Bash Compactor: Getting Bakey-d

Written by Matt Harvey on . Posted in Bash Compactor, Posts.


Last Wednesday night, a gang of louche scenesters landed at Above Allen—the airy
rooftop bar of megalith hotel Thompson LES. Contemplating a shimmering
skyline, the new shindig’s promoter proclaimed an end to a reign of
antiseptic downtown nightlife.

“There hasn’t been a recession in 10
years,” techno head Bakey B gushed in his Desi accent. “Now people be losing jobs, families be breaking up, the only outlet will be parties.”

Neil Aline, the
bald Euro DJ, dropped Sister Sledge and Bakey busted into some dance
moves. Nodding frenetically he added, “I want to see some ODs. I really
do!”

So what’s going to be the new drug for the new depression? Bakey
scratched his neck tattoo thoughtfully for a moment before a Eureka
burst forth: “Cocaine!”

I exhaled a stream of cigarette smoke silently
and watched him fidget in his leather Nikes. “And X, that’s what I’m
talking about. All the rich amazing people love that shit.” A plaid
shirtwearing owlish hipster strode up looking for a drink ticket. He
was shown empty palms and a nervous smile instead.

Bakey
didn’t see any irony in preaching his late ’70s lounge-lizard gospel 18
floors above Houston Street—and the crowd seemed fine with it too. Two
Asian twentysomethings in cocktail dresses laughingly handed a stack of
bills to a dude in a snappy blue yachtsman. I shared a smoke with
oliveskinned, curly-haired fashion designer Bahar Shaphar who
had come in from South Brooklyn. Leaning into one of the plush red
couches and straightening her gartered tights, she told me what brought
her across the river: “It’s a good middle ground, I find myself on this
corner a lot. It’s like a vortex in my dimension.” She went on, the
panoramic view inspiring her to a Brooklyn socialite’s map of the
Island. “You go east you go arty, you go south you go hipster, you go
west—fashion, up is work.There’s nothing really here though.”

Bakey
danced over, grabbed Shaphar in his arms and dipped her. He planted a
camped up smooch her on the lips. Then, turning to me, he said, “This
thing will be successful if it kills me.”

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