Rest In Peace, Roxy

A line HAD already snaked down the sidewalk when the doors opened at 10 p.m. We fidgeted and joked, but we all knew it was coming. The rumors have been swirling for years. And, honestly, many of us are ready for it to go. But despite the mixed feelings about the clubs closing, the boys (and select women) flocked to the Roxy this past Saturday for the final night of decadence and dancing at the legendary Chelsea institution. We were all there for the same reason: to pay our respects and take one last spin on the hallowed dance floor before the disco ball gave way to the wrecking ball.

Inside, the feeling was more celebratory than somber as the bodies continued to pour in. With 4,000-plus revelers packing the club throughout the evening, the place heated up and steamed like a sauna. Shirtless men with inflated pecs and rock-solid abs squeezed past one another onto the former roller rink-turned-dance floor. Water bottles in back pockets. Baseball caps and muscle-Ts. A sea of people. Everyone ready to dance.

Nightlife is a volatile industry, especially in zoning-challenged Manhattan where the shelf life of a new venue can be shorter than the time it takes to navigate the city’s onerous permit approval process. The Roxy, however, has been an anomaly: a resilient monolith that soldiered on in various incarnations ever since its doors first opened in 1979. But sprawling redevelopment has engulfed much of the neighboring land on West 18th Street in recent years, and Roxy’s prime location directly below the soon-to-be renovated High Line made the former truck warehouse an irresistible target. So after years of resistance, owner Gene DiNino finally surrendered.

Other than its reputation as the patriarch of New York City’s gay nightlife for the past 17 years, the Roxy leaves behind a vast legacy of cultural and musical influence that spanned four decades. After the disco craze and Xanadu-era ended, the space was revamped in 1982 by Pat Fuji and transformed into a dance club. Initially attracting an ethnically diverse (and primarily straight) clientele, the Roxy soon became a haven for aspiring rappers, DJs and breakdancers from around the country—including a young DJ and producer from the Bronx named Afrika Bambaataa. The “godfather of hip-hop,” as Bambaataa would eventually become known, helped pioneer this new movement with his electro-funk sound, while his residency at the club was immortalized in the 1984 film Beat Street.

Although the Chelsea Boy clone image has dominated for the last decade or so—and the music seems to have gotten progressively harder and less melodic—the vibe at the Roxy in the early ’90s was much different. With Larry Tee at the helm, the freshly christened gay nightclub became a melting pot of trannies, gym bunnies and everything in between who all turned out weekly for nocturnal escapes into a circus-like fantasy world.

Veteran clubber and DJ Billy Carroll held a residency at the club during this whimsical period and, like so many other artists who’ve played there, says it opened a lot of doors for him professionally. But it wasn’t his time in the Roxy booth that stands out in his mind. “My fondest memories are of being a patron,” he recalls. Referring to a promoter he says, “The Lee Chappell years were a freak show. But in a very fun way. I’ve never experienced anything like it since.”

So a proper sendoff was essential to mark the end of this extraordinary and prolific era of nightlife. The night began with resident DJ James Andersen spinning an inspired mix of Roxy classics that built in energy as the dance floor filled with young and (not ready to be) old. By the time Offer Nissim took over the decks around one in the morning, the club was bursting at the seems.

Junior Vasquez may not have spent much time at the Roxy beyond the handful of special events he’s thrown there in recent years, but as one of New York’s most famous and influential DJs who’s helped shape the city’s nightlife over the past two decades, he does appreciate its historical significance. He’s also curious to see how the club’s closure will affect the scene. “Change will be good because it opens doors for new DJs, new talent, new production and new music styles,” he explains. “I hear a lot of people say, ‘Where will the Roxy [crowd] go?’ I’m more eager to see where the 21-year-olds will go.”

At 5 a.m., with no signs of waning, the party shifted gears again when Peter Rauhofer, the club’s resident DJ off-and-on for several years, took over with Donna Summer’s “Last Dance.” It was followed by a flawless mix of vocal-heavy classics like Tina Ann’s “Don’t Want Another Man,” Madonna’s “Beautiful Stranger,” Pete Heller’s “Big Love” and Junior Vasquez’s “Get Your Hands Off My Man.” If you didn’t know better, you’d swear you were reliving those fave ’90s years when Victor Calderone (resident DJ at the club from 1997-2001) was on the decks.

Calderone and Rauhofer both manned the turntables during Madonna’s appearances onstage at the club—first performing songs from her Ray of Light album in 1998 and later in 2005 to promote her Confessions on a Dance Floor—so it was fitting that Rauhofer chose Madonna for the last song. After teasing the crowd with Lisa Stansfield’s “I’m Leaving” and an encore of “Last Dance,” the ballad “This Used To Be My Playground” brought tears to many in the emotionally-charged room.

For most, the passing of an iconic refuge like the Roxy is bittersweet. After a long and memorable reign, the club’s physical structure may be gone in a few weeks, but the music, the memories and the legend will live on forever.