“This is the place to go to be seen!”
Review: Shanghai’s Nightclubs

This weekend past, Crazy Carl, Alf (2nd Lieutenant of the Starship: Funk) and myself hopped on the night train (bottoms up) and headed to Shanghai. Now I’m a blue-collar, big city lover. It’s who I am. It’s where I feel most comfortable. Like the way Eric Roberts feels when he steps in front of the camera, that’s how I feel when I hit the streets of this world’s metropoli. I know I belong. [For those of you who don't know who Eric Roberts is, that last simile was a complete waste.]

Now I’m not rich. My parents didn’t go to Choate. They didn’t send me to some pretentious boarding school (which I thank them for everyday). When I’m banging and clanging around the NYC for example, I’m not shopping at Prada or brunching on Waldorf salads with my commodity trading cronies. I’m slamming pint after pint at Rudy’s in Hell’s Kitchen, or chugging yards of Stella Artois with my boys at Back on the Wagon in West Greenwich. I’m playing Nashville Pussy on the jukebox of the Underground Pub and relaxing with a pack o’ smokes and a mouth full of friendly, “fuck yous.” So needless to say I was stoked about my first trip to the Paris of the East, the pearl of the Orient, the city that is Shanghai.

Well, it would have helped a great deal had my parents been Choate alumni, or I indeed traded commodities because as it stands I simply didn’t fit in. Perhaps I went to the wrong places, in fact I’m quite sure I did. No I’m not “quite sure,” I’m absolutely, positively, without a fucking doubt, sure I was in the wrong places. Alf’s friends (who took us out) up in Shanghai were great. Zach, Charlie, Peder, Jarret (Who’s actually from Emmaus, the town I was born in! Can you say “crazy coincidence?”), and Peter (who’s performing three times nightly at the “Gun Show.”) did their best to show us a good time and they did. They just set the bar a bit high. We were going to some of the trendiest nightclubs in Shanghai; the places you go to be, “seen,” and I was WAY out of my element. Take a look for your self.

This picture represents an accurate simulacra of the clubs we visited.
Notice all the beautiful, important people:

Okay. Here’s me. You see? I don’t belong here!

We went to three clubs that night. Well Crazy Carl and I did. Astrofunkadelic Afu (Alf) decided after surveying the first bar (Lanteen) for a grand total of 12 seconds that he was leaving to buy baijiu (distilled shitwater) and walked out. Long story short, we didn’t see Alf again for two and half hours. We looked in every club in the immediate area and couldn’t find him. Finally his drunk ass came barreling into Guangdii (club number 2) with contraband, outside beer shoved under his jacket stumbling and grinning like the world’s sneakiest, red-faced cat burglar, calling us assholes because we ditched him. Apparently Alf thought it would be more fun to have his own party at Club Public Park Bench like a derelict hobo. Why hangout with Greg and Carl when I could trade baijiu shots with two chipmunks and a fucking rat.

Disappointment No. 1: Lanteen

So Carl and I sat, slightly dejected, without our wingman Alf at the first bar. Decored in somber yet chic dark neutrals Lanteen provides an alluring atmosphere for romantic after dinner drinks with that special someone. Dimly lit private booths provide a haven away from the maddening crowds (including the waitstaff there were maybe nine people inside) and sheer curtains enclose your party adding an air of security that lets people know you want your privacy but you also want to be seen. Carl and I sat at the bar watching…well nothing because the place was Martha Rae, which is to say it was fucking dead. Alf’s friends (the people who took us) didn’t even stick around. Carl and I turned to the bar to order some beers and when we went to ask them what they wanted they were already out the door.

Lanteen caters to those who appreciate high class, and don’t mind their equally high prices. Patrons should remind themselves to not break the noir when their check comes and their sclera bust out of their ocular cavities when they realize the just dropped a thousand wing wangs on two glasses of Glenfiddich, a well gin and tonic and four Budweisers. Chic, high brow, and pricey but it lost, “it.” Rating F. (At least it was quiet and the bathrooms were clean. I’ve waded through enough piss-laden bathrooms to sincerely appreciate sanitary lavatories).

Disappointment Number 2: Guangdii

Realizing Alf wasn’t coming back and we weren’t about to spend another 70 RMB on two cans of shitty pseudo-German beer, Carl and I left to meet up with the Shanghai crew that left us at Lanteen to go smoke a joint in the park (drugs are bad). We waited for them to finish (don’t worry mom I didn’t partake in the sweet, sweet ganja) and headed towards lair of sickening pretension number two: Guangdii. Guangdii is one of the “hottest” places to be “seen” in Shanghai and let me tell you it sucks. We sauntered up to the entranceway where we were stopped by the friendly doorman and informed we had to finish our beers before entering. So post chug we handed our empty cans to the doorman and walked in and let me tell you it was everything I never wanted in a bar; hundreds upon hundreds of swarthy ex-pats and nouveau riche Shanghainese mingling and gyrating to crappy house music. You could cut the unwarranted sense of self-worth with a knife in this crap hole. This time our hosts hung around for about five minutes before leaving us, once again, to our own devices. The main area was a bit too crowded for our own tastes but we found a smaller side room which was a little more subdued.

For those of you who have yet to travel to this wonderful country I have to inform you that Chinese dance clubs are very loud, and very often the music sucks. Be it house music, trance, or dance, it’s all annoying pops and whistles which ultimately get ignored by the patrons and provides nothing close to the desirable ambience one would want for intimate conversation. What it does provide though is brimming coffers for the clubs owners. You simply cannot speak at normal volume inside a club. You have to scream at your friend who’s standing a foot away from you, and ask anyone who’s screamed for a while and they’ll tell you how much hydration you need to keep from tearing your throat up. So keep the music “pumping” so patrons have to scream and watch them buy drink after over-priced drink to keep from going hoarse. A cunning ploy indeed, that’s why I prefer pubs. I digress.

After swilling two uninspired Gin and Tonics for 90 yuan (rape job) I headed off to inspect the bathroom, which was quite stylish and replete with industrial chic faucets and fixtures and an astute bathroom attend. I tipped him ten yuan for handing me a towel and nodding in sympathetic concurrence when I mimed my wanting to throw up from the melange of Karl Lagerfeld and Drakkar Noir that wafted off the shining backs of the magisterial jizz buckets that peacock strutted through this “in” establishment’s bathroom. I gag on your pomp you deluded troglodytes. I felt so bad for that attendant who had to put up with their arrogance every night. After leaving the bathroom I joined up with Carl and encouraged him to leave (which for the record took very little cajoling). The price, pomp, and pretension was a bit more than I could stand. Furthermore, if being “seen” means being ignored and looked down upon by legions of charlatans content in wallowing in their own mountebankery I’d just as soon stay home and get drunk in my bathrobe.

So in conclusion, if being embraced by Shanghai’s latter-day rakers gives your life meaning give this neon-lit Augean Stable a try. It won’t disappoint. But if you’re like me and prefer to spend your time with people of more depth than a prison puddle of piss, go elsewhere, save money and your olfactory glands. Rank F-.

Disappointment Number 3: Club 97

I should probably point out at this point in time that I was drunk for the majority of the evening. Although the bars reviewed herein were (and still are) exceedingly expensive the 150 kuai all you can eat and drink Japanese teppanyaki restaurants are the best deals in Shanghai. Now I’m not a much of an eater, so I’ve never been that big a fan of all you can eat establishments, because all I can eat is not that much. I can, however, drink like Ulysses S. Grant, so when you throw in all you can eat in with all you can drink, I make it my personal mission to put your restaurant out of business. And man, did I (well all of us really, I unlike Peter did not take my shirt off in the restaurant, flex down and scream, “the Gun Show!” which I give him mad respect for.) Anywho, the point I’m trying to make, in a very round about way, is that I’m not really sure of the name of the third club but I’m pretty sure its Club 97, or Park 97, (something with a number in it, I don’t know, it was crap nonetheless).

Of all the well-adorned chasms of social barf we visited this one was the best and it had little to do with the clientele. Two stories, very trendy, and it had an upstairs VIP room. We managed to get by the first doorman no problem, but the doorman to the upstairs was said to be a little tougher. I don’t think we would have gotten access but Peter’s girlfriend (an absolutely stunning Chinese girl from London, her accent was soooo (just like Tiffany!!!) arousing) came to the rescue. She met us (Carl and I, Alf was still MIA) at the entrance and led the way with a walk that exuded and air of self-confidence I didn’t think could be contained in a single human being. About six paces to the staircase that led to the VIP she swung her head around flaring her hair into a dazzling arch of glistening black silk and spoke unto me with her sexy, sexy voice, “If you want to get in here walk like you own the place and show a lot of confidence.” I informed her that I was not familiar with this word you call, “confidence,” but I’ll try my best. Following her lead but not coming close to duplicating the deftness of her performance I put on my serious yet uber-cool face. Like I’ve been doing nothing for the past 3 days but listening to Bauhaus, the Cure, and Morrissey non-stop and I lit a cigarette and attempted to walk past the doorman. Then all of a sudden I felt his arm. Shit! God damn it! Why am I so uncool? Does nobody care that I’m a nice person? Damn, damn, damn! I was expecting him to put me in an arm bar and escort me to the losers lounge when, to my surprise, he was guiding me up the stairs to the VIP room, half way up he indicated that I was headed the wrong way. Apparently I was headed for the bathroom. Upstairs the place was jumping with (you’ll never guess) more white people. Euro-trash and fat cracker rejects from the states and Britain sliming themselves all over their petite, sexy girlfriends that only like them for their money. It was a lovely establishment. Soft plush couches, art nouveau in design. Reds and pinks predominant lending a warm atmosphere to the exploitative debauchery that was all around us. The highlight of this place, and it’s saving grace was the jazz band that was playing near the outside terrace, where I spent most of my time. Her voice was beautiful and the only thing worth listening to considering the conversations going on around me. Overall this is a very nice bar/nightclub that would be a lovely night out if not for the clientele that patronized the place. Expect to spend a premium price as well. My 8ounce Evian was 38 yuan. Mixed drinks start around 45 RMB and escalate skyward. The live music was great and a refreshing change from the same old, abysmal, redundant house music every other nightspot resorts to when they are too lazy to look for real music like the Allman Brothers or Diamond Rio. Overall this was the best of the three establishments visited by us, on our first night in Shanghai, but I was still left with bitter taste in my mouth. Rank F+.

Next post will be all about night two, which wasn’t much better, but bar whores abound! Yay!! Shanghai sucks! If anyone knows of any rocking bars in Shanghai, where I can chill with my friends, play the dice game, listen to music with lyrics and is played with instruments leave a comment.

P.S. By the way ladies GregEZ looks a lot better in person than he does in that picture.

P.S.S. I was only kidding about the Allman Brothers and Diamond Rio.