You know, I think Moscow's nightlife is really gonna get better with this one. Hey, there's no irony here. I'm 100% serious. This one's from the heart. I'm not talking about disco dancing, boys. I'm talking about the good 'ol American version of a fine time you know and love: live rock shows.
Up until now, the venue lineup for a city of over 12 million people has been pretty pathetic. I like Apelsin, B2 and Ikra as much as the next chick. But they all fall short in one way or another. Apelsin gets a good amount of decent acts, but it has that annoying column and a shitty VIP balcony that you can't see anything from. B2 is just too small and has a bad vertically-integrated design. Ikra, although my fave, is way too narrow and long. When you're at the bar, you can't see the stage at all, and that ain't right.
The bar, or should I say bars, are the first things in noticed when I got into B1 MAXIMUM, the newest addition to Moscow's live rock venues. There were a total of four of them! Two smallish ones in the VIP area/balcony that I was in and two huge bar troughs down below for the masses. If you're not a half-wit, you probably guessed from the name that the place is somehow connected to the Bunker/B2 guys. And it is. This is the huge venue that they've been talking about building for years. The director for the place told me how many people B1 Maximum can hold at some point during the VIP tour of the place, but I was already too wasted, so I can't recall the factoid now. If you want an idea, think of Apelsin and multiply by about six.
When I first got there with my friend Nicole, I was totally amped. The legendary Malcolm McLaren was supposed to be spinning records. OK, it's a little weird that the guy who brought the world the Sex Pistols is now spinning in Moscow. But whatever...
We had already gotten wasted at Nicole's company's Christmas party and moved on to the food and alcohol furshet-that's buffet for anyone that doesn't know Russian-set up for the VIP (as in me) guests. And by the time that we were finished, I'm not even sure what to say about McLaren's performance. There were some sort of ethnic techno beats and a cartoon version of Fashion TV projected onto huge screens above the stage?
But before I could even find out if that was actually McLaren, or some sort of lame opening act, I was accosted by an insanely drunk fan of the eXile. He recognized me and was wouldn't leave me alone. The guy was horrendously ugly and insanely annoying-to the point of being a total creep. When I wouldn't sign his chest, he fell down on his knees and kissed my feet. It was endearing, had it not been for the fact that this guy was clearly mentally unstable. A freak, you know? He even followed me to the bathroom and tried ducking his head under the stall's door to catch a beaver shot of me on the toilet. He would've taken a picture had I not kicked the camera out of his hands. Now, dear readers, you know Hannah can handle her shit, right? But I was freaked! I ran out of there before I had time to pull up my pants.
Now normally I wouldn't do this, I'm no tattle tale, but I was so freaked out that Nicole and I tried to get the guards to kick the guy out. But the goons just shrugged it off. We had no choice but to deal with it.
I'm hesitant to finish this column on this negative note, but geez, I just can't help it. Now I know what kind of horrors Holly wood celebrities go through. Wait, does that mean I'm a celebrity now, too?