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Twenty-five years ago this month, the Saint opened in New York. As
much a philosophy as a club, the Saint was Bruce Mailman's vision of
a tribe of the most beautiful and well-connected gay men and
Mailman might be interested to see how his vision lives on in Ric
Sena's Alegria. To walk into Crobar at three-thirty a.m. on the
Monday of a holiday weekend is to be confronted with the sheer
excess of beauty in this town. The Saint was so well-known, as well
as notorious, that people from all over the world flew into New York
for an opportunity to party with such staggering beauty and the
same thing is happening now with Alegria at Crobar. The most
beautiful males, in all shades and sizes a wall of beauty,
comprehensive beauty, from their heads to their toes. Think of all
the photographers whose work on the male subject you've admired
from Bruce Weber to David Morgan, to George Platt Lynes and
imagine all their subjects set loose in a club for sixteen hours.
The mind reels. Such a smorgasbord of beauty it's enough to make
you lose your breath.
And yesterday morning was no exception to the standard established
by these parties. It was a rough week, for everyone, and we
wondered how the events of this week would impact the general
atmosphere of this party. Could Ric ever have imagined how his
theme Construction would mirror what's now needed in New
Orleans? There was no line outside Crobar at three-thirty a.m.,
only a big security guard who smiled widely and said, "Have a good
time" as we passed through the velvet ropes. And another security
guard who told me I smelled good well, actually, he was talking
about the woman in front of me, but I'll take a compliment wherever
it lands.
Inside, we paused in the Reed Room, and took deep breaths before
plunging into the white tunnel and into the Big Room and there it
was, that famous wall of beauty. My God, but it's incredible when
you see them all again, as if for the first time. All the Alegria
family. The ones you don't see the rest of the month. The ones who
just seem to materialize for this party or else descend from the
heavens.
The set: construction mannequins scaling safety netting, and
flashing construction lights and bartenders in highway repairmen
vests and hardhats and MEN AT WORK signs and the unmistakable
ALEGRIA mirror ball sheathed in silver scaffolding. And Abel
working Cokina which is working the crowd and it's right to be
hearing this song as we make our way upstairs. And there's
Chris/Legup, and his hottie boyfriend Dennis, and we jabber and do
the circuit boy rock from the skybox and blow kisses to Joey Cumley
who's on the floor surrounded by a hottie posse. And it's really
crowded and so we dance on the banquettes so we can see over the sea
of beautiful men. It doesn't matter how many times we've taken in
this view from the skybox over the crowd to the staircase beyond;
it's our version of a scenic vista on the highway. We love looking
at the boyz, the mass dancing together as one. Nobody parties like
the gays and these are the professionals. Yeah, this party costs
more but you get a beautiful club, well-maintained and well-staffed with polished behavior and you feel safe without feeling
your freedom is compromised and you get set design and lighting and
you get the entire beautiful cast and you get Abel.
We were wondering how he, too, and his choice of music, would be
impacted by the events of this past week. And, dare I say it, it
seemed to us that we could detect a little Sander Kleinenberg in
Abel's set on Monday a.m. Perhaps Sander left a bit of his own good
karma there, from his set at Crobar on Friday evening, but something
about what Abel was playing, and how he played it, reminded us of
Sander's CD from last year, "This is Everybody, Too." There were
moments, more like minutes, when Abel would bring it all the way
down, until there was only a beat, and the lights focusing solely on
the other Alegria ball, the one unsheathed in scaffolding, and for a
moment, it was as if the world slowed down again, the Alegria world
and the world beyond, and there was something slightly elegiac in
the air -- before gradually, so gradually, Abel brought it back up
and off we went again to the races.
We wandered into the Prop Room for a bit and caught some of Dudu
Marques' set, and he seemed to be turning it out for the boyz in
there but for us, we had to be back in the Big Room. It's fun to
chill for a bit in the Reed Room (where the A/C was in full blast)
or wander through the back hallways and into the Prop Room but
it's always about returning to the Big Room to see what Abel's
churning up.
A performance of Doncha. Robert caught the opening chord and then
it was a long intro so that you didn't even know it was "that song,"
which has maybe become "the song you think you don't really want to
hear again," but something about what Abel was doing with it, the
way he was stretching it out so that you weren't really thinking
about the lyrics, just catching the beat instead, and not seeing the
Dolls in your head, but just letting the beats move your bod and
then, onstage, there was this massive showgirl/dragqueen with a mane
of blond tresses to rival Rapunzel and she worked that number with
three construction workers, thereby erasing all other less-energized
performances from your memory banks. How could you not hear this song, the song of the summer, at the traditional end of summer? It
all started three months ago, with the Pier Dance, and Alegria
Greatest Pride thereafter, and now, here we are, Labor Day, and
Doncha's another song of the summer about to be put away for the
winter.
And then there was that Spanish guitar Another song that reminded
us of something from Sander and then Abel brought it down so low
that there was only this Spanish guitar and the lights were so
low, it was almost pitch inside the Big Room of Crobar and only the
Spanish guitar echoing above the buzz of the crowd and how could you
not take hold of the boy you love and give thanks for where you
were.
What was so incredible about Abel's performance yesterday was how it
seemed to us that his music was so totally one with the space.
There was no division between sound and light and space. They all
flowed into one holistic experience bound together by Abel's
music, the lifeblood of the party, the pulse that kept us all
moving, fueling us with joy.
And so many pretty boyz. The one from last weekend at Junior's who
wandered around with his dick protruding from his open fly. Such a
young boy and such a big one. And the one from the gym who uses the
locker room as a catwalk. And around seven-thirty or so, a whole
bunch more fashionistas and diva boygirls who might just have been
released from Junior's Klear. And Mother Juan Aviance. And yet no
matter where we looked, we didn't see Joe Caro. It worried us. It
wasn't raining and so we knew he wasn't sifting through the
garbage looking for his clean laundry. And we infiltrated Asian
gangs but we didn't find him sandwiched on the floor. And we didn't
see Ric either. But then again, that's how it is with Alegria: it's
a parade of beauty and if you look to the left, you miss the one
floating by on your right.
We wanted to stay all day. The way Abel was playing, how he was
charting our journey. He would keep us moving and then let us slow
it down for a little before cranking it up again. He was trippy
and atmospheric, eerie and haunting, even as he was infecting us
with his Latin-tinged beat. And even as Simone Denny's Cliche came
on and we were heading out the tunnel, I was thinking, We should
stay another hour. Or at least for this song. For maybe a little
longer. I kept wanting to dance more but it had already been six
hours.
And so we left at nine-thirty, out into a brilliant September morn,
and it was fine. Because that's the thing about Alegria, there's
another one on the calendar. And while all good things come to an
end, just as the Saint did, for now there's Alegria and we cherish
it.
Best always,
Mark and Robert
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