Russian nightclubs

ZH

Short for 'ass' in Russian. Dark factory doors with only an imposing Russian letter to hint that there is something interesting inside, although it suggests a private mans club rather than the calm club spread out when I entered. Apparently, it's in the European style. The idea of an old appartment mildly renovated into a shabby-chic night haunt is very Eastern Europe, and reminiscent of the Budapest clubs. The  whole room was covered with bric-a-brac; a plastic horse head, antlers on the coat stand,  and a landscape of u-bends, chandeliers  and umbrellas, dripped beautifully  from the ceiling. Along the walls were gritty, carnel images. A Lucian Freud-esque nude, an indecent obvious nudity with no photoshopping; a still from a faux-documentary film about mass murderers; a  fleshy provocative sex scene. The images seemed to watch me, or at least they kept drawing my eye to their uncomfortable scenes, breaking the fairy-tale fantasy of the umbrella ceiling.

When I enterered, it was a quite cafe-bar, a couple of scattered groups talking, drinking at the bar. Up the grey stairs, was a random poker table and locked doors.

Once midnight past, the club filled with more smoke fumes, couples sat sensuously together and the dance floor filled with people echoing the images on the walls. The music past from indie and vintage to more popular dance songs and at that point I left, so what happened next is left to the imagination.