Last week, I was at the QFF closing party at Musro, candyflipping Saturday night away (half a Shiva, half a mysteriously unknown e that Tara stuffed between my lips) and I ended up having a helluva good time. Drugs make things and people much more bearable). Tonight, I’m at the trial reopening of Heaven at Jaya Building (“We’re not a club anymore. We’re now a lounge-slash-bar”. Awwwriiiight). And it’s certainly an experience. According to one of the employees the place is, and I quote, “unfinished and therefore we’ve been doing a trial run for the past few days”.
Well, they have the unfinished part down, I have to say. The floor is bare concrete and sandy and the air is heavy with the smell of construction. It has a-half-abandoned-industrial-building-you-have-raves-in feel to it, minus the abundance of LSD and/or e. The only thing missing is actual workers, although honestly about more than half of the partygoers look (and dare I say it, smell) like they can pass as construction workers, albeit better dressed to varying degrees. The AC barely existent, the air circulation terrible, and…
Oh wait, the show is starting. A drag queen in a black and silver-sequined mini is taking reign of the bar, mouthing the words to an unfamiliar sad slow RnB song. She’s doing a hell of a job at it too, slithering on the glass and sweating away. Kudos to her, though. Drag is never easy, in my opinion. And as she steps off to a smattering of polite applause, she’s replaced by another performer in a black mini, vest, and sparkly boots. I’m a little unclear as to what this one is doing, since her idea of performing seems to be walking back and forth on the bar while doing some kind of ‘coreography’. Yep. Apostrophes. Even more prominent is the ‘apostrophe’ between her legs. Sister needs to take Tuck-In 101 again. I suspect she failed the class. Miserably.
But I digress. Let’s talk about music now. I was really excited that female DJ Rya was gonna play. Not so excited when she actually does, though. It’s somewhat… disappointing. Rya (if my memory serves) used to spin these awesome mixes with a thick and seductive RnB flavour. It’s sadly gone, replaced by run-of-the-mill techno blah and even some questionably ‘dangdut-y’ remixes. The next DJ however (who by the way, is topless and has a cute face and pouty lips you just wanna ply with french kisses) does awesome! I’m a hiphopster at heart and he spins and spins and spins his music and I spin and spin and spin my hips around on the floor. DJ K3llink, his name is, as I was told. Well sir, thank you and thank you again for a slammin’ set.
Oh and if I was sober by the beginning of this post, I’m sooo not now. Heaven’s infamous Killer cocktail is back! The taste somewhat differs from the headbanging and throatburning classic that I remember, but hey, if it gets me tipsy after a couple of glasses, sign me up! Questionable price, though. IDR 150.000 for a cocktail? Well damn, that’s about Dragonfly’s price range, which to be frank is a little too upmarket for a very recently resurrected up-an-comer to stand toe-to-toe with. Not sure if it’s a smart move but we’ll see how people react to it.
Friendly staff members help make the night what it is, hospitable and reasonably chatty without being in-your-face. The gogo dancers… Well one is kinda hot in a big-thighs-biceps-pecs-gluteus maximus kind of way. The other is LOL material. Flat butts in g-strings? Hell, naw!! The man needs to be fed, like pronto. If you’re gonna be almost naked in public, better make sure you look damn good doing it.
Okay. Now I’m home. Chapped lips and sore muscles are testaments to the amount of fun I just had. Best of luck to Tino Mandagi, Heaven’s manager (not sure if he’s manager or owner); best of luck with your current venture. Thank you Heaven, thank you glasses of Killer, and thank you Tara and Robert. As I always say, a night is only as fun as the company you share it with. Kisses, darlings!
Micha, signing out.