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‘You can turn the music really loud,’ says the strange concierge-type person (is that a cape he’s wearing?) called a BTLR who greeted us in the street outside Château Denmark, a brand new (but you wouldn’t know it) hotel slap bang in Tin Pan Alley, the traditional haunt of rock musicians. Heck, the flat where the Sex Pistols used to live is in the exact same building. You pass it as you walk up.

‘The neighbours will love that,’ we retort, considerate hotel stayers no matter what the location. ‘Oh, we’re not really selling sleep,’ comes back the concierge-type person. ‘Besides, it’s all very well sound-proofed.’

Château Denmark is not a hotel as you know hotels. It’s part of a glossy, sprawling development in the shadow of Centre Point, which will eventually have a 2,000 seat venue, the biggest to be built since… they knocked down the Astoria across the road to build Crossrail and turn what was a quirky grubby little neighbourhood into something sparkly and almost Dubai-esque in its use of gold on the facades. But that’s not Château Denmark. We are in a Georgian terrace across the road from the main site, upstairs from a pair of guitar shops.

And they’re going in hard on the old rock’n’roll legacy side of things with a huge snake tile to greet you as you step through that refurbished Georgian door. Up the squashy carpeted stairs, past that Sex Pistols flat, and through the door with a big red neon ‘do not disturb’ sign above. Rooms don’t have numbers, they have song titles. Ours is Thank You Ma’am, which we think comes from Wham Bam, Thank You Ma’am, but rock is not our strong suit.

Inside things are dark and slightly spooky and Gothic. The suite starts out in the maxi-bar, a fully-stocked bar right there in your room, with full-size bottle of booze, not the ones you smuggle onto airplanes. Your BTLR will come up and shake you a cocktail or open you a bottle of wine or even host a small party, even if you’re lounging in the big, red roll-top bathtub in the same room at the time.

The floor is snakeskin – what else would it be? – the ceiling dark distressed metal and there’s a huge TV above the ornate fireplace. Through to the bedroom and, if anything, it’s even darker, even if it does look out onto the street. Dark aubergine comes off as black, tables seem constructed on horns, a big black fireplace is flanked by a wardrobe that looks like it was stolen from a church, complete with crucifix on top, and a picture of Saint Sebastian, you know the gay one who got penetrated… by arrows. Thick curtains, skull wallpaper and a black chandelier finish the look. Other rooms are punkier with concrete and graffiti. Clearly, they’re going for the rock crowd that will soon perform or be performed to in that 2,000 seat auditorium, though it’s dead handy for the gay bars of Soho.

It’s all part of a new complex that includes The Outernet, a digital project with state-of-the-art screens, really big ones, that they’re calling ‘the first worldwide network of immersive city-centre entertainment districts, a new portal into culture and commerce.’ Phew, right? Still a work in progress, there will eventually be event spaces, clubbing, music… There’s already a restaurant called Tattu across the road, which is Chinese and quite hot right now, but nothing – nothing, you hear? – to do with the hotel. For breakfast, you can get your BTLR to get you something. He can even do your Sainsbury’s shop while he’s at it if you want.

In a world of beige hotels, it’s actually quite exciting to stay somewhere they’ve let their imagination run wild, even if it is quite easy to take the Mick at times. And there is something definitely quite sexy about the extreme hi-spec of the place with devil-embroidered dark dressing gowns, monogrammed slippers and that music that you’re encouraged to turn up to 11. I just don’t think they were expecting it to be Love To Love You Baby by Donna Summer.