The Sound of the Spike

The Spike was a gay bar on Eleventh Avenue by the West Side Highway in New York City. Long closed now to make way for the gentrification of far west Chelsea, in the 1980s and early 1990s it was one of my favorite weekend places. Well, "favorite" is perhaps being kind, but I went there a lot. A lot.

The Spike was a classic "S&M" bar, meaning, in this case "Standing and Modelling." It had an ultra-butch veneer, and for varying periods on Saturday nights one of the bar's two rooms was sometimes cordoned off exclusively for guys wearing black leather he-man drag. Its reputation as a leather bar was a little exaggerated, but every surface was painted black and it was certainly full of maculine guys cultivating a harder look than, say, the guys who went to Uncle Charlie's. It was a block south of the old Eagle, a somewhat seedier bar that usually had at least one porn film showing and, depending on the mood of the owners and the legal climate, often had some on-site sexual naughtiness going on.

Starting well after 11pm, as other bars gradually emptied out (and this was after the heydey of the more southerly Village bar scene), the Spike and the Eagle would fill up. Guys would wander back and forth between the two bars, and in warm weather the sidewalks out front were filled with people taking a break from the crowded, charged atmosphere inside. Neither place was particularly large, and at the height of the party about 2 or 3 AM, both places were usually filled to capacity. While these were places you could go with your buddies, these were above all places to go to get laid. There was usually a block-long line of yellow taxis out front waiting to take successful hookups off to "your place or mine."

Both bars usually had live DJs: The DJs at the Eagle spun disco, though there was certainly no dancing going on. The owner of the Spike, Chuck "CT" Thompson was also its main DJ, and his taste was not at all disco. He played mostly rock and rockish pop. He was a African-American guy with a shaved head, built like the proverbial brick shithouse, usually wearing a black leather vest. I don't know if he's still around, but he was a great guy, very friendly. He always recognized me even when the place was super crowded. The Spike had a Sunday afternoon stand-up burger brunch, and with the smaller crowd he was pretty social.

The music he played tended towards songs inviting some kind of cocky fuck-me or suck-my-dick swagger. If I never have the urge to hear a Huey Lewis and the News Song again, the Spike is the responsible party. That being said, the place was pretty reliable as a place to meet guys. When I started going there my um, "social" life definitely improved. Many fond weekends were spent there hanging out with my friend Marc and hunting for fresh meat, er, I mean for available gentlemen. The crowd was bear-friendly and if the kinky leather-bar edge was mostly posturing it meant that everybody knew what you were there for.


Anyway CT started to regularly play this really long super electric guitar jam. It's mostly a long guitar solo, pretty heavy at times, against an unrelenting drumbeat and some noodling synths and a synth bass. Oh it sounds completely dated now; I mean this is gay progressive metal from the late 1980s fer crissakes. But at the time when it came on the soundsystem at the Spike it really seemed to raise the energy of the place. The shrieking guitar seemed to add to an otherworldly air, and all the standing and modelling going on just seemed a little butcher and more focused. Eventually I asked CT what the tune was and it turned out he had recorded it himself. Next time I saw him he gave me an autographed copy of his plainly labelled "Debut EP." The three songs on the "Top Side" including a vocal number that well, let's not say too much about that. But there on "The Bottom Side" was this 14-minute relentless guitar epic called "The Get Away."

Listening to this track now it brings back a lot of memories. In my settled middle-age, five years into a relationship I don't go out to gay bars too often; and never with that "ohmygodIgottagetlaid" hunger and determination of twenty (ouch!) years ago. As dated -- and frankly, outside my general taste -- as it is, it brings back some of that sexually-charged excitement, despite, yes, all the shallowness of that years-ago relentless pursuit of cock.

This post is a special crossposting with my music blog Ile Oxumare. If you want to hear CT's "The Getaway," head over there to find a downloadable link.