Saturday, July 2, 2:10 a.m. At 2 a.m. when the Asylum's after-hours officially began, marking its first night in the Vegas nightlife scene, I was still flipping a bitch at the corner of All Wrong and Way Off, in the Southwest Gas parking lot. I defy anyone to find 5150 Spring Mountain Road on their first try without being told that this is the same place where bartenders, bouncers and casino employees of all types gathered over the years, first called the Barking Frog and then Live After-hours.
"Oy, it's hot as balls in here!" And balls, by the way, are pretty hot. Only I'm talking to myself because, for the first time in a long time, I'm flying solo. The Wingmen are all either working or otherwise engaged in naughty reindeer games. And I have been assigned to attend the grand opening of not a mega-club, not an ultralounge, but rather a new, live-music joint which promises a killer post-party environ. I'm relieved at the prospect of a bit of off-Strip R&R— that being Red Bull and raspberry Stoli, of course.
Just in case you didn't quite catch the fact that the bar's name is the Asylum, the simulated inmate cells, guards' walk, padded walls and framed Rorschach inkblot tests make great visual aids. The second floor is dominated by a wide balcony with leopard couches and a second bar. Peering into rooms I probably shouldn't, I encounter nine pool tables ready to rack and even more waiting in a dark corner. I also find exposed wiring but am shoo-shooed away before I can zap or ignite anything. Unprotected pillar candles burn away disturbingly close to the freshly painted white walls, the low ceilings, and in one case, the smoke detector. A red candle crashes to the floor and I quickly spirit it to the bar where it stays for the remainder of the night.
Back downstairs, the elevated stage looks matte, black and promising; already I am eager for a Green Day or Nine Inch Nails or, more realistically, some local angry act to break it in. The padded walls just scream for hard-core moshing and the tile will aid in the cleanup of any errant blood, sweat or spit. But for now, the Asylum seems rough and unready, torn between a live concert venue, trance hall and ultralounge. From my vantage point leaning on Cell Block 1, I observe Ken and Barbie making out on the makeshift VIP platform/balcony/box. They are surrounded by a guilty-looking lineup of glassy-eyed fellows in Armani, Pantera and Ramones gear sitting side by side, each clinging to a bottle of water like it was mother's milk.
Did I mention it's hot? No? Well, it's mighty warm, at least. It reminds me of the clubs I visited as a mere spring-break lass who couldn't legally drink in the U.S. In other words, after years of experience in the sub-zero, hydrogen-blasted mega-clubs, it's deliciously satisfying to feel a single bead of sweat descend to the small of my back.
The GM, former repo man Jason Reasbeck, seems less than thrilled about my visit. "Tonight?" his eyes seem to whine. "Why tonight?" He's in constant motion, comical in his seriousness but sincere in his devotion to guests, bar backs, bouncers and servers. One thing I will say: The place is properly staffed. Right then, a freshly-shorn DJ Gumbee takes to the deck, and while he thoughtfully chomps on a cigarette, begins a set that can only be described as liberating. No tourists tonight, Gumbee, no one to impress who doesn't already worship the ground you groove on. He concentrates on the sound and blisses out on his own beats.
Despite the vestiges of alternative independence, certain obvious facts fly completely in the face of what you'd expect from an off-Strip locals' joint, those being valet parking, bottle service and ads that advertise convenient proximity to Wynn. Could it be that locals have become so accustomed to Vegas' ultralounges and overall opulence that we can't fathom a night without the option of bottle service, a VIP list or bar without super premiums? Whatever happened to cold beer, a tatt'ed male bartender and a cocktail server with a pack-a-day singing voice and fresh stitches?
Well, Vegas, for better or worse, somewhere along the way we've cleaned up our act.
Fueled in part by my second cocktail, I pose myself a question: Do I want independent, non-corporate, off-Strip nightclubs and bars to succeed alongside their deep-pocketed, celebrity-invested, A-lister clubs? My inner monologue answers: Of course. But there's an identity crisis among operators, which makes it difficult to find a middle ground. The Asylum, it appears, aims to be the first alien-human hybrid to thrive.
Were Shakespeare a party guy (and we all know he was a saucy fellow, at least), then his entreaty that "the better part of valour is discretion" could certainly have been his directive for independent owners and operators to pause before reaching for the fabled next level and first perfect—or at least fireproof—the one they're on.
Xania Woodman thinks globally and parties locally. And frequently. E-mail her at
[email protected] .
Xania's Hot Spots for July 7-July 13
Thursday, July 7
The launch of (Local) Celebrity Thursdays at Vivid
Friday, July 8
DJ Irene, Ice
Saturday, July 9
After-hours, the Asylum, 2 a.m.
Sunday, July 10
Red Carpet Sundays, Body English
Monday, July 11
Godspeed, the Foundation Room
Tuesday, July 12
DJ Carlos Sanchez (House Society), Tabú
Grand Master Flash, Pure
Wednesday, July 13
Midnight Snack, Firefly on Paradise
Locals night, La Bête
For more Hot Spots and weekly parties visit
www.TheCircuitLV.com and sign up for Xania's free weekly newsletter.