Message in a Bottle:
A Review of Deep
by Tony Phillips
This venue’s new name belies management’s idea about your pockets. If “bottle service” isn’t in your vocabulary, stay home.
Forget about any warm fuzzies left behind by this space’s former incarnation Ohm. Manhattan’s surliest doorstaff is likely to leave half your party on the wrong side of the velvet rope, but the suit and tie crowd clogging the street on a recent Friday night didn’t seem to mind the Sophie’s Choice drama upon entrance and wallet trumping wardrobe.
If you make it past Checkpoint Charlie with your party intact, good luck finding somewhere to sit. Almost every inch this long, narrow railroad apartment of a club is filled with empty, cordoned off tables, while all access areas are ridiculously trafficked. And shame on the Lotus and Dorsia design team for both the muted Santa Fe palette — which lacks only tumbleweeds — and the cable suspended benches hanging like a lawsuit waiting to happen. The far end of the room holds a postage stamp dancefloor surrounded by dated, stretched white Lycra forms, all the better to box in the earsplitting acoustics. If you’ve made it this far, sprint the fifty-yard-dash to one of the neighborhoods more welcoming dance clubs.
The line outside shortens considerable if you make your intentions to drop a week’s pay on a bottle of swill known at the door.
When To Go
This club exhibits a much more relaxed vibe and better DJs when the gays roll in to take over Sunday nights.
Where to Sit
For want of a better name, The Harry Potter Room — a one-way mirrored VIP lounge through a door underneath the stairs to the second floor — is the only spot in the club where you won’t have to scream to be heard.