Don’t judge a book…
ATTENTION!
ATTENTION!
There’s a new club in town!
It was Friday night, my house had been invaded by Germans and I had to flee. I called in reinforcements and went into hiding. Well, when I say hiding, I mean clubbing; in the hope of finding a charitable soul that would take me in for the night and keep me warm.
But where to go that I have never been to before? We walked, aimlessly, weighing up our options. Stardust and their neo-hipsters? Long Play and their prepubescent horndogs? Delirio? – Again?
Bummed out by the lack of possibilities, we picked up flyers off the floor and decided to choose solely based on prices (It’s the beginning of the month, and of course we’re broke!). This is when we came across the name of a club we had never encountered: Madhunter! (Calle Pelayo 80-82). We tapped our heels three times and left Texas. Bye, Toto!
On entering, prejudiced me wanted to run out, but as the dedicated columnist that I am, I stayed. The place could not have had a better name; what you see is what you get: mad hunters. Their eyes engorged with liquors they stare at you as if you were bare meat ready to be devoured. The lighting doesn’t help, a few red spots here and there giving you the willies as if you had just stepped into the seventh circle of Hell. The bar staff, friendly as they are, make you shiver with fear – having sex with one of them being most probably the last thing you would ever do.
Drinks in hand, we walked down to the ladies’ room. Talk about Hell! The citizens of Sodom and Gomorrah would shy away from such debauchery. I’m not even going to mention the piss-flooded floor, broken glasses, clogged-up toilet and all-around snorting. Instead, a few words on the fauna dwelling there: one-third bear and two-thirds muscle-mary, all topless thirty-something sweating machine.
The dance floor, somewhere between a cave and a garage, was dark and I was barely able to distinguish the cuties from the mingers (or was it just that I left my glasses at home?) – turned out, when the light came up at the end of the night, that there were no cuties!
You are most probably wondering why I’m even writing about this place and you would be right. But as the saying goes: never judge a book by its cover! It’s not all doom and gloom in Manhunter. One thing makes it the best club in the city and it is the most important one of all: the music. As one of my friends says “I don’t go to clubs for the music, I go there for the cocks”. Well, I respectfully disagree. I go there for the music and the music there is reminiscent of the hay days of DTPM (for the Londoners amongst you): a mind-twisting funky house that rocked my socks off. In a land where Cool is supposedly the place to go for house music, even though all they play is hard crap! Madhunter had a refreshing bit that oscillated from funky to semi-hard; making you wish the night would never end. I would go as far as saying that it is the best music in Madrid. I drenched the dance floor with my sweat (fear not, dear readers, I did not take my shirt off) and had a blast, the likes I’ve never had in Madrid before.
So tap your heels, bid farewell to Toto and go mad amongst the hunters…
