Club 77

Club 77
Like a scene from Party Monster every Saturday night.
Well it once was.
For a first-timer maybe it still is.
But it has changed, only slightly though.

It once was a place for the minority of kids who liked listening to hours of electro in the bat cave like den reaching temperatures that could easily challenge those of a steaming sauna. Drugs and dancing were the only things that mattered on a Saturday night. The clothes worn by the regulars happened to be the best that Salvos could offer, but no one gave a damn, except those who wouldn’t dare venture down those red stairs. Mind you that was most of Sydney’s clubbing youth. Girls who went to your school would laugh if you mentioned you spent almost every Saturday night at “Club 77”, and if you were a guy the words fag would most likely be thrown your way.
But we didn’t give a damn.

Although it has slightly changed, the vibe that Macaulay Calkin portrays so well still enchants the club. The kids who run the night (although not kids by age) are “living the dream” of the underground lifestyle, and have been doing so at Club 77 for the past three years.
Enjoying the hallucinations of three day acid trips is no strange experience to them.
Whilst the more expensive entertainment option of a fine white powder is the ideal premium preference, the young boys and girls who pay the ten dollar fee to experience the scene generally don’t have the option and spend their last dollars on little white pills.

If 77 is your club of choice it is more than presumed that drugs are a key part in your night’s entertainment. And for most it is.
The deejays, in particular one, are adored by the young crowd, with their biggest fans wanting to emulate every aspect of their lives. And some try their very best.

I did, sort of. Making a “fan” tee shirt is as far as I went.

When it started three years ago it was never like it is now. Leaving the club around 3.30am satisfied you smelt like cigarettes and sweat.
Your mind wanting to stay whilst your body drags you out the door. Ears ringing as you lay in bed, unshowered, partially dressed, with the beats still playing in your head, smiling as you fall asleep from pure exhaustion.
And that was the perfect night.

Not to mention, the occasional Tuesday night where the club’s reputation has brought the world’s best deejays to the spot for free. MSTRKRFT and DJ AM proved that deejaying is truly an art form. And this was just a bonus.

Like a scene from Party Monster every Saturday night.
In many ways it still is.
It’s attitude.
It’s reputation.
The music.
And the original kids, just living the William Street lifestyle.

By Amy McKinnon 17/07/2009