The Holiday Formerly Known as Halloween

In the midst of a grave world-wide economic crisis shaking Moscow like a Yahtzee box, my greatest fear was still a lackluster Halloween. In some ways it came true, though I’ve taken the noose down out of the closet. A little bit of history: Halloween is traditionally a big freaking deal on the club scene, up there with New Year’s in terms of fireworks-and-glitter related fatalities. Call it a litmus test for how good things really are in Moscow.

Results came back mixed. The parties seemed fun and people dressed up, but none of them looked like the world was ending, which is the going standard for Halloween in Moscow. Club XII’s annual bash was full of people who cared enough to rent nice costumes, even if it meant taking out a loan. Thanks for giving a damn, guys.

“Freak International 3” also had a strong showing, despite being held at warehouse club Gaudi Arena, a long, cold marshrutka ride away from civilization. But that’s kind of cheating because candy ravers already dress like it’s Halloween and probably didn’t even realize it was a holiday.

Look! Zhenya's going as your bored girlfriend

Pretty much all the other big name clubs didn’t, ahem, Rai-se to the occasion. The party was there, but barely distinguishable from any other night. Those bitties who did come in costume looked like they were headed to SAE Theme Thursdays, an uninspired assortment of skank nurses, slutty brides and promiscuous policewomen we've seen before.

Kappa Theta Ikra

I know, America is bad, right? Gotta spank it

Labelfucker was supposed to have a good Halloween thing going on. In fact, so good that it was shut down by the police before midnight last year. At least, I think that’s what the wasted people streaming out seemed to be screaming about. When an overgrown schoolgirl with vomit on his chin barreled at me, I didn’t stick around to find out. Unfortunately this year Labelfucker held its party at the clinically depressed Justo Banya Douche. Might as well have sprayed it with Party-Be-Gone.

But if history has taught us anything, it’s that the spirit of Halloween can overcome anything, even a shitty venue. Clubs are just the container, man, what really matters is the people. Making Halloween costume pie takes equal parts creativity, enthusiasm and willingness to act a fool. Which brings me to the main point -- feis control goons, where are you when we need you? For pete’s sake, stop letting people in without real costumes. Four dudes should not be able to ride in one on hat they bought off a malnourished 17-year-old soldier for 100 rubles.

FAIL

Haha. Prokhodite

Nyet

Pass. And run for your life

Borderline. At least they didn't go blackface

Ooh. Tough call. I feel like someone is going to Hell for this, but they did take a concept and run with it

I don't care if she just spent too much time on the bed at Mesto Pod Solntsem, She looks rad, let her in

It's not like Moscow don’t know how to dress up. In fact, the scariest costumes of all weren’t seen on October 31 but a few days before at the Moscow Fashion Week closing party. The punch line is that there wasn't even a Halloween theme, but I guess you already got that.

Just tell me these people don't drink the blood of the living.

Photos: 44100.com, geometria.ru, labelfucker.ru, adensya.ru, mainpeople.ru

Der Untermost, or the Day the Shitty Techno Died

The global economic meltdown has claimed another subset of victims -- Moscow elitny clubgoers. At least that's according to the Telegraph, which reported of a half-empty Most. Even if it's not entirely true, when the golden club is letting in pasty British reporters, that's a sure sign times have changed.

Falling into conversation with one patron, an impeccably dressed man in his late thirties who introduced himself as the owner of another nightclub, I asked him where everybody was.

"They are sitting at home drinking cheap vodka and thinking about killing themselves," he replied.

In other words, doing what MDBIT does on Friday nights anyway. The reports of Moscow nightlife's death have been greatly exaggerated though. While the $32,000 VIP booth above the waterfall at Rai may be going at a slight discount, there's no shortage of people lining up for 800 ruble Long Islands at The Most, as these photos from October 3 contest.


What do you think: is this self-delusion or deserved confidence? Are they playing the fiddle while Moscow burns, or just trying to have fun after a £400 billion stock market dive?

Yaaaaaaaa! Kill it! Kill it!

To be honest, it kinda reminds me of the last days in Hitler's bunker. But if the world capital of excess goes on the dole, what are all of us parasitic nightlife bloggers going to do? Move to Istanbul and start ghostwriting college apps for rich kids? Waaaaaaa!

Photos: mainpeople.ru

Bright Lights, Big Moscow

It’s snowing hard in Paparazzi Bar, the heir apparent to Mix. Good, because scruffy Moscow club kids were lacking in recreational options beyond alcohol and cough medicine. The rich and fabulous can get yayed up ten ways from Sunday at their Dyagilevs and their Rais, but what about the little people? Can’t they get theirs?

"OMG, I'm falling in a k-hole"

Drug proliferation is the perhaps the greatest testament to the existence of a Russian middle class, you know, that great void between Roman Abramovich and the pensioners farming beets in permafrost with plastic McDonalds forks. If the unwashed hipster masses can afford narcotics and nice places with chairs and doors in which to do them, then things might not be so bad after all.

The nods

Bono and Naomi Campbell love Paparazzi Bar

This kid sold drugs in my junior high PE class

Kurt Cobainov

Don't forget to hydrate!

Return of Abnormal Circus! Kids...don't do drugs

“OMG, I love everyone!!”

"Shaddup, you don't know meeeee"

Paparazzi Bar, 3/4 Pyatnitskaya Ul., Bldg. 1, Metro: Tretyakovskaya, Tel. 953-1620

Photos: lookatme.ru

Rai'd or Die

Sexton was founded by feared Soviet motorcycle gang the Night Wolves in the mid-nineties. Ten years and change later, it continues to party on, Wayne. Who'd have guessed the hog & hiefers lifestyle, with its binge drinking, violent beatings, down-for-whatever chicks and white pride, would resonate so well in Russia? Just doesn't add up.


At any rate, three cheers! Sexton is a welcome breath of stale beer from the tired elitny club scene. No where else can you breeze through feis kontrol in a pit-stained Kiss t-shirt -- unless it's Simachev Bar or Solyanka and you are firmly, visibly, unequivocally steeped in irony.


Normally, biker bars are a good place to get your head bashed in non-ironically. But now that the Night Wolves are upstanding middle-aged Putinites, there's much less chance of gang rape, much more chance of fun.

Viva la Lucha Libre!

Predictably, Rai saw how much fun Sexton was having with biker kultur and wanted in on the action. From the looks of their 2,000 euro Ducatti jackets and gleaming D&G belt buckles, it seems something was lost in translation.

It's not the size of your bike, it's how many Rai hoodrats you can fit on it.

"The South will Rai'se again!"

Sexton, 110 Nizhniye Mnevniki, Metro: Oktyabrskoye Pole, Tel. 8 926 4097149

Photos: geometria.ru, mainpeople.ru