First Taste of Bedlam

I finally found The Bedlam Theatre after what could have been a grand tour of Minneapolis. Every few minutes another text message. I let them collect in groups of three before bothering to look. The words were smashed together thanks to her malfunctioning space key.

Havingtoreadtextmessageslikethisgetsannoying. With icy roads, spaceless texts, and being lost, I was officially “that” driver.

“20 minutes” was the greeting given by a burly bouncer as he once-overed at my driver’s license. That was more time than I needed or wanted. I was a man on a mission – drunk girl rescue.

I spotted her immediately. We give hugs and all that and she’s a hot mess. Not that I was judging, I was envious if anything. Though being sober amongst the tipsy masses is rarely a good time, the Bedlam was new to me, so I asked her to show me around. The first room was very dark with a full and energetic dance floor. The smoke machines were churning on all cylinders. One of the walls played canvas to all sorts of funky images rapidly flashing from a projector. On stage a small entourage of DJs stared into laptops. The music was danceable and unique – no ubiquitous top 40 radio to be heard.

She led me to the middle of the action and I give my best “sober guy who doesn’t feel like dancing” effort. I probably looked square but took comfort knowing I appeared to others as others appeared to me. We were all just gyrating silhouettes dancing in anonymity. She introduced me to several friends of hers. In the darkness and thick smoke we shook hands. I doubt we catch each other’s names. I doubt anybody minds.

The second room was better-lit, perhaps over-lit and only slightly less electric. My envy of those engaged in alcohol fueled dancing grew. I notice a set of stairs and felt I simply must lay eyes upon what could be up there. It was more of the hipsterish, studenty bunch lounging around on tables chatting. Two people were seriously PDA all over the place, almost begging folks to pay notice.

We went to retrieve my coat where I had placed it on a dark corner of the stage in the first room. There’s a strange man in a red shirt standing on stage where my coat used to be. I spot it on the floor and figure guy in red is responsible. I decide to let it go. I have a beautiful girl on my arm and want to beat the drunks out of the (free) parking lot.

Since I came straight from work, my car was packed with DJ equipment. After some serious rearrangement, and hip checking one of the rear doors shut, we were ready to jet. Over and over I was asked what I thought of the Bedlam. “Isn’t it the greatest!? Don’t you love it!?”

My taste of the Bedlam was a small one, but enough to make me want to return to experience it full on. It had great energy and the crowd felt easy to mingle with, unlike the “don’t talk to strangers” vibe at many uptown bars. The music was something fresh and seemed like you could be a regular and never hear the same set twice. The ambience was vibrant, welcoming and a great change of pace. Again, I wasn’t there long and any given night can have its own personality. I could be totally off in my quick assessment of what the joint is all about, but this was my personal experience with 20 minutes of Bedlam.