Tonight marks the 31st anniversary of the infamous Saint Black Party here in NYC. The Black Party was and is, at it's core, a huge dance party - with the "black" representing leather, masculinity and foreboding.
When the the Saint opened, it was wildly successful. It was a members-only club - selling memberships for up to $250 per year (which sold out almost immediately). The Saint did not have a liquor license at first - but it didn't need one since various drugs fueled the party quite nicely. Original Saint members still speak in awe of nights spent dancing under the dome - a quasi-religious experience for many of them. Saint-goers felt as if they were members of a "tribe" - dancing to the same tribal rhythms, together as gay men. Yes, this tribe wasn't perfect - it was almost all white and primarily well-to-do (or at least middle class) - but the Saint provided a safe harbor where this particular tribe could gather and be themselves without fear.
Almost as popular as the Saint's huge dance floor was the balcony - where one could view the dancers through the planetarium scrim, and partake in the sexuality of the day. The balcony was where the action was - and, as was the custom of the time, sex was given and taken without guilt. The Saint was a place BY men and FOR men - and the hyper-masculine atmosphere helped fuel the sexual escapades.
Unfortunately this gay super party didn't last for long. During the second "season" (the club closed during the summer - so as not to compete with Fire Island), men began dying from a mysterious "gay cancer". For a while, the disease that ultimately became known as AIDS was nicknamed "Saint's Disease", based on the number of club members who died.
The Saint dealt with a dwindling membership by lowering fees, admitting women, serving liquor, and eventually having "straight nights". Finally, in 1988, the Saint closed with a party that went non-stop for two days.
After the club closed, the Saint-At-Large continued to hold annual parties at various venues - the most famous of them being the annual leather extravaganza - the Black Party. The Black Party was the first "circuit party" - the first dance party that attracted gay men from all over the globe. It is the granddaddy of them all - and is still going strong 31 years after the first Black Party held back at the original Saint.
I went to my first Black Party in 1993 at the Roseland Ballroom in Times Square - shortly after moving to NYC. I saved up the money I made working at Macy's to buy a ticket, squeezed into black jeans and a tight black t-shirt (I was skinny then), and accessorized with a studded leather bracelet I had bought on Christopher Street. I heard that only drunks and old queens showed up to the Black Party before 4:00 am - and I almost slept through my alarm while taking my "disco nap" in my rented room in Brooklyn. It would have probably served me right for being such a shallow little Twink.
I will never forget arriving at that first Black Party. The music throbbed. The men looked like MEN, were gorgeous, and most were high as kites on any number of substances. This was the first place I ever saw people snorting cocaine - and those bitches would have put Amy WineWarehouse, Kate Moss, and Lindsay Lohan to shame. These men were GOOD AT THIS.
Off to one side of the dance floor were the "Live Acts" - which culminated every year in a demonstration that involved "giving your partner a hand" (so to speak). Believe it or not, I used to get bored during the "shows", because the actual party-goers were much more entertaining. However, one year I did watch a gorgeous musclestud get EXTREMELY intimate with a traffic cone. That was interesting.
And then there was the balcony. Lets just say that for one night a year, the Roseland Ballroom balcony and the old Saint balcony have a lot in common. But what happens at the Black Party, stays at the Black Party.
I probably attended for 6 or 7 years in a row, until I grew tired of large clubs/parties. I always felt like the Black Party was an endurance test - like running a marathon - and I just didn't have the stamina anymore.
So, for those of you who are headed to Roseland tonight - have fun, take it easy, be safe ... and say "hello" to the boys on thebalcony DANCE FLOOR for me...
The party originated at the Saint disco/nightclub - which opened in 1980 in the old Fillmore East Theater in Manhattan's East Village. The Saint's creator, Bruce Mailman, spent almost $5 million (an unheard amount in those days) to renovate the old hippie concert venue. What Mailman created set the standard for nightclubs of that time. The huge dance floor was topped by a planetarium dome - and the lighting was controlled by a huge spaceship-like projector which loomed over the dance floor. At various points of the night/morning/next day - the lighting maestro could create the illusion of dancing under the night sky - or produce intense lighting effects that kept the dancers moving.
When the the Saint opened, it was wildly successful. It was a members-only club - selling memberships for up to $250 per year (which sold out almost immediately). The Saint did not have a liquor license at first - but it didn't need one since various drugs fueled the party quite nicely. Original Saint members still speak in awe of nights spent dancing under the dome - a quasi-religious experience for many of them. Saint-goers felt as if they were members of a "tribe" - dancing to the same tribal rhythms, together as gay men. Yes, this tribe wasn't perfect - it was almost all white and primarily well-to-do (or at least middle class) - but the Saint provided a safe harbor where this particular tribe could gather and be themselves without fear.
Almost as popular as the Saint's huge dance floor was the balcony - where one could view the dancers through the planetarium scrim, and partake in the sexuality of the day. The balcony was where the action was - and, as was the custom of the time, sex was given and taken without guilt. The Saint was a place BY men and FOR men - and the hyper-masculine atmosphere helped fuel the sexual escapades.
Unfortunately this gay super party didn't last for long. During the second "season" (the club closed during the summer - so as not to compete with Fire Island), men began dying from a mysterious "gay cancer". For a while, the disease that ultimately became known as AIDS was nicknamed "Saint's Disease", based on the number of club members who died.
The Saint dealt with a dwindling membership by lowering fees, admitting women, serving liquor, and eventually having "straight nights". Finally, in 1988, the Saint closed with a party that went non-stop for two days.
After the club closed, the Saint-At-Large continued to hold annual parties at various venues - the most famous of them being the annual leather extravaganza - the Black Party. The Black Party was the first "circuit party" - the first dance party that attracted gay men from all over the globe. It is the granddaddy of them all - and is still going strong 31 years after the first Black Party held back at the original Saint.
I went to my first Black Party in 1993 at the Roseland Ballroom in Times Square - shortly after moving to NYC. I saved up the money I made working at Macy's to buy a ticket, squeezed into black jeans and a tight black t-shirt (I was skinny then), and accessorized with a studded leather bracelet I had bought on Christopher Street. I heard that only drunks and old queens showed up to the Black Party before 4:00 am - and I almost slept through my alarm while taking my "disco nap" in my rented room in Brooklyn. It would have probably served me right for being such a shallow little Twink.
I will never forget arriving at that first Black Party. The music throbbed. The men looked like MEN, were gorgeous, and most were high as kites on any number of substances. This was the first place I ever saw people snorting cocaine - and those bitches would have put Amy WineWarehouse, Kate Moss, and Lindsay Lohan to shame. These men were GOOD AT THIS.
Off to one side of the dance floor were the "Live Acts" - which culminated every year in a demonstration that involved "giving your partner a hand" (so to speak). Believe it or not, I used to get bored during the "shows", because the actual party-goers were much more entertaining. However, one year I did watch a gorgeous musclestud get EXTREMELY intimate with a traffic cone. That was interesting.
And then there was the balcony. Lets just say that for one night a year, the Roseland Ballroom balcony and the old Saint balcony have a lot in common. But what happens at the Black Party, stays at the Black Party.
I probably attended for 6 or 7 years in a row, until I grew tired of large clubs/parties. I always felt like the Black Party was an endurance test - like running a marathon - and I just didn't have the stamina anymore.
So, for those of you who are headed to Roseland tonight - have fun, take it easy, be safe ... and say "hello" to the boys on the
This was a re-posting (with updates) of last year's Black Party post.
