Jack Cullen

Teabag, Scumbag and Bodybag BITCH!

Jack’s East Side Story, part 3

Teabag @ Vogue Fabrics, Dalston
You just know a night is underground when it’s promoted solely via Tumblr. You heard me. Tumblr. A social media platform used exclusively by dangerously hot teenage boys, bloggers who lack ideas and basic semantics, Spanish children and now, apparently, the Dalston fagarazzi…
£3 entry all night, door staff who are theatrically lax and bar prices that you can unofficially haggle, Teabag tries exceptionally hard at being non pretentious and it succeeds, to an extent. The toilets are masked by shower curtains which makes sex-on-site a bit challenging, and the tiny weeny smoking area gives off a sort of Scarborough University Séance Society vibe. Despite there being attractive men around, as far as I could tell nobody was out on the pull. It seemed more for gay men who like hopping around to beats, talking about their new [concept store\magazine\record label\gallery\project\debt] and asking you if you have a spare cigarette.
Grace Jones was played as promised; although Slave To The Rhythm was a damp choice (I think DJs confuse it with Jones The Rhythm, looks similar, massive difference). Other tracks I remember include Miss Kittin’s Requiem For A Hit and Platinum Blonde’s I’m Not In Love (a song that enjoyed a renaissance thanks to Crystal Castles’ totally birdshit-chic cover)
Teabag is a fun night. Better than most of Soho on a Friday night. Possibly not as good as jumping on a boy’s bed to Jaki Grahame wearing nothing but white socks. You be the judge -
Scumbag @ The Bird’s Nest, Deptford
Deptford is so South East we had to drive there, lining the stomach with White Ace on route in an attempt to rapidly acclimatise. The venue is the kind of pub that Shane Meadows would consider a shade too depressing, but the lovely Scumbag organisers made an effort to jazz things up a bit with free face-paints, board games, and a tombola in which the top prize was a bottle of Derbac M. It was a bit like an LGBT jumble sale in hell.
People started dancing by 9.30, thanks to DJ BJ pushing out some good panda pop with his prosthetic hand whilst facing the corner, and thanks also to the two girls behind the bar who were far too generous with their shots measures.
Needless to say, we spent a lot of time hanging out in the toilets hiding from a deaf gangster who scared everyone with his “walking into a bar and machine gunning everyone”.
Whilst in the smoking area I discovered a teenage rapper called Donzy who freestyled some impressive lyrics for me in exchange for Rizzlers. I would share his YouTube link but I don’t think he’s tapping into the pink pound just yet, ie, he wants a career in rap.
By midnight it was time to ditch the Scumbag and jump in the car and hit Vauxhall. Until next time Deptford. Until next time…
Bodybag @ Abbey Hive, Alexandra Road Council Estate

The venue is a disused community centre and as you enter you notice that someone has written FUCK PIG on the wall in his or her own lipstick. Scattered across the floor - sequins. Hanging from the ceiling – acrobatic bar staff, their ponytails dangling, they pour you an aperitif whilst quietly singing Hang With Me in acapella.
You hand over your £6.66 entry along with all of your clothes and then lie naked on the stainless steel trolley before you. Two male nurses wheel you along a corridor, the only lighting is the occasional sparks from loose wires, the only sound – rusty wheels and distant murmurs . The chaperones embalm your body in Boys Own, cut your nails, spit on your chest a bit and then wrap you in a body bag.
You are then carried, completely sealed in the bag, into a basement. There you lie and wait, piled up against the other bodies, until the room is completely full and the collective sound of heartbeats is deafening.
THEN, on the cue of Crystal Castle Baptism  everyone rips open their body bags and launch their naked embalmed bodies upright – the drag king host grabs the mike and screams “You’re at BODY BAG BITCH” – it’s London’s best underground murder-themed sex club electro pop night.

Also, it doesn’t exist.

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