The DNA Lounge
by j.charles @ textproductions
December sixteenth, two thousand and five. Cut chemist, Ohmega watts and Breakestra. Its dark and I’m wearing sunglasses as we make the final approach to the show. The presale line was a ten minute wait, door tickets were a thirty second wait. Apparently everyone else thought the show would sell out as well. After all, the DNA has been known to do so, and to be blessed with a show like this is worth a nice long stand.
The line to check in is conveniently separated from oncoming foot traffic with a moveable barrier; a space left open for patrons of the pizza place next door to come and go. Which is nice because the foot traffic on this stretch is fairly ridiculous. A simple “hi, my names J.charles” and a flash of the proper identification provided me with my drinkin’ bracelet and stamp. Right from this point I began to assume good things were upon us. Whereas damn near every club everywhere uses “i'm going to work next week with a black smudge on my wrist” ink, the dna Is courteous and foreword thinking enough to use black light sensitive ink. Invisible to your boss and your customers. (also your girlfriend, who thinks you’re at expression’ recording vocals.)
Admittedly excited was my mood upon penetrating the horizon from street to dark, and the club set up did nothing but deliver. The front hallway dumps your ass out at the back of the room as your eyes adjust and your ears sigh pleasurably. Spotlight fixtures on red walls bleed dim light upon the couches and tables along both walls under the balcony. A god sit lends itself nicely to fully appreciating the sound system; the bass rumbles your guts. Opposite the ridiculously elevated stage and across the amazing dancefloor is where the bars are conveniently located. Each floor showering party kids and parents alike with nectar from identical bars. Good times. Amstel Light and Pabst Blue Ribbon in the bottle; Sierra on tap are the beer highlights with a pretty standard bar and top shelf. The bartenders are actually reasonably staffed, and I never really noticed anyone waiting too long for a drink.
Rugged is the feel in here. With exposed ducting, water pipes and wiring tucked tastefully into the corners of the ceilings and up the stairs. The eye level stage is flanked congruently on each side with a diamond plated steel staircase, showing off proudly their I-beam supports. Both stairs lead up to the balcony level, which is home to such necessities as the coat check and the upstairs bar. Most of the space is velvet roped until the crowd’s size necessitates its use. Which is fine, because aint nothing worse than being the bartender upstairs while everyone is still “I wish I knew this was here before I stood in line” ing.
Upstairs is pretty unremarkable unless you’re a tech junkie such as myself. By that I mean this; the proprieteors of the DNA lounge were savvy enough to realize what most upstairs are utilized for, which is stage view. So, there is a convenient drink holder running the length of the railing, as well as angled wood resting counter for tired forearms. Not really too much Ikea in the upstairs, It’s definitely made for leaning up here. I recommend being tall.
Tell number two that this may just be a professional ass joint is the “pit”. Ideally located below upstairs and above downstairs, the sound booth looks out onto the stage flanked on both sides by the only speaker stack not on the dancefloor. This pit stretches the width of the floor, only several feet above the height of the stage, directly in the line of sound. Analog and digital devices eminate soft monitor light onto each one of the two techs, adding to the ambient and spotlight already appeasing me.
Everyone whose opinion I trust assured me that the DNA lounge had a good sound. I stood inside the hut for most of four hours and never once did any frequency interfere with another or offend my earhole. It sounds like a c.d. inside of the club. That said I have to admit that it was so loud that I got a headache from the ringing in my ears that night. It was worth it for damn sure, don’t get my words twisted. It's just a fair word of warning. I know earplugs really aren’t that cool but guess what, backpack kids? The next time textproductions visits the lounge, its gonna be with protection. That’s how dope the sound is.
As a journalist I tend to wander around a lot in clubs. I stare and look and process and tend to go everywhere. I highly recommend spending a few minutes in he smoking section outside of the DNA lounge due entirely to the fact that it’s damn funny. The first thing a smoker has to do to go outside is go back the way he came in and totally miss the sign saying use the other door. Once one had been instructed on the proper way to exit the building and does so, one finds the smoking section to be the street. No drinks beyond the bouncer. A bouncer with a Mohawk and fingerless leather gloves. Band members and gear arrive and depart through the early part of the evening, the red bull rav4 passes out drunken party favors. Later in the night folks actually start getting bounced, and people plead and beg to be let back in, which is an ideal environment for the inevitable next step of the evening, and that is the battle to create some sort of direction for the evening now that the music had stopped.
A backpack kid flawlessly turns a corner and disappears into the subtext…..