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In my recent profile of Marina St. Mark, I referred to Hollywood's Bar Sinister as "the quintessential goth and fetish club in that fallen, fabled Chandlerian metropolis of decadent surrender and six-inch fuck-me-pumps." In fact, Bar Sinister is a profligate and depraved, not to mention weekly, exploration of all that is corrupt, perilous and shadowy in the glamorous life of a black-souled and depraved modern conurbation. Eros Zine deeply regrets the error.
Journalistic hand-wringing aside, any journey through the West Coast capital of urban noir would be woefully incomplete without a few succulent hours spent in the sordid embrace of this Saturday night spectacle. The club is run by the legendary Tricia LaBelle, who's kept it going for seven glorious years. You might want to know that the term "bar sinister" refers to a heraldic device signifying bastardy. It is more properly called a "baton sinister," but Sir Walter Scott fucked up lo these many years past and coined the term, apparently by accident. Long-mouldered Scott deserves a spanking for his carelessness, sure, but no term more appropriately conjures the atmosphere of this event: Bar Sinister is, in fact, not just a bastard, but also a sumbitch and a Bad Mother Fucker.
I had the pleasure of tasting Bar Sinister's sweet and poisoned kisses during my brief stint as an Angeleno some months ago, and boy howdy! That is some wicked conduct going on down there in Hollywood. I was escorted by Amelia G and Forest Black, who managed to get me past the doorman despite my being costumed, to put it politely, as a mall security guard who used to listen to Social Distortion in the '90s and thought he was pretty cool back then. This was a feat almost legendary in its impossibility -- Bar Sinister enforces what they call a "Gaultier Goth" dress code, meaning if you're not accompanied by two of the architects of modern goth, you'll need to vamp it up to get your ghoul on. Garbed as I was, I at first had the distinct sense of sticking out like a sore thumb, because, let me tell you, the guests at Bar Sinister take their dress code seriously -- and they are not shy when it comes to the fashion statements. I vividly recall seeing a lingerie-clad and blood-spattered bride cavorting with black-lace ghoul girls, and I think the amount of patent leather seen shimmering in the spotlights was enough to make a more suggestible soul join PETA. Bar Sinister is one of the best-attended goth clubs in the world, and while I can't claim the outfitting of the guests quite reaches the level of, say, a major fetish event, it comes shockingly close -- shocking, especially, when you consider that a lot of these vampiric denizens of the mythic underworld do this every freakin' week.
But my enthusiasm for the club was augmented still further, and my sense of being a sore thumb entirely banished, by the friendliness of the clientele. Goth clubs are not always the most conducive places to make new friends. But at Bar Sinister I was actually chatted up and, dare I say it, flirted with by dressed-to-the-nines goth chicks whom the local news would probably want you to believe eat baby heads for breakfast and sacrifice goats to the Dark Lord. I'd recently moved down South from San Francisco, and I was used to the borderline-hostile reactions one gets when ogling lace-garbed lovelies at goth clubs in Fogtown. On this particular night, I actually got a wink. I've since espoused the opinion that this phenomenon reflects a profound cultural difference between North and South: at Bar Sinister, as in Los Angeles at large, lookers appreciate the lookers, and the lookers appreciate them right back. Voyeurism and exhibitionism, Southern Style.
Once one has availed her or himself of all the sights the dance floor has to offer, a trip upstairs to Purgatory seems only natural, where Ms. Marina herself presides over the flagellation of the penitents. Purgatory is the well-equipped dungeon space available for use, within reason, and a healthy dose of voyeurism is perfectly acceptable here, as well. What's more, Bar Sinister features live music every week and has special events on a regular basis: live bands are often hosted, covering music styles from gothabilly to ghoul groove. Recent special events have included a gallery by Christine Kessler, a DJ performance by JvrkL69 of The 69 Eyes, and live music from Cylab. I'm assured by recent attendees of Bar Sinister that since my visit there the club has leaned toward frolicksome fetish and lascivious industrial, staying true to its gothic roots but changing in texture as the ghoul girls have morphed into freakazoid sex robots and the black-latex-sheathed gothboys have gradually strapped on more fetish gear. I'm told it mixes into a luminescent cocktail of temptation and transgression so, for the insiders: do not see the penny, pick it up, and offer it to God. And while you're at it, if you can't leave the spiderwebs at home, just please don't pull them. All kidding aside: The truth is that every brand of goth and fetish freak, web-pulling or otherwise, is welcomed and celebrated at Bar Sinister. Though Philip Marlowe might be left sucking gimlets in a corner, a sour look on his face, you and your twisted friends are assuredly more open minded than even the sauciest gumshoe, right? Bar Sinister: Hollywood wouldn't be the same without it, and this flat-topped Franciscan bitterly misses the venom in its kisses.
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