What you won’t find in other coverage of Narratively’s launch party at Dumbo’s Powerhouse Arena on Wednesday night is that it had a whopper of a coat pile. As we know, a coat heap’s size speaks volumes about a party’s appeal: temperature, fashion sense, the size of the crowd and even its disposition. Lucky for us, a fraternal spirit prevailed, perhaps because clothing, as had been advertised, would be coming off.
1. Narratively’s Noah Rosenberg & This Guy 2. Miss Cherry Delight & The Miracle of Fire
With only five months under its belt, Narratively, founded by Noah Rosenberg, has lived up to its promise: one theme a week, one untold, under-the-radar local story, rendered in the aptest medium, a day—as they put it, “narratives that get at the heart of what a place is all about.” And so in celebration of its freshly-relaunched, vivid, sleek website, plus its expansion to cities beyond New York, plus a new platform for shorter content, Narratively hosted this here gathering, with Rhinestone Gorilla, the NYC burlesque troupe and former story-subject, as the evening’s main entertainment.
Turnout was no joke. Powerhouse was seriously crowded. In fact, I overheard someone say “I’ve never seen this place this full.” Nor I, homeboy. After a half hour of mingling, milling, of shedding outerwear and procuring beverages/cookies, the crowd made its way—slowly, in the manner of all squeezed migrations, with crosscurrents and logjams—to the main floor, where The Leisurely Wieners’ drum set was assembled facing the lone peopleless oasis, and gals in shiny costumes could be spotted picking their way through the throng.
1. Avian Rush shows lit some leg 2. Pearls Dailey brings back the go-go
What most impressed me was the sheer physical coordination, athleticism brought to bear on undressing. Do I take more photos or just watch and cheer, I wondered? In my enthusiasm, innovative permutations of skin and tassel were forever lost to posterity.
After a concluding go-go dance from stage kitten (clothes retriever) Pearls Dailey came to an undulate end, the festivities were poised to recommence. But fate was of another mind—multitudinous beyond the bounds of the Fire Marshall’s vested limits, the party was brought to an early close, urged to reconvene at reBar with that civilized sheepherding with which all event-goers are familiar. The guy I overheard before, I bet he felt vindicated.
—Garon Scott lives, writes and sleeps uneasily in Brooklyn.