Nothing quite as depressing as aging in Boston; Beantown is seriously lacking a venue for 20 somethings to celebrate their big days.
This past weekend, to honor my dear friend Camille’s 24, we headed off to Howl at the Moonpromptly at 9pm to beat the rush. I mean really, is there anything better than slurping green fruity (and overpriced) concotions out of giant buckets while singing along to quirky piano renditions of the Blacked Eye Peas? In all seriousness, I am mesmerized by the talent of the pianists who collaborate to churn out hit and after hit. I have a hard enough time getting through “Blackbird” on the piano when I’m staring right at the music. That they can even decipher the drunken scribbles from patrons’ requests is talent enough, but to actually be able to sing and play …together.. all of those songs? And it’s this remarkable talent that kept me outside in below freezing temperatures for 45 minutes until succumbing to the sweaty-sock closet, formally known as Down.
Down is the sorriest excuse for a club I have ever seen. My car is more spacious ..and I drive a Passat. I suppose it was fun the time or two I went and sat at a table, but most nights with free flowing vodka and the luxury of judging grinders from the comfort of a table usually is. The place is so small and crowded that you literally are being watched by the 5 tables looking onto the “dance floor”. The music calls for nothing short of bumpin’ and grindin’ and you’re bound to spill 80-90% of your drink on you the second you turn from the ominous sunken bar. I give this place less than zero stars, but I still end up here every single time I attempt a night at Howl with the glimmer of hope that I’ll be able to sneak upstairs just in time to request “No Diggity” before last call.
Night two I took matters into my own hands and weaseled us onto the guest-list for Bijou. The club vibe is energizing, every house music fanatics dream. Loved the Los Angeles/Vegas set up, the euro crowd, the strobe lights, the vodka. Embarrassingly enough, I spent the majority on the first, and much less fun, floor ..unaware that there was an entire upstairs begging to be danced on. What I don’t like is the $20 REDUCED cover, and the pompous air of some slinky club goers, but this truly is a Boston gem. The first, and hopefully not the last of its kind. five glittery stars for Bijou.
Lessons learned:
1. Don’t chose Howl for your birthday …everyone does and they’re not about to let you cut the line just because you have a crown on.
2. If you’re still dumb enough to chose Howl, get there before 8, yes 8, and secure a table. Put on your crown when you get inside and let the buckets never go below half-full (you see that, there’s another lesson – don’t say half empty on your birthday). Request “No Diggity”.
3. Bijou has an upstairs (palm to forehead). Don’t waste more than the 5 minutes it takes to coat check on the first floor. Bring cash but still act cute in line, just in case someone with a table wants to select you as one of their plus 4 (only 5 free guests per table, absurd).
4. Don’t go to Down.
5. You didn’t listen and you went to down anyways. You’re even dumber than you were in number 2. Drink enough tequila shots and grab the first guy you see who looks like he won’t try to grab your ass while dancing (I know, needle in a haystack). Dance shamelessly with your hands in the air until you collapse from exhaustion. Hopefully by then, Howl will be close to last call and you can run upstairs to request “No Diggity”.
