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So let's just get this right out of the way: Did we just attend the
best party of the year? Already? The year is barely a month old --
but last night's opening of Alegria at Crobar, does it get any
better than that?
Anticipation. Like the Carly Simon song, and the Heinz ketchup
commercial. Having to wait, and wait. The protracted orgasm. Crobar
New York has been at least two years in the making. All of us in
this town have followed the rumors and the dirt and the gossip and
the drama and--
We wanted our first taste to be with Abel, and Alegria -- so we
waited another month after Crobar's opening in December.
And all day yesterday, and all last week, we were anticipating. And
all that worry and sturm und drang about snow and Abel's dual
engagements this weekend, on the Left Coast and here in Gotham, and
the snow kept falling, and we kept running to the windows to watch
the snow fall, giddy from anticipation, and -- and yet we knew. We
knew he'd make it. We knew the party would go on.
We got there just before five a.m. No line, but the security guards
say, "You ready for the bad news, guys? No coat check. Full-up."
We're in full parka/leather mode, scarves, hats and hoodies. Great
just great. We'll have to ditch our coats and hope....
But guess what, the fool at the door is wrong. Coat check is fine.
And doesn't that make us feel good. Yet another hump behind us.
Jupiter in retrograde, merry prankster.
So now we're walking into the club down the long, deep stairs and
listening for Abel. Is that him? Is that his beat? He made it,
right? Through the maze lounge, weaving through its giant floor-to-
ceiling pick-up sticks, and then through the tiled cylindrical
tunnel, with sand-blasted lights shining up from our feet -- and
then, there we are, in the Big Room of Crobar, and it's BIG, like an
airplane hangar with the same kind of height and a constellation of
mirror balls, in varying sizes, some so large that just one would
serve a club anywhere outside of New York, and all the mirror balls
are encased in silver-latticed globes, with the continents in black,
and the center mirror ball with its ALEGRIA cinching its midsection
and up in the far corner overlooking the whole huge room is Abel and
he has the crowd moving, it's a veritable circus, and so crowded,
with such diversity, a Kitty Meow manque in leopard and Diana Ross
extensions, and everyone is moving, Abel making it letmehaveitable.
We make our way to the stairs and climb, above the packed floor. The
staircase is a marvel with deep steps and brilliant sightlines,
something akin to Level in South Beach, except brand-new and
modified for crowd flow. In fact, the club has some of the best
elements from clubs gone by. The entrance tunnel evocative of the
entrance to Palladium, and alcoves like the ones at Exit, and so
much leather seating and banquettes, and glass partitions and even
the bar/re along the dance floor has a little rim for clutching as
you're doing your barre work. So many thoughtful details in this
club. Love that.
And Abel is grinding it out. Bless his heart, he got here, all the
way from San Francisco where he put it out for them too, and now,
he's really working. What is that thing he does? It's impossible to
refuse. You don't refuse Abel. He boars into your head and then your
soul and you're powerless. You have to move. How much fun it is to
watch the boys get the groove. You see it happening. Watch the way
it starts, sometimes slow, a twitch, a wiggle, and then, before
long, it's full-tilt.
Someone asks Robert, "Is that your boyfriend? You might keep your
eye on him. He's having too much fun."
It's impossible to resist. The boys grooving to Abel's beat. Then
Abel's playing Supernature -- a song about a genetically modified
species, with superpowers enough to change the course of the world.
It's impossible to resist -- that's why we're here.
Around and around the Big Room. High above the floor. There are four
circular boxes atop of which fall fabric columns -- which then rise
to reveal four go-go boys in Druid attire. Rams' horns and face
masks. Gold lame.
And the lights are blue and mauve and silver and white. The twilight
hour. The gloaming. The change from day to night. And there are porn
stars and porn stars with their girlfriends and a Miami Beach Elvira
from Scarface and there are dancers so good you can only shake your
head and smile. God, how Abel gets them moving. They can't stop;
they don't want to.
It goes on and on. We move around the floor, work it out in
different quadrants. We find our perfect spot: above the floor, just
barely, along a railing, with perfect sightlines of the crowd, the
go-go boys, and best of all, Abel.
A man with beret and a silver fan spelling out ALEGRIA. A boy with
his back sequinned: ABEL. Laser spots and smart lights.
And all the while, that backbeat. The throbbing intensity of Abel
going on and on. He won't quit; he doesn't want to, and none of us
could be happier.
What a party. What an amazing group of people. What incredible
energy. There's so much beauty in the room. Such a spectrum of
beauty. So many people in town, from all over. We kept hearing
German and Italian, and English accents. All these people convening
in New York for Abel at the opening of Alegria at Crobar.
Was it the party of the year? It doesn't matter. It was so good that
it bodes well for the rest of the year. It bodes well for New York
and the circuit and people who love to dance and those for whom
music is the only true religion.
Oh, yeah. What a party. Thank you, thank you, thank you, Ric Sena
and everyone at the Alegria organization for giving us what we want
and what we need.
We left at eleven a.m. -- which was early, and the floor was still
packed. But it was so great to leave with Abel still going full out
and the boys still so happy. It's what we wanted to take with us.
Thanks to everyone who made this party so wild and wonderful, the
thirty-ring circus. I couldn't have asked for a better birthday
weekend.
Best always,
Mark and Robert
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