Bash Compactor: Bikini Stuy

When I came to, I found myself shirtless and scrubbing cake frosting out of my beard in the bathroom of Bed-Stuy’s Tip- Top Bar.

During a set by Thee Oh Sees, a
birthday cake was hoisted up in front of the band and promptly torn
apart by the sweaty (and, apparently, hungry) crowd’s murderous paws,
resulting in some wedding-style cake smashing and a thin film of
frosting on the floor that made remaining standing while dancing a bit
more difficult, but a hell of a lot more interesting.

Such was
the scene at Saturday night’s Bed-Stuy Bikini Bash, put on by boutique
events agency ABRACADABRA, which books off-the-grid shows at unusual
venues around the city. The location, Tip-Top Bar on Franklin Avenue,
sported two indoor rooms (one housing the bar and one the tiny stage),
a covered backyard smoking area and low ceilings, all covered with Barack Obama memorabilia.
Though at first this seemed like a rather unexpected choice for an
impromptu music venue, the small space and lack of elbow room later
proved only to aid in getting everyone there riled up, liquored up and
generally off the wall.

At the door, discounted admission was offered to all those who showed up in bathing suits, and Kaitlin Kominsky, who
was manning the money and stamping hands, ran into a handful of folks
trying to dodge full price at all costs; one girl came in with a long
T-shirt boasting a bikini-clad cartoon torso (creative enough to earn
five bucks off entry), and another booze-soaked gent sauntered in,
pointed to his street clothes and boots, and remarked, “But, this is
what I swim in.” That one didn’t work.

The atmosphere of
the party started off mellow. Early on, most attendees stuck to the
backyard, where Buds and Marlboro Reds could be enjoyed, while inside
light tunes spun by Brenda Brand promoted a relaxed, summery vibe.

That all changed when the music started. Kicking off with a performance by Frankie Rose and the Outs, people
began to stream in and get energized. Before the band even left the
stage, Tip-Top filled up with patrons both clothed and not-so-much, and
soon the backyard was filled with double the smoke and the bathroom
lines, as one partygoer put it, resembled an extranaked Marina Abramovic installation.

Next up was Golden Triangle—during the
set, shirts began to fly off and sweat began to drip. The packed space
was awash with inebriated moshing and blaring garage rock, and the
moist onlookers were treated to some chair-mounted butt shaking by
guitarist O.J. San Felipe. The final performance by Thee Oh
Sees saw the ravenous cake-flinging responsible for the frosting in my
facial hair and bits of sweet goodness lodged in my ear canals.

Though
I thought I had diligently washed, a little French bulldog later
discovered otherwise as he was treated to some leftover bits lodged in
my hair and ears. And while I had certainly enjoyed the night, at least
Odell got to enjoy the cake.