Despite the alarm yesterday over the closing of gay institution Mr. Black, Michael Musto hears it's not shut down permanently. So there is somewhere dark and anonymous left for us to ride out—heh—the recession. [Village Voice]
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Despite the alarm yesterday over the closing of gay institution Mr. Black, Michael Musto hears it's not shut down permanently. So there is somewhere dark and anonymous left for us to ride out—heh—the recession. [Village Voice]
Yet another club closing: Mr. Black—a New York gay institution—is to shut down for the second time. First it was for drugs, this time it's something about "non-payment of taxes," reports Michael Musto. The club was notable for being a democratic place where the A-gays and club kids would all drink and dance as one. It's not just Mr. Black: the Box and the Beatrice recently got yanked around by the State Liquor Authority, and Marquee's little shutdown was actually drug dealing problems disguised as a mysterious"water main break," says the Observer. “[Mr. Black] is so dark and anonymous," the New York Times once quoted a patron as saying. Dude, we're in a depression—can't you just leave us somewhere dark and anonymous?
The New Yorker festival culminated in a rockin' dance party. (Our publisher offered us his spare tickets, which we sniffily rejected. "The New Yorker dance party?" snorted a friend.) IvyGate went, though, and they were scared for their future social life. "This could be you in eleven years," warned the headline. "It was mostly professionals in their late 20s to early 30s talking and grinding." Oh, no, not that! Yep, that's how us post-collegiate Olds party. And then we stumbled home, drifting off to sleep imagining what type of hit our Roth IRA took with the latest crash. [IvyGate]
The entire business model behind Girls Gone Wild, as well as party photosites like the CobraSnake and LastNightsParty, is now illegal in Scotland, reports the BBC. "A man who took a photograph of an ill woman outside an Edinburgh bar has been fined £100 after being branded "unchivalrous" by a sheriff... The woman had been drinking with friends in [a bar] when she felt unwell and went outside for air." Photos of drunk half-dressed girls is unchivalrous? Hey, nobody forced them to drink three Long Island Iced Teas. [Photo: Home of the Vain]
Everyone tortures themselves with this question: Did the parties used to be better? Probably not; It's just your mind playing tricks, pining for that magical time back when you and your friends were young and free and ready to take on the world—years before life and consequences trammeled your spirit. That said, New York magazine, as part of its 40th anniversary, has a slideshow of 40 years of parties. Here's one of precocious little brat Drew Barrymore chatting up party guest Moon Zappa... when she was ten. [New York]
It's not the economy, the stock market, or the cabaret laws anymore. It's the State Liquor Authority! Prominent clubs that have gotten their license pulled or failed to renew recently: the strip club Scores, the ultra-expensive cabaret the Box, and the ultra-exclusive celeb hangout the Beatrice Inn, and more....
Remember Giovanni Luciano, the high-living Italian playboy who scammed credit cards at Bungalow 8 and partied at the most exclusive places in Manhattan? He's been in jail since last year for grand larceny. Ever-enterprising New York Observer reporter Spencer Morgan wrote him a letter, then took the prison bus up to Coxsackie to meet with him. And that, friends, is where he learned about a devious money-stealing trick involving an Etch-a-Sketch.
“Say I swiped an A.T.M. card; how do I get his money out, he’s an asshole,” [Luciano] said. “There’s a toy. You can buy it at the toy store in Time Square. It’s called an Etch A Sketch.”
Break open an Etch A Sketch, he said, and pour the black powder into a bowl. You have a credit-card-swiping machine, which is connected to a phone line, which connects to the bank. You take your finger and dip it into the black powder, and then run that finger across the magnetic strip on the back of the card. Now you swipe the card. The machine spits back 10 digits. The four digits in the middle, sandwiched in between three on each side, will be the pin number. Ideally, it will be around 11:50 p.m. Take the card to an A.T.M. at a bodega, not a bank—no cameras. Withdraw as much as you can, usually $800. Smoke a cigarette. Wait till the clock strikes midnight. It’s a new day! Withdraw another $800."
We also hear that you can use an Etch-a-Sketch to hack into Sarah Palin's e-mail account.
There was a time in New York City's history, back in the heady days of "a few years ago," when nightlife queen Amy Sacco's life was a worthy item of gossip. She was at the center of an entire universe of celebrities at their most glittering. Today, she's worth chronicling mostly as the living embodiment of the transience of nightlife fame. And a new profile of her in Page Six Magazine (by former Gawker-er Joshua David Stein) can be seen as a grand requiem for Sacco and her Bungalow 8-driven empire. Nothing lasts forever...
Sacco's rise to fame is familiar by now. She's just a Jersey girl who came to New York City, worked in the restaurant business, and made some important friends who eventually bankrolled her first club, Lot 61. She hit her peak with the opening of Bungalow 8 in 2001, which succeeded in turning the once-barren area of West Chelsea into the club capital of New York—to the point of destroying the exclusivity and isolation of the neighborhood that helped attract the top models and A-list celebrities to Sacco's clubs in the first place.
But Sacco's more recent history is one of unmistakable decline. She opened a Bungalow 8 in London, which received (and still receives) a tepid reception from the locals. Bette, the restaurant Sacco opened as a "neighborhood joint" near her own Chelsea apartment, closed without warning earlier this summer. She got a slew of nightlife and image consulting jobs that, while lucrative, aren't nearly as glamorous as her former life as an NYC tastemaker. And she says she's simply getting tired of it all:
After three decades in the game, she was bored and worn out. As Amy admits, “If I’m bored, I’m just miserable and I think that translates.”...
“I’m in Vegas, London and New York,” Amy says, “and I’m adding to my calendar. I definitely want to go to Dubai.” When she’ll return home is unclear. She’s been renting an apartment in London since November. “Certain people bitch and moan because I’m not in New York,” she says, “but I can’t be everywhere. I deserve to have a life.”
Now she has a new, younger boyfriend—London chef Andrew Lasseter—and says vaguely that she's "gone into hedge funds and finance." That presumably would help with the $179,000 tax lien leveled on her apartment, which Stein says may or may not be cleared up by now.
Of course, money shouldn't really be a problem for Sacco now. She talks about wanting to "reap the fruits of my labor," and no one would deny her the privilege. But that may involve her acknowledging that her moment is past, and ceding the nightlife crown to a new generation. Bungalow 8 is no longer hot in New York, and Sacco's decision to take the club to London rather than, say, Vegas when it was still popular may have cost her the chance to cash in on brand at its height.
People get older, and stop clubbing as much. In the same way, club moguls see their popularity wane as their proprietary crowd gives way to newer, younger stars. So what? Amy Sacco can either move into the more serene field of hotels, like Ian Schrager, or hang it up altogether. Less buzzing around is usually a healthy thing.
[P6 Mag]
Last night, a mob of dangerously dancing hipsters armed with boom boxes and dressed as terrifying pandas marched from Union Square to Williamsburg, where the NYPD met them in force. Apparently, dancing and loud music on a hot August evening can lead to any end of mischief, so our boys and girls in blue twisted arms, threw people down, and destroyed at least one portable stereo.
Reports one eyewitness: "The last straw for the police was when a really good song came on a boom box that this guy was holding on his shoulder a few feet away from me. The cops must have known that something sinister was taking place because there were at least 10 people dancing to the music. Then a cop grabbed the guy with the boom box by the back of his arm and yanked him into the street, pushing him to the ground and making him loose grip of the stereo. Now, I know that dancing is illegal and also a sin, but I think there was excessive force used in this situation. The stereo fell, batteries flying everywhere, and when a few of his friends picked it up, a woman cop angrily lunged for the boom box and tried to further dismantle it!"
Plenty of pictures, video, and more citizen journalism on what will be know for the next day or two as The Williamsburg Riot can be found at FreeWilliamsburg and Gothamist.
Beatrice Inn impresario Paul Sevigny's long-awaited project to transplant the downtown NYC celebrity party scene to Atlantic City at The Chelsea Hotel has now launched. Nightlife dude Ray LeMoine writes rapturously about the trip down to AC on a weeded-out party bus and the awesome penthouse party. "Las Vegas but with cool people," he says. The "collective nowness" of "Team Beatrice" could make The Chelsea "a new weekend spot for downtown’s kids," he adds. Have fun, kids! We'll pass. [Medicine Agency]
Nightlife is an ugly business full of pretty people. The rules for 26-year-old clothing designer Matt Levine's new thirteen-table LES bar, the Eldridge, are simple. "Friends and family. That’s basically what it is," he told Grub Street. There will be 400 laser-engraved cards distributed to the rights kinds of people, so they can definitely get in. There will be butlers and a "hospitality consultant" and someone to drive you home. It will be closed on weekends. I think we all can imagine what happened next: the comments on the interview have been raging since Monday, and it got even better when somebody claiming to possess one of these very special laser cards decided to step into the fray...



OK, fine. We will take him up on that plus-one-with-a-laser-card offer. After all, you're only young and stupid once!
Jetsetting nightlife trend update: It's not just Dubai that's the hot new destination for NYC club owners bored with drab Americans. Egypt will soon be an attractive stop for money-burning Eurotrash wastrels as well! Undaunted by the country's Islamic system of law and taboos against homosexuality, intoxication, and women doing things (party!), we hear that the Pink Elephant club moguls are building a club aboard a 26,000-square-foot, $100 million party boat that is scheduled to sail the Nile river this coming New Year's eve. I hope they have all their government payoffs in order.
All the hot NYC club mavens are opening their next nightlife outposts in Dubai. "You’re only a few hours from Europe and Asia,” explains one. The Arctic Circle also fits that criteria. Get there early! [NY Mag]
Amy Sacco, the former NYC nightlife queen whose reign on top is now (we believe) pretty much over, still has a bunch of fans at BlackBook magazine. In a new interview—one that describes Sacco in glowing terms that would have been more appropriate three years ago—she talks up her Bungalow 8 club in London. Sure, it had a rough start, and hasn't gotten the greatest reviews, but she points out that "we have a hundred more bathrooms than in New York, so, fabulous!” Ha, [cocaine joke]. But what do Sacco's customers in London have to say in their own reviews?
Sacco: "Bungalow 8 London is more like the sophisticated European sister of New York."
Reviewer: "damn right! There are many worthwhile ways to spend your £350 in London - this isn't one of them. You've read the reviews - they are accurate. It is nothing like Bungalow 8 NYC which was so much fun a few years ago..."
Sacco: "And the downstairs opens at eleven o’clock, Tuesday through Saturday, and it’s much more of a clubby vibe than we have in New York."
Reviewer: "I'm a fair person....So I tried EVERY night in the week at Bungalow 8, and I'm talking weekend, early, midnight til late.... and it was a DISASTER....spent over £500 each night on champagne. Waste of money if you ask me."
Reviewer: "The place is very disappointing time after time. Specially compared to other clubs I have membership with. The music is cliche and dull. The members are like a bunch of estate agents, the place itself is like a corridor and the drinks are overpriced. A lot of hot air. I would rate the club lounge at Heathrow Airport higher than this place."
Etc.
Is this the end of Amy Sacco? We're going to say it is. The onetime NYC nightlife queen's restaurant Bette in Chelsea—formerly considered a complement to her club Bungalow 8, a food-and-fun empire that would never be destroyed—is closed. No big to-do; just a lock on the door, and the end of an era. What happened?
A tipster to Eater says:
At Bette last night for the closing party. I live and work in the area and dined there fairly regularly. The bartender told me that Amy Sacco sold the restaurant and gave the staff about 8 hours notice.
Cold. Why, we remember a few years back when we were talking about Sacco's "quest for total domination," and HBO was planning a story about her rise to fame. She had so much success in the city, she said she'd rather die than return to her native Jersey.
Then things started to slowly go downhill. Rumors flew that Sacco was stiffing her PR agency; the usual suspects started placing bets on when Bungalow 8 would close. Her doorman struck out on his own. She tried to export her magic to London, but failed to find the same popularity.
Sacco recently called New York nightlife—and herself—"overrated." Now she's been proven right.
Whenever you think you've truly gained access to an exclusive club of some sort—particularly in New York—think again, fool. There is always another inner sanctum far too exclusive to admit the likes of you. That was a great piece of wisdom passed down by Graydon Carter long ago, and confirmed in former Gawker-er Josh Stein's new article in Page Six Magazine, which takes a peek "Beyond the Velvet Rope" at the hottest spots in the hottest city where the hottest people go. And you want to know the even bigger secret? The most exclusive places in the city are just as boring as everywhere else you've ever been:
The Gramercy Park Hotel's super-exclusive private roof club:
The space consists of a few drawing rooms crammed with Damien Hirst paintings, ringed by a large terra cotta patio.
The Spotted Pig's super-exclusive third floor:
This exclusive apartment is ironically small and simple, housing a tiny open kitchen, a sofa, two long tables, and two fridges. 'One is stocked with beer,' says a regular.
Cipriani's super-exclusive upstairs:
In the words of one habitue, a 26-year-old model, it's filled with 'slimy guys who want to hang out with younger women.'
The super-exclusive "underground" club called Upstairs:
'Patrons ascend a set of stairs, walk down a graffiti-lined hallway past the bathrooms, and open a door into the club itself. It's really one of the least stylized nightclubs ever.' Upstairs is a sparse, cheaply furnished room with banquettes lining the wall and utilitarian lighting.
One day, baby. One day.
Down By The Hipster passes on a rumor that The Box can't even recruit a lawyer to extricate the downtown cabaret club from its legal woes. It would be amusing, except owner Simon Hammerstein deserves some reward for his ambition, and the smell of schadenfreude is nauseating.
To be sure, the Chrystie Street hotspot's troubles—kidnappings of departing clubbers and celebrity-entangling drug raids—have made an irresistible nightlife story. The economics of The Box—the venue is intimate and the acts expensive—have forced the owners to allow in more high-spending bankers than consistent with the club's celebrity cachet. Predictably, Manhattan's lemming-like press, Gawker included, has been quick to declare the club over.
However, the gleeful criticism misses one point: the shows at The Box, which range from sexy burlesque to gross-out tranny acts, give the venue an energy that's lacking elsewhere. (Mos Def gave an impromptu performance the other night.) Even on lackluster nights, it's enjoyable—as one Gawker writer, who admits to being "knee-jerk snarky" when writing about the club, found to her surprise.
If The Box's pricey proposition forces it to scale back, Manhattan nightlife will be the poorer. The club's critics deserve to be chained to the speakers at Mansion. Then they'll be sorry.
The East Village bar-club Midway has lost its liquor license. This isn't the worst thing that happened at the place (remember that bouncer who was stabbed by an irate smoker in 2003? We do, we watched it happen!) but it does mean tomorrow's party for the last issue of The Crier has been put on hold, just like the magazine, indefinitely. Boohoo!
When the Lower East Side hotspot the Box was raided last week, the accepted narrative was that it had to do with drugs, dirty drugs and the celebrities who do drugs. (And everyone pointed at poor Cuba Gooding Jr!) This was the story put forth by the Post as well as several eyewitness accounts. Simon Hammerstein, who owns the Box along with Serge Becker and a couple of other dudes, said the raid had to do with some unsigned form or something. Then we got this missive in the inbox in the middle of the night. Keep in mind our correspondent's email address includes the word "boi" and he was probably high out of his mind.
Hey I was at the box the night it was "Raided" and it was so not about drugs there was no police running around, it was the health department and they closed it cause of a stupid document that was not updated from what my friends who work there told me, no one was being searched and it was not like anything the Post wrote. or what all these so called people who were there said. Its very upsetting to me cause I have had some real great time's at the Box and the show is fun and so what NY needs. it's to bad that some people are just haters.You here that, Serge Becker haters? It was so not about drugs!