People remember lockdown for various things. It’s the socially acceptable pose to shake one’s head and moan about how terrible it all was, as if to imply that restoring the world to a previous form of insanity is such an obvious improvement. I found ways to enjoy my time in Prohibition, despite getting the illness myself and losing my smell for months—but nothing that a half tab of LSD didn’t right overnight, much to my grateful shock. Most days were spent traversing the shimmering yet empty world of the Dark Souls universe that eerily reflected the waking. I’d also hop to a friend’s apartment whenever boredom struck. The fact that his neighbour got fined ten grand out of a snitching incident worthy of East Germany somehow never dissuaded me from my visits.
The anecdotes of psycho-spiritual quantum leaps related to 2020 are numerous enough that it sparks hope in our trying times—but that won’t be what I'm talking about here. There was a flip side to all the countryside strolls and visionary clarity. I’d assumed that speakeasys would be operating as the real deal instead of the usual marketing gimmick, but it wasn’t until another friend invited me out that I obtained hard proof of their existence. The place had no sign and nothing to mark the door. Vines semi-intentionally covered what would’ve been windows in normal circumstances. As with most things, it was the inside that counted.
The downstairs presented an opulent Deco lounge, a gold-lit bar fanning to tables and blue velvet banquettes for the miscreants, plus a stage for the jazz musicians at the back. It was always packed and noisy and maskless, emulating an extravagant night out in the days before the shutdown. Cigarettes were lit inside in case any cops caught onto what was occurring. The marble bathrooms conjured cocaine all by themselves, and I’m convinced that half the waiters were on it at any given moment. Everyone was dressed up and beautiful, colours sparkling across the hall, flirting and dancing well into the morning. We were intoxicated on transgression just as much as the booze. From time to time they even put on cabaret shows.
I loved every second of it.
While 2020 can be seen as a year of governmental abuses and unwarranted control of public life, it’s also true that every action produces an equal and opposite reaction. Whenever the ministry of truth flips its diktat, there will always be the sheep that bleat obediently, deserving the psychological slaughterhouse that their choices create. But they serve as a counter to those rebels who dream of a different life, the ones who refuse to bow to what is obviously vicious and immoral. The speakeasy, just like in the first Prohibition, is an institution that’s rightly romanticised. A middle finger to the castrated bureaucrats that seek to remake society in their joyless and depraved image. As the future gets more challenging, with economic devastation and global political upheaval right in front of us, we shouldn’t forget to rebel in the little ways whenever the next round of tyranny snarls our way.
Having been out of town for some time, a couple of years afterwards I asked my friend what became of the old club we’d enjoyed so much. He told me it vanished. The phone line had evaporated months prior. Like the COVID days themselves, the affair was shelved and forgotten, memory holed into the abyss. In 2020 we all lived versions of an absurd dream, one whose finale is yet to play out in the real. When it does, a sharp cocktail better not be too far away…
Poster advertising the lost film Speakeasy [1929]
We were caught in an Air B'n'B when cOvid lockdowns very first happened.
My son and I still kept walking in the hills for the joy of it but were stopped by spooked cops one day which ruined the fun. I was particularly peeved because PTB had stopped spraying the skies, and that March spring sky was particularly clear and blue and beautiful. I sunbathed and read esoteric stuff to make sense of things but the best part of the entire lockdown was one night, around 11:30pm I heaved a huge sigh, thought FUCK THIS, got my walking booties on and slipped out in to the dark streets. We were new to Europe and in a green, hilly old section. All the spring flowers were in bloom, not a breath of wind and the air was so fresh and sweet. One of the most memorable walks of my life for the thrill of walking in the shadows of an intimidated silent world.
Sad times😞 so many places that we’re iconic we’re just shut down never to be opened again. And never to be talked about. Like you said just vanished into the abyss! Thank you for your article it’s a reminder of our forgotten past. We should never forget.