Fabrice's rehashing 'Volare' while cramping Versace

Fabrice's rehashing 'Volare' while cramping Versace

By Dini S. Djalal

Jakarta (JP): It has survived a fire and cut-throat
competition. On Wednesday, Fabrice's World Music Bar celebrated
its first anniversary with thousands of guests.

Yet, despite the suffocating crowd and deafening music, it all
felt old.

When Fabrice's first opened, guests queued to salsa every
night away. M-Club wasn't around, and neither were Planet
Hollywood, Zanzibar, Chequers Bar at the Mandarin or Kartika
Plaza's Jungle Pub. Jakarta's nightlife was limited to the
hedonistic halls of Tanamur Discotheque, the plush expanse of
Hotel Borobudur's Music Room, and the off-beat glamour of Cafe
Batavia and B-1 at Niaga Tower.

Fabrice's opening was a star-studded affair of Jakarta's
moneyed elite. With champagne flowing through the earthen-colored
interiors, guests went wild over the Gypsy-Kings cover band. A
great time was had by all, and Jakartans were enthusiastic for
the city's new hot spot, shelling-out the steep cover charge of
Rp 25,000 (US$11) on weekends.

A month later, the same band was still belting-out "Bambaleo".
The crowd drifted to more novel pastures. When the accompanying
restaurant, Barbacoa, burned to the ground, people expected the
bar to close as well. Fabrice's re-opened after minor
renovations, retrieved the Gypsy-Kings-wanna-bes Matador, and
hoped for the return of the good old days. People still came
through the doors, but Fabrice fever had gone frosty.

Judging by the crowd at the anniversary party, the frost
hasn't melted. Like many Jakarta clubs, Fabrice has been
yuppified, with many of the clientele coming straight from the
office. A few celebrities elbowed their way through the mob, but
many starlets stayed away, as did much of the expat community.

Perhaps class distinctions lay behind the no-shows. Some
haughty acquaintances remarked, "You don't run into your friends
here anymore. Instead you run into orang biasa (commoners)." As
prejudiced as that is, every Jakartan nightclub manager's biggest
nightmare is preventing their club from becoming a sleaze-pit.

Ironically, however, Wednesday night all class differences
vanished. The club's owner, tycoon Sudwikatmono, boogied on the
dance floor with his wife and a group of prominent friends,
surrounded by trendy youngsters.

Much to the irritation of those packed everywhere else in the
club, the dance floor remained empty until Matador came on. The
previous band, Kilimanjaro from Tanzania, had alienated the
audience with their outlandish African outfits. A shame
considering that they're a great band that even play their own
music.

The congestion killed the evening. As I stood crammed between
the bar and a pack of drunk yuppies, claustrophobia threatened to
overwhelm. It is reckless to fit so many people into an enclosed
space with only one exit: What happened to fire regulations? The
management may have wanted to cause a commotion, but if anything
were to occur -- a blown fuse, a fight or an air conditioning
failure -- the commotion would have turned into a riot.

Too bad the fashion show wasn't a riot. The invitation said
the evening would start at 8 p.m. At 10 p.m. there was still no
sign of the Versace show we had gathered for. When the models
finally strutted on stage, it was near midnight and the show
lasted about ten minutes. What was the point?

Exhibit

The invitation promised an exhibit of Versace's three
diffusion lines: Versace Jeans Couture, trendy Versus and more
conservative Istante. Versace's technicolor opulence mixed well
with Fabrice's ornate decorations. Here was a fiery match.

The clothes were pure Versace. Like a roam through a citrus
grove, his attire exudes colorful cheer. They scream glamour.

Second-skin stretch jeans in pinks and purples were paired
with boldly-printed satin shirts tied at the waist Marylin Monroe
style. A male model swaggered in a glittering mint shirt with a
green and yellow polka-dot tie and striped trousers. Casual wear
meant patterned waistcoats atop patterned shirts atop patterned
jeans.

To some, Versace may be the embodiment of tackiness. Others
reply that there is often structure to chaos and beauty in the
grotesque.

As if to prove that he is not just glitter and garishness,
Versace also heeded current fashion directions and designed
subdued, secretary-style suits. Wearing Versace to the office,
however, is akin to wearing black velvet on the tennis court. A
canary-yellow mini is teamed with a shrunken red-checked jacket.
A satin shirt in mint is tucked under a pleated luminous knee-
length skirt. Suits came in peachy pink or vivid purple. Want to
get your boss' attention? Wear Versace.

Surprisingly, the evening wear was dull -- all black dresses
bearing none of the Versace signature gold buttons or suspenders.
Maybe Versace wanted to show that he can design "boring" as well
as the rest of them. Versace's notion of "boring", however, ends
with an exclamation point. Witness the candy-colored shapeless
satin coats accompanied by matching dainty bags. Great colors,
and the boxy silhouette suits Jakartan Madames with not-so-
perfect figures -- probably the only people willing to dispense
millions of rupiah for a raincoat.

The highlight was the threesome of dominatrix striding the
stage in black patent leather. Tight jackets were worn with short
skirts and short shorts: Like Elvis said, "Nice fabric, you
should get more of the material and make a skirt out of it." If
Versace was a soap opera, it would be "The Bold and the
Beautiful".

The show was short-lived, however, and the entertainment
returned to yet another rendition of "Volare". The song may be
popular, but not even die-hard fans will stick around for the
hundredth rehash. The real Gypsy Kings have come and gone in
Jakarta. If Fabrice wants to keep its audience, it shouldn't
follow their trail but blaze its own path.