Nightmarch

[PattayaPete 530]

Gogo music to go.

Ace in the Hole: Martin (aka the Elephant Man) and his long-suffering better half Pon opened their new business early in February. Called the Ace Café it is situated in the new block of buildings erected behind the Hanuman statue at the bottom of Thappraya Road. Martin says he aims to make the place primarily an eatery between Monday and Thursday, opening from 8:30AM to 9:00PM and then on Fridays, Saturdays and Sundays remain open until much later as a boozer. Breakfast kicks in at 50 baht while a large mug of coffee is just 20 baht.

 

Martin and Pon formerly ran the Old Speckled Hen in Jomtien Soi 9. The people who purchased it have renamed the place Love Birds and continued to offer booze and nosh as well as employing damsels to offer customers relaxation services.

While I’m down there, Gary from the Scooby’s boozer and relaxation lounge (Jomtien Complex) tells me he’s offering a free lasagne for customers every Wednesday evening. The boozer is designed for customers who want to come and relax in air-conditioned comfort as a break from the frenetic pace of looking for their next main ‘squeeze’.

 

Nothing to Flap About Yet: The Shark Club gynaecological inspection room opened its legs towards the end of January with the usual opening night party. The entrance is by way of the stairs in Soi Diamond next to the Super Girl ogling den. The owners are the same people, from France I believe, who have the Shark chrome pole palace (formerly the poorly named Big Willies gogo) at the other end of the first floor.

 

Prior to opening night I was reliably informed that the management were struggling to find enough talent to hoof it on the tables and although they succeeded in gathering a troupe together for opening night, it’s been a struggle since then. As any den owner will tell you, they never have enough chrome pole molesters, especially in high season when all the best quality dancers are snaffled by lecherous foreigners keen to empty their wallets, and other things, into a nubile maiden.

 

I’ll be Your Private Dancer, Dancer for Money: Well-known thriller and action writer Stephen Leather has finally published his Thai bargirl novel Private Dancer. The story of a destructive relationship between a naïve foreigner and a Nana Plaza gogo dancer has been available as a downloadable PDF file for some years and reached a wide audience. Is it worth reading? All the hardened cynics say it should be made compulsory for newcomers to the bar scene in Thailand and, with some misgivings, I tend to agree. The book, as with most of Leather’s previous work, is fast-paced, with short, sharp chapters.

 

The central characters are an English travel writer named Pete and a chrome pole molester named Joy. Leather attempts to look at the story from all sides, with Pete making his comments and then Joy hers. Pete’s friends and acquaintances add their two-cents worth and there are some interesting sociological pieces on cross-cultural relationships interspersed throughout the novel. The Thailand bar-hoppers motto, “she’s different”, appears quite often and for anybody who has ever uttered those fateful words I would strongly suggest they read this book.

 

Wave the Magic Wand: Khun Chat Chai, the owner of the Hi-Boss middle-stump massaging den in Soi 6, held the first Miss Hi Boss beauty contest on Saturday night 19 February with a whopping 10,000 baht first prize. The contest apparently attracted entrants from as far away as Bangkok. The Sierra Tango boozer is noted for employing a division of boys-who-would-be-girls, most of them capable of damaging the ozone layer when they don a pair of six-inch high heels. I was unable to attend the festivities (I think I had to stay home and wash my hair), but by all accounts it was a wild night, the ‘ladies’ really getting into the swing of things in the hope of snaring the substantial first prize.

 

Out of the Rumour Mill: There is a strong rumour doing the rounds that the business signs in Walking Street have been raised so air-conditioned, diesel-belching tour buses can rumble down the crazy paving and deposit their human cargo at the front door of designated establishments rather than take the risk some of their precious pigeons might become waylaid as they wander starry-eyed and camera-strung down the gauntlet of bright neon signs. I doubt this is true, but in the interests of rumour-mongering I felt it should be brought to your attention.

 

And, of course, that old chestnut, the 101 businesses due for demolition to permit Beach Road to link up with the highway-to-nowhere continues to sprout wherever two or more locals may gather. This is an issue that’s been on the drawing board for well over a decade and every year someone somewhere pops up to state, very definitely, it’s all about to happen. I’ve said it before, don’t hold your breath. There are some powerful people with business interests on the water side of Walking Street and they’re not about to lose their substantial investments without an argument or a buffalo-load of compensation.

 

The Illegitimate Offspring of Disreputable Parents: I know it’s almost pointless me bringing up the subject of gogo music- and I use that term in its broadest sense- in ogling dens, but a recent foray into the wilds of Walking Street made me realise just how dreadful most of the material being played by that bunch of retards impersonating DJ’s truly is.

 

After kicking off in the Carousel ogling den (Soi Diamond), a chrome pole palace that used to play great music when managed for many years by Claude the Dutchman, I was not only disappointed by the poor talent shuffling about the revolving stage, but the music was dreadful. Even the speckled horse seemed to be down in the mouth. Manager TJ has left for higher pastures, namely the Heaven Above den just down the soi and up the stairs.

 

Wandering in to this establishment after Carousel also proved to be an auditory trial. The den was busy with plenty of talent on show, but the music was, to put it in the vernacular, crap. When I brought this up with the delightfully flirtatious Bee, wife of one of the owners, a couple of nights later she insisted that when she gets behind the turntable the quality of tunes rises a few notches. If this is correct then I can only suggest her husband slaps the headphones on her more regularly.

 

Then it was into the Shark ogling den. Plenty of people warming the seats, enough eye candy to keep most people interested and they have a buy-one-get-one-free promotion (on standard house liver wasters and Thai rotgut only) designed to keep punters in the den a little longer. The music was variable, going from a few strange selections to good recognisable material.

 

Finally, the cosy little Paris chrome pole den drew me through its portals. As usual there was a strong contingent of dancing damsels of varying quality (some good, some veterans, some plain, some friendly, some stand-offish; in other words, typical of most dens). The music, as with the others, wandered about the approval dial from ‘yuk’ to ‘great’.

 

‘I like my music to be the legitimate offspring of respectable parents’ said English author Samuel Butler, and I believe most foreigners feel the same way. Sure, a bar full of the cream of the dancing crop will be full every night no matter what sounds emanate from the DJ booth. After all, that’s the main reason why red-blooded, easily excitable males make the rounds of ogling dens.

 

I have no problem with the style of music adopted by an ogling den. I enjoy listening to good quality hip hop, techno, trance, rap, or garbage…sorry, garage. I believe most punters object to being subjected to material that is nothing short of aural rubbish. I have no desire to turn back the musical turntables of ogling dens and suddenly be hit with the likes of Max Bygraves or Robert Goulet. Equally, I don’t want to put up with a 12-minute thumping bass and sub-woofer collection of sounds by DJ Whatta Spastic, an artist with all the talent of a garnished turnip.

 

I often wonder if the DJ in one den will intentionally scour the junk shops and bargain basement bins for the most obscure and truly unlistenable material to inflict on an unsuspecting public and then telephone his mate in a rival chrome pole palace and ask him whether he has ever heard of ‘Blow It Out Your Backside’ by LJ Lolly Wrapper and the Anal Retentives.

 

Places such as Peppermint, Diamond, Dollhouse (which celebrated its birthday on 16 February), Living Dolls Showcase, Spicy Girls, Tahitian Queen, Tahitian Queen 2, and X-Ray (to give just a few examples) can be guaranteed to generally play a good range of listenable material ranging from rock to pop to soul, blues and, yes, dance music.

 

I am reminded of a letter the English poet and stirrer Ezra Pound wrote to a friend in which he penned the following limerick:

 

"There once was a brainy baboon

Who always breathed down a bassoon

For he said, “It appears

That in billions of years

I shalll certainly hit on a tune.”

 

From the sounds of much of the material coming out of the speakers in many dens it would appear the musical landscape is now well and truly inhabited by ‘brainy’ baboons.

 

Piece of Pith: Do not sweat the petty things, and not pet the sweaty things

 

 

 

My e-mail address is: nightmarch@hotmail.com

Author of Pattaya "Patpong on steroids"

No reproduction without specific reference to: nightmarch@hotmail.com

[davethailand 91]

TJ is apparently on his way back to the dollhouse

[papillon 695]

X-Ray agogo.

Is that the one on Soi 1? Is it still open?

This is the first time I ever saw the place mentioned. Pulled a stunner out of there about a year ago.

[davethailand 91]

Xray a gogo's no good for women! Thay can see right through you.