definitely stood out from the
rest of the crowd. I made friends with one in particular. He donned a white
shirt with black graffiti designs, black blazer with a silver gothic chandelier
emblazoned on the back, and black jeans. His eyes were ever so slightly smudged
with eyeliner, early Robert Smith hair, and that shy Robert Smith smile rounded
out his ModGoth look. His name was even Robert. Go figure.
I danced and
mingled with the masses until 330am. Robert shielded me from the frigid gust of
Winnipeg air and tucked me safely into a cab. And as my tired head hit the
pillow in my posh hotel room, I was pleasantly surprised by my night out in
“Winterpeg” and dreamed that the ModGoth boys would make their way to
more hospitable climes-Queen West.
Palm Beach,
Florida:
When I got this assignment, I was enthralled. Four whole
days in one of the ritziest cities in North America, not to mention Donald
Trump’s home. Admittedly I was more excited about the shopping potential
and the abundance of champagne. I figured the clubs I’d be going to would
be upscale wine bars, or snazzy martini joints. The likelihood of Palm Beach
having a Goth bar didn’t even cross my mind. It did not, however, stop me
from bringing something sleek and black.
Good thing.
On Saturday night I
found myself wandering down Clematis Street, home to nightclub strip. I started
off at an Italian hideaway sipping Piper Heidsieck from a Versace champagne
glass. Mmmmm.
Feeling adequately bubbly, I decided to move on to a
nightclub. As I walked passed the open doors of each club, flanked by beefy
security guards in black suits, none of them really did it for me. It was all
very glam- the people were beautiful, the interiors were beautiful, and the
staff was beautiful. But I totally felt like an outsider. Something was
missing, that even the Kir Royale I was sipping couldn’t make up for.
I
sauntered down the sidewalk, soaking in the hot and humid night, my interest
waning as I passed one glossy club, then another, then another. Then I stopped
at a door covered in fliers. It was slightly ajar, the lighting dim. I peered
inside the hall. There was no security guard in a slick black suit, rather a
girl with blue dreads in sleek black PVC perched on a stool. The sign above her
said “Respectable Street.” As I moved closer, the strains of In
Between Days could be heard. A smile crept across my face. I handed over my
$5.00 cover and walked up the stairs.
I felt at home immediately- dark wood
floors, circular bar with an elevated DJ booth at one end, and a huge outdoor
patio surrounded by palm trees. The play list included PWEI, Joy Division, New
Order, Interpol, Siouxsie, Nirvana, Blur, Depeche Mode. Not a full-on Goth
night, but dark enough and alternative enough to delight me. As was the
crowd-alternative, Goth, punk. I drank, danced, and met new friends.
I sat
back and looked around me for a moment. I was astounded that such a club even
existed in Palm Beach, the land of Manolo Blahniks and Fendi bags. It was like
a dark little enclave in a world of pomp and glitz. I almost felt like I walked
into another dimension.
And like another dimension, the hours flew by-it was
suddenly 4:45am. The bar was thinning out, and I remembered where I was. Time
for me to go.I walked outside with my new pals, and looked at the glam clubs
across the way without an ounce of regret. Those clubs were shut down already.
The humid and salty Florida breeze was intoxicating, and soothing. My new
friends tucked me into a cab. And like any good Goth, I made it back to my
hotel as the sun was rising.
In each city, I made friends, I had a
great time, I felt safe, and I never felt out of place. Indeed, I felt welcomed
by those who purchased a drink, shared a smile, engaged in conversation, moved
close to dance, and offered a seat for a breather. So it just goes to show that
the dark side can be found in the most unlikely places and that the scene--
although small-- can be thoroughly enjoyed no matter where your travels may
take you.
posted March 16 2006
|
Darq Angel has been living in
Toronto for 15 years. An avid reader, writer, club-goer, and music lover, she
has been a lurker in Toronto's gothic scene, floating around quietly, casting
her dark shadow over various clubs and events in the city. 