12/6/00

In Aragon did KBA
a smoky pleasure dome create:
Where Lawrence, the dirty street, ran
through condos and slums of man
down to a sunless lake.
On one square block of city land
a sumptuous 20's ballroom grand
And here were tents bright with matches lit
Where blossomed many a Camel brand...**

Wednesday, 12/5 - "come experience the pleasures of the Casbah" said the invitation to the Bartender's Ball. Ostensibly a gala for workers in the liquor industry, it was also an exercise in immersion advertising by R.J. Reynolds and KBA Marketing .

KBA's practices are a prime example of the Total Consumer Environment strategy of pushing product. They specialize in difficult target markets, worming brand names into areas where display ads and TV supposedly can't reach. "Supposedly" as it's unclear if covert strategies are necessary or effective. A large number of marketing employees are creative sorts who didn't expect to work in marketing. TCE is quite a playground for installation art, behavioral psychology, and conspiracy theory.

One area which requires subterfuge is tobacco. Smokers keep paying despite every lawsuit-driven price hike. Flush with ad dollars and throttled by regulations, cigarette companies are the de' Medicis for avant garde admen. They underwrite bands, bars, poets, art galleries and most recently hipster magazines.

The most notorious of these efforts was Sweater, a magazine aimed squarely at the rave/techno set. Sweater made a game play at being iconoclastic and underground, before the stench of corporate hackdom drove off the hip set and the possible underage audience shut it down. I do remember it ran a memorable nudie ad for so-called riot grrl makeup.

Then there was Projector, a activities calendar funded by pr interests (including Tobacco). It was written by one scenester with much editorial leeway. Projector's tiny idiosyncratic format and focus on fringe events almost made it a 'zine with corporate underwriting.

Smaller gambits aside, KBA's main focus is keeping the ampersand in smoking & drinking. In Chicago, Camel reigns triumphant in bars, due in large part to the hooch slingers being feted at the Aragon.

The Bartender's Ball was no mere thank you. Everything was designed for a post hypnotic Camel trance. It was like being in the court of a late decadent Roman emperor obsessed with brand identity. The Aragon's naturally opulent, Moorish-themed lobby was augmented by shadow dancers, banners, sculptures and computer projections combining middle eastern themes and the Camel logo. Tents offered massages, henna tattoos, tarot card reading and KBA employees hand rolling cigarettes with Camel Turkish Blend. Cigarette harem girls circulated through the crowd. Upstairs was a massive flow of free liquor, much of it poured by "rock star" bartenders, and a buffet of middle eastern cuisine, plus fire jugglers and neon-clad club dancers that resembled animated Ed Pashke paintings.

The Aragon is the biggest Chicago dance hall ever, costing 2 million dollars to build in 1926. It opened when Uptown was the prime nightlife district, and miraculously kept operating despite being near the center of the neighborhood's slide into poverty. The Aragon is a venue for big name rock shows, though the acoustics are pretty crappy for this purpose. Other nights it hosts Mexican wrestling.

The opulent interior has changed little over the years. This night lasers, lightshows and massive video projection screen turned it into the most vast dance club I've been in. And everything, including the spotlight patterns, featured the Camel logo or the slogan PLEASURE TO BURN in multiple fonts and language. It was like being inside the photo for a print ad - I expected to look up and see the face of some Maxim reader staring down through the ceiling. Like any print ad, the Surgeon General's warning was plastered everywhere. Even the fractal computer images projected on the walls featured the occasional twisting abstract saying WARNING: swirl CANCER swirl LOW BIRTHWEIGHT swirl swirl.

Though I knew few people, I recognized many of them. Like most specialized communities in Chicago, the liquor industry is a vapor neighborhood, with no physical boundaries but a specific set of residents. And like any neighborhood, it's surprising small for such a large city. In addition to actual industry types, the crowd included patrons and hangers on good enough to score a ticket.

I am not part of liquor business. I came to this thing with a someone I know through the poetry scene. We ran into a friend working as a cigarette girl, she asked "What the hell are you two doing here?" Wow, I thought, this really is an industry party. I responded that while we may not be insiders, we are poets, and poets turn up everywhere. Actually, a Camel rep had handed out a few passes at random at a bar one night.

At first my fellow poet wasn't going to go - he wasn't even sure what it was. Plus the first major cold snap was descending on the city. When I heard that it was in the Aragon ballroom with free liquor and Cheap Trick as the featured band, I agreed to drive.

We met up early, so I killed time stopping at an ATM. As we walked back to the car, we were a paraplegic panhandler raced across the parking lot screaming for change. Living in Uptown, handouts are pretty much a daily part of my life, but this solicitation method was a bit off-putting. We got in the car and he grabbed on to the side mirror continuing to yell for cash. Luckily he let go before I had to decide if I was going to have to drive with a beggar clinging to my car. Like the heat, the cold makes people crazy, but the proximity of death adds a level of desperation.

The line was huge even at the starting time, but wait in the cold was brief. Not that it would have mattered to us, who were unfashionably but warmly dressed. A homeless guy tried to work the line, but he was invisible to most.

Looks and stamina are two key elements for bar staffs and a good part of the Casbah crowd, male and female had the unique sensuality of the beautiful people and working class strength. The skill of looking good for tips was very evident, though when the lights got bright it was noticeable that late nights, smoke and alcohol had etched hard lines around all but the youngest. Another part of the crowd was more the burly saloon sort that has run the taps since Chicago was a trapping outpost.

Tired from recent surgery (and a bit flustered by the frequent display of cleavage, as he hadn't had sex in a year) my friend went home early. I stayed on for most of it. One thing that impressed me was how well behaved lines for drinks were - industry people really do know their manners.

This being Chicago, and it being basically a giant office party, people were slow to start dancing. Just at the point when the crowd might have moved folks from shop talk to booty shaking, Cheap Trick came on. The choice to have them perform until closing time deflated the festivities somewhat. The Casbah became a mere big Chicago rock club with two thirds of the audience ignoring the band. All props to the Trick, but they should accept they're a hits and nostalgia band now. The choice to play mostly obscure and recent material fell flat, although the lousy Aragon sound did not help.

The noise drove me out shortly before end time. First I walked to the Saxony, a bar and packaged goods (i.e. cheap liquor) store two doors down. Like the Aragon, the bar retains the fixtures of Uptown's golden age, but the patrons reflect more recent economic problems. Changes sweeping through the hood have not fully touched here, and the liquor commission may shut it down before it goes upscale. The dim lighting lent opulence to the decorations, but it didn't hid the plain clothing and the faces damaged by too much of alcohol and nicotine. None of the pretty folk streaming out of the Aragon stopped in to see the most dedicated users of what they push.

I strolled back to my car along Winthrop. All the residential buildings on opposite the Aragon have been demolished save one old three flat and a condominium still under construction. Small groups of men were gathered in the darkness next to the fenced off vacant lots, looking like they had nowhere to go. I noticed that a side exit to the ballroom was open and unguarded. I pointed it out to the men, and some went in for a few moments of warmth and free booze before closing.

It was bitterly cold as I walked from the car to my apartment. The type of cold where you can feel frost in your throat as you breathe in. Once inside I was confronted by a large, drunk, aggressive homeless guy camped out on the stairs. The lock on the front door is busted, and many of Uptown's crazier homeless are now aware of this. He didn't leave until the cops showed.

I had mixed feelings about this. I've worked for low-income housing advocacy groups, and I was calling cops to be safe in my own building.

The night had a strange edge. Here we are, partying in a time between some symbolic clichés (presidents, millenniums) perhaps between economic cycles. It is said that this will be the coldest winter in a while. Drink up the freebies, try to find an after hours party and remember - with pleasure to burn, there needs to be tinder.

**note to the confused - this is a reference to Kubla Khan.

All material copyright the authors, printed with permission.