Down Under

I got a choice slice of Russian nightlife the other night when Rustam and I ventured to Propaganda. It was built in the early ninties, which makes it a fossil on the Russian nightlife timeline. There is no cover charge, but the catch is the "face patrol", or the men at the door that literally foreordain your social standing in the decision to gift you admitance or not. I don't know if it was a close call or not, but we got in thank you face patrol. The club itself was about half the size of City Hall Nashville (RIP), so it housed about 300 people or so. The interior was an unique combination of brick walls, pipes under the ceiling, large plants, and candles so I liked it right from the getgo. It's amazing how many beautiful people come out to party on ordinary Thursday nights. Rustam knew the DJ that opened the evening for a British guy, so that was cool and whatnot. But the british guy absolutely killed it. The evening's theme was Deep House, which is amazing in it's own light. His touche to the sound made all the different in and out of this world. A mingle of steady house beats became layered with Boards of Canada-esque whisps of sound and spots of laser dots and drops that made it sound like spring rain in Space. All of that worked to complement a nonstop blast of very African drums. It was bohemian. Deep Cosmic African House music. 

Even the two hour walk home couldn't kill my enthusiasm. 

But it came close.