Club Hopping
Nomadic Pop Life May Be Headed for the Afterlife at Post

They “were being turned away in droves,” according to an older, sympathetic regular.

The return of Pop Life.
Photos by Elyse Wanshel

By Elyse Wanshel

It’s out with the old and in with the tired, as Post nightclub in Miami swaps valet for possible parking tickets and Pop Life, an underground music party with numerous previous locations, squeezes its way into its new home.

A year ago, Post had quickly disenchanted some with its seemingly posh environment. Back then it only offered two possibilities for parking. You’re first option was to take a space in the empty lot of a neighboring private business plastered with “Tow-Away Zone” signs. The second was valet, which is fine if you’re part of the single 30-to-50-year-old-Money-Bags-McGee sect the club was formerly trying to attract. Though if you’re driving a VW Golf with a sticker of a giant eyeball on your gas gauge and a sticky shift, forking out 15 bucks to a comical attendant with a thick French accent just to park six feet away in the club’s small lot isn’t exactly how to start the night.

Pop Life’s Jan. 6 relocation to Post, with a Myspace.com declaration of “plenty of parking” available, started off dismally with the club’s lot and side-streets coned-off. Luckily for attendees, there were a handful of metered spots and arrival before midnight waived the $10 entrance fee.

Parking wasn’t the only problem with the event’s newest locale. Contrary to what was printed on Pop Life’s fliers and the one-nighter’s history of welcoming patrons just old enough to vote and buy porn, Pop Lifers between 18 and 20 discovered a uniformed officer at the velvet roped entrance rather than the event’s customary indie hostess. They “were being turned away in droves,” according to an older, sympathetic regular, which leads one to suspect their sudden denial was linked with their inability to purchase alcohol.

Post, located at 1777 NE Third Ave., looked exactly as it had before, minimal and chic, with a central bar, and seating areas that lined white walls, occasionally licked with color from shifting overhead lights. The bathroom was like a closet and someone felt the need to cram a Miami club fixture into the six-by-four-foot sink space: a large, unfriendly bathroom attendant who expects wads of cash for handing out paper towels.

The only adjustment to Post’s former environment was the fashion. Bartenders opted for chunky waist belts rather than their former uniforms of ab-bearing blouses, and in place of Manolo Blahniks scuffing the floor were black Chuck All-Stars.

The superficial aside, most people come to an event like Pop Life to find out about new and less attainable music, and sadly, the indie couture prevalent in the club was more updated than the tunes being played there.

Tunes like Clap Your Hands Say Yeah’s “The Skin of My Yellow Country Teeth” were pumped. It’s a great underground staple, but was released over a year ago. With the resurgence of independent music, thanks to the likes of the Internet, clever television placement in shows like Grey’s Anatomy, and appearances by Jenny Lewis and the Twilight Singers on Late Night with Conan O’Brien and Jimmy Kimmel Live, different artists are busting out new albums every month, making the spinning of old songs dissatisfying and lazy. Song requests might’ve been in order, but the musical dictators’ bumpy sets would stop mid-song and they seemed more preoccupied with getting drinks and greeting friends. Sometimes leaving the booth completely barren, rather than igniting a musical utopia.

Another musical disadvantage at Post: Underground music spans from electronic, to hip-hop, to rock, which Pop Life’s former venues with multiple themed rooms, patios, and courtyards such as The District and I/O were able to showcase fully. Now, in one large space, every hipster can look forward to 10-minute-long obscure electric sprawls, which for a rock fan, is one step above sitting through an episode of American Idol.

With its once shiny elasticity now dulled, the nomadic Pop Life less resembles its hot-air heydays at I/O Lounge and looks more like an old birthday balloon, withered, empty and in desperate need of what its own name mandates: life. “Consensus: lame,” said the aforementioned regular, “if they don’t move it, or make changes, Pop Life is done.”

Doors open at 11 p.m.

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