My Cherry cherry popped!

by JACK OATMON

Nothing beats an unexpected, last-minute change of plans that leads to a skunk-drunk throwdown with an unlikely mix of friends. Especially when it happens in the disorienting ambience of a ram-packed club that none of you’ve ever been to before. With all good intention to go see NYC disco dude Eric D at Zoobizarre last Friday night, July 4, things took an early swerve toward the port for me when I received a phone call from local man of taste, Jonah’s Ear. He invited me to bring some tunes down to the seedy back room of Cherry nightclub, where he’d be DJing as well, and get freaky. Rarely one to pass up the chance to spin some fresh jams in an unexplored locale, I redirected my plans and pulled together a motley crew of pals with whom to mirthfully brave the privilege and pretense of the Old Port.

HAVE YOU HEARD? Jonah’s Ear

We found the joint at 417 St-Pierre, just off St-Paul, behind a doorway marked only by the gaggle of Dolce & Gabbana customers and the number 417. We giddily descended into the depths of the dim basement club. I can’t say it looked like too much fun for the pristinely preened folks out front who weren’t able to namedrop their way past the line-up and doormen, but such is the nature of the beast.

The first thing I registered is that it’s bigger and more packed than I had expected. The main area is a large, somewhat dingy room of maybe 1,200 square feet with low ceilings, a raised bar and numerous curtained alcoves for bottle service and other such indulgences. I was having a hell of a time figuring out where the alleged back room was until I ventured down a matte grey hallway behind the DJ booth toward the bathrooms. The bathrooms, by the way, are clean, well lit and feature potted plants and bins of fresh white towels to clean and dry your sweaty face, an immeasurable boon in a spot with no AC. At the end of the line, I heard telltale booms and clicks from around the corner, and stepped through a door into an entirely different reality. The hidden end is a kinked hallway full of crumbling holes in the plaster walls, graffiti and tiny private rooms featuring chandeliers and comfy modular furniture.

The contrast is pretty entertaining. The perks of this club are what makes it fun to be in, even if it’s outside your normal preferred demographic. As the party swells, sirens wail ear-piercingly loud and dozens of industrial stainless steel office fans blast air around, keeping the place breezy if not actually cool. The two-sided layout made it feel like we were alternating between a weird afterparty and a proper club, and it was easy to escape the relatively run-of-the-mill house beats out front for something meaner and spookier in back.

As long as you keep the safari mentality and remain lighthearted and adventurous, Cherry’s a good excuse to get down to the Old Port. The crowd seemed fun and openminded about the music, and there was no detectable aggro yeyo meathead vibe despite ample reason to expect it. It was a great spot and a fantastic night, all told. Just the kind of night that might end with you up getting totally soused and booted out of a closed public pool at 4 a.m. But that’s a whole other story.

BEST! SUMMER! EVER! jack.oatmon@gmail.com