Silk City Dancing: Thoughts about the Philadelphia Based Club

Silk City, the club not the diner, was known around Philadelphia for its face-off dance nights. The Stones vs. The Beatles. Bowie vs. Prince. Michael Jackson vs. Madonna. The young and the old came out to relentlessly represent their favorite musical genius. Unexpectedly the crowd could turn hostile in a moment of David Bowie passion and fury.

Silk began a new trend of combining Michael and Madonna with Prince, and the result hardly disappointed. Packed and overflowing on a hot August night, Silk City turned into a sweat-fest around midnight as men, women and others that could not honestly be defined as either, shook and flailed about on the dance floor, throwing all pride and vanity to the wind. Friends' faces morphed into strange contortions, smiles took up too much space, eyes appeared frighteningly large and wide. The overly exuberant heads bobbled up and down to the beat while shoulders shuddered with uncontrollable fervor to "I'm bad. I'm bad. You know it." On the floor a mass of Chuck Taylor's kicked and jumped, toes pointed, knees now too close together, now too far apart. It brought to mind an image of an intoxicated Inspector Gadget inspired to boogie by the ultimate pop stars of the century.

Sitting along the benches and chairs surrounding the dance floor, spectators watched the unassuming performers with something that looked like confusion, disgust or jealousy outlined on their faces. Most of them be-bopped along with the music as well, shaking the top half of their bodies, secretly wanting to get up and get lost in the swarming crowd in front of them.

Across from the bar, a group of gay men performed old dance routines from their high school days, competing against each other without caring who won in the end. They tried to make something up together but only ended up laughing hysterically and stumbling over each other instead. Their days of dance routines had since passed, yet Michael, Madonna and Prince, when combined, seemed to bring out hidden ghosts and goblins.

Leaving the club actually made the 97 degrees plus 50% humidity feel pleasant. Sticky clothes and soaked hair proved that the night was a complete success as did the breathless, aching bodies going home to an undoubtedly restful night. And still no one knew who won...until next time...

Yet now that Silk City, the club not the diner, has closed its doors, Philadelphia searches for a new dance-off venue to crown the rightful king or queen. Will we ever have the chance to support our favorite pop idols again?