R. P. Singletary reviews Club Kid
https://substack.com/home/post/p-210945099
If you’ve never been to a real party, I say go now. YOUR clock’s ticking.
Or if the latest “rave,” or whatever the coolios call it as of latest-late, ain’t ‘til tomorrow, why don’t you have a look at this review — and buy the goddamn book to please the creatures of the night. You might sleep better. Upon a pillow of lasting unregret.
The book made me think of two old “friends,” a couple but not that kind, who partied together in the early ‘00s in a city known largely by its airport code, back when (so they said) dr*gs were rampant, and worse than in its sister city of L.A.
These guys would sleep a usual set of hours, setting their alarm for 4 or 5 a.m. For them at least, the real stuff didn’t get goin’ ‘til an hour later.
Naturally, thinking of them, with this book in my fingers, I turned to the final pages.
The images bounce from wall to wall like reverberations.
What’s left when I can’t see the Hollywood sign anymore,
Who’d have thunk to mention:
golf balls
compass
papyrus
Manhattan?
I’m being silly with that one. The world’s greatest nation’s largest if not greatest city, the metonym for Metropolis, had to be given appropriate treatment. “Give Me My Manhattan” does that. Dare I say, the book’s worth purchase for solitary treat? Yes. There is much loneliness in grounded rooms, that too.
This afternoon like this summer season eeks and creaks, then sprints along. Much like the night(s?) unfolding in this ode to working years of youngster clubbing. Why are we meeting only now Why is San Francisco the color red. Oh, I’ve walked across your shady fogginess in a blister; yes how silly once again, of me— I can’t stay up this late.
The word “love” appears about one score times. What’s a score to settle when it’s all about one’s self?
“Sexy” only once. “Music” so many mentions more. You can feel the pulse of life take shape, and shake off. As the club o’ the moment, its fickle trend evolves. And patrons age.
I once said we’d see a time when the ageist reversal of physical and intellectual might be reversed, and folks eagerly would pay to see a Senior Citizen (capitalized, respectfully) perform a strip tease. I was wrongly accosted by naysayers.
1999 feels so long ago now. The images of the natural world — field, pasture, star (Turney’s words) — linger most for me, a product of a rural heritage.
Back before Pandemic:
We wanted crowds?
To touch, be touched.
Oh, the bed is calling me.
You may sleep better fingering through these coaxed memories, but what do I know. Nine o’clock is past my bed time. I’m old by many standards. Cue the music, pronto. I’m headed for Budapest. The nameless club she mentioned. From another era. To quote the author, “Before Technology.” When kids still went out. And we weren’t parents either.
— A special time captured, amid silence and strange simplicity.
