Lord of the Dance

It was a clash of club titans. Neil Thomas of the club Spundae was invited last week to an Armani Exchange party at the new Avalon, where Dave Dean is marketing director. Thomas and Dean hadn't spoken in nearly two years, not since Dean was ousted from a successful gig hosting his Giant parties at the Circus Disco. Thomas had since taken over the prime Saturday-night slot at Circus. And now Dean was at Avalon – formerly known as the Hollywood Palace, a historic but dingy venue that rattled and shook during raucous after-hours dance parties. It is now a jewel of the nightlife resurgence around Hollywood and Vine. So Thomas wanted to see what all the fuss was about. Until he was spotted by Dean and summarily shown the door.

“I was blown away,” says Thomas. “I was like, ‘Oh, well, there's no love lost.'” Welcome to modern clubbing, Los Angeles-style.

It's testament to the evolution of L.A. nightlife that we even have such rivalries. For decades, the city was a backwater town when it came to serious dance-music venues. While New York, London, and Miami had glamorous, palatial spaces built for sweating to sweltering sound, smaller entertainment-industry-obsessed hideaways almost always held sway in this starstruck city. Club and DJ rivalries, such as a now-healed rift between Danny Tenaglia and Junior Vasquez, kept Gotham gossip columnists busy, but here it was actors and actresses rubbing shoulders. Now Hollywood is home to two “super-club” nights on Saturdays: Dean's Giant at Avalon and Thomas's two-year-strong Spundae at Circus. Avalon opened last month and has already swept clubland off its feet. The venue – sister to Avalons in Boston and New York – represents a much-needed infusion of newness and quality for local nightlife. And it has helped to put Dean – who pioneered the super-club concept for Los Angeles – back in the driver's seat as the king of L.A.'s dance-club land.

“I guess I've been doing this for so long, I feel whole again,” says Dean. “It has nothing to do with who wins or loses as much as that I'm happy doing what I'm doing.”

“The investors who have come in to transform Avalon and bring a whole different level of entertainment to Hollywood have raised the bar,” says Kerry Morrison, executive director of the Hollywood Entertainment District, a business-improvement zone that spans the center stretch of Hollywood Boulevard. “Certainly they're attracting higher-quality crowds.”

Avalon officially opened on Saturday, October 4, to massive crowds. Fire inspectors unhappy with clubbers spilling onto Vine Street came at least twice. A Los Angeles police helicopter hovered overhead, its “day-sun” spotlight beaming on the roiling humanity. Even Avalon co-owner John Lyons had a hard time getting in. A woman in his entourage was taken as an imposter when she pleaded with a doorman, saying she had Lyons in tow. Lyons himself approached and told the doorman he was boss. The doorman, unimpressed, said, Lyons isn't here, and I haven't seen him all night. “I am John Lyons!” Another doorman recognized Lyons and pulled him to safety. “We had a little bit of a challenge going into it,” Lyons said later.

U.K. superstar DJ Paul Oakenfold gave the near-$1 million EAW Avalon Series sound system a workout and proved why it's the best L.A.'s ever seen. Bass bombarded the dance floor like a ground assault, sending bursts of air into the crowd. The low frequencies were thick but well behaved, and the highs were crisp but not too sharp. The result was sound you could feel, but not noise that hurt.

Sound is the club's greatest asset. The set-up is split between separate live-music and dance systems that can be switched to suit the occasion. Mid- and high-frequency loudspeakers hang above the dance floor, bass bins line the ground, and a $100,000 Midas mixing console is at the heart of the deal. Acoustic work was done inside the towering theater, taming what was once a notorious echo chamber of sound. Four intelligent digital projectors – tens of thousands of dollars' worth – can put moving images anywhere in the main room. And three huge trusses of lights move up and down, and side to side, as the music roars. “I got pretty much everything I asked for,” says lighting designer Joel Huxtable. “You'll be completely immersed in light and sound.”

“In the rest of the world, there's plenty of places with good sound, and it's quite competitive,” says Lyons, who helped design the EAW Avalon Series system, which is found in clubs around the globe. Indeed, Avalon Hollywood makes L.A. dance venues look and sound downright cheap by comparison. Other spots feature bargain-basement speakers that rattle, buzz, and send patrons home with ringing in their ears.

“The sound system was fantastic,” says clubgoer Jeff Ho, after begrudgingly spending a few hours looking for parking and waiting in line on opening night. “You could feel the bass and vibration hit deep into you. As pounding as the sound was, you could still hold a conversation with someone next to you and not have to yell.”

The only thing close to Avalon's system is that of rival Circus, which boasts the same set-up. In fact, the two clubs are shaping up as big competitors on many levels. Thomas is now a partner in Spundae Worldwide, which hosts super-club nights in Chicago, Houston, and Las Vegas, as well as in L.A. and San Francisco. The promotion crew often brings U.K. superstar DJs to play at several of its venues in a week's time, saving cash and often monopolizing their U.S. performances. Spundae started in San Francisco in 1993, a year after Dean opened his own Bay Area venue, Sound Factory.

Meanwhile, Avalon's Lyons and Steve Adelman also head up partnerships that include Avalon venues in Boston and New York. Lyons and Adelman plan to open yet another club in Las Vegas as well, according to Adelman. It's unclear if they plan to pursue Spundae's style of exclusive booking. But, already, artists loyal to each side have told CityBeat they're afraid to play at the rival venue for fear of losing gigs.

U.K. DJ Danny Howells says he plays at Giant exclusively, however, because he prefers it. “I have no need to play elsewhere in Los Angeles,” he says. “They've been spot-on all the way.”

Avalon will also be home to major live acts – Liz Phair, Lisa Marie Presley, and Spiritualized have already played there – thanks to an exclusive agreement with Clear Channel, the world's largest radio conglomerate and a concert booker to boot. Thomas, like a few other prominent voices in the scene, criticizes Avalon for booking live acts early and then doing dance music later. “The nightclub aspect is a secondary thing,” he says.

Critics have also said the venue's makeover from its days as the well-worn Palace resulted in little more than fresh paint, new carpet, and a nice sound system. But owners point to such changes as a two-story crash pad at the side of the stage, complete with its own shower, bar, and JL-monogrammed tile. It was once Jerry Lewis's dressing room, but now it's called the Townhouse. The Spider Club in the back is a separate, intimate venue aimed at the studio elite.

The club is “going to take another month and a half to finish,” says Adelman. “There's a lot of work we're still doing in there.”

The venue opened in 1927 as the Hollywood Playhouse, but by the Great Depression it was being run as the New Deal-era Federal Theater. The space returned to form between the '40s and the '60s, as home to radio and television productions and live events. After The Merv Griffin Show moved on from the theater in the mid-'70s, it went dark until reopening as the Palace in 1982. It was a hotspot for live shows and dance-club nights and was no stranger to celebs such as Madonna. It heralded the New Wave British invasion and, in the '90s, it was host to the superstar DJ explosion. Sasha and John Digweed, Sven Vath, and Frankie Knuckles all spun records there. But, increasingly, the space was seen as rundown, while its clientele seemed to be getting younger and more drugged-out. After-hours parties went well into the next morning, and young people crashed on the floor. “We'd have problems from time to time with the younger crowds,” says Morrison of the Hollywood Entertainment District. “It wasn't a nightclub of excellence.”

Two years ago, Lyons, 47, and Adelman, 40, began looking for a venue in L.A. Lyons started his nightlife career not far from 1735 N. Vine St. At age 14, he worked as a bar back at a nearby Hamburger Hamlet. Later, he entered a training program at American Avents Corp. and ended up managing several of the corporation's East Coast clubs and properties. Today, the Lyons Group, a company he runs with his brother, operates 18 clubs and restaurants and does more than $40 million a year in sales. Welcome to corporate clubbing. Partner Adelman started his club career as director of the newly opened Roxy in New York in 1990 and soon hooked up with controversial club owner Peter Gatien, for whom he directed Manhattan's Limelight, Palladium, USA, and Tunnel clubs (erstwhile home of the notorious “club kids” of Party Monster fame). The venues heralded a new era of Gotham clubbing and a new generation of superstar DJs such as Tenaglia and Vasquez. Adelman's bio also claims the venues grossed more than $80 million during his mid-'90s five-year tenure.

Adelman joined Lyons's company, and helped remodel Avalon Boston in 1999, reopen the Limelight in New York as Avalon in September, and convince the owner of the Palace to give it up for a 30-year lease. The duo, with the help of such investors as actor and House of Blues cofounder Dan Aykroyd, reportedly spent $6 million on renovations in New York and Los Angeles. In L.A., the space went dark for a few months during the overhaul.

“The big question that was answered for me was, would the people in L.A. embrace a big-room nightclub,” Adelman says, “and it's an overwhelming yes.”

Recent nights have seen Aykroyd hanging around, checking out his investment, not to mention sightings of Gina Gershon, Carmen Electra, Mena Suvari, and Jack Osbourne. The owners were concerned whether Hollywood stars would accept the invitation to mingle in a 1,400-capacity venue, as old Hollywood once did. Now they hope their investment in a dazzling sound system will bring back the big performers.

“When you hear new music through an amazing sound system and with a light show and people surrounding you, you create an experience,” Lyons says. “That's how I got dialed into sound. I realized it was important to the artists and customers. If it's done right, they support you for it. You want the artist to come in and say ‘This is great,' 'cause when they go to another venue, they're going to miss your venue.”

Dean and rival Thomas aren't typical must-follow Hollywood promoters like Brent Bolthouse, who hosts a hip-hop night at Avalon on Fridays. In any other city, they would be titans because, simply put, they get thousands of bodies to move their bootys each weekend. As Hollywood gets hipper to electronic music, however, the cache of serious dance clubs is rising. Dean has worked demographic alchemy by fostering a loyal, well-heeled, and havin'-it crowd that includes all walks, especially young Hollywood.

And – unlike many venues that spend lots of cash on decor and then let any Joe with a crowd take over a night (imagine a restaurateur allowing a fry cook to run the kitchen because he can bring in more customers) – Avalon hired Dean in-house for what promises to be a long-term relationship. “We don't outsource our business,” says Adelman. “What other owners do is, they open up their club and say, ‘Now what do I do?' We know exactly what we want to do, and then we find a team of people to do it.”

Dean's a perennial club-head and self-described “accidental promoter” whose bio states he started out in the seminal year of 1988 directing London's Limelight club and booking the likes of soon-to-be superstar DJ Oakenfold. A dance-music tour stop in San Francisco opened his eyes to the potential for post-rave culture on the West Coast, and in 1992 he opened the San Francisco Sound Factory to favorable reviews. The venue was praised for its big-room expanse and New York-style club nights at a time when L.A. was still raving in raw warehouses. After selling the venue in 1998, Dean moved to L.A. and planned his next attack.

Giant opened at Gene La Pietra's Circus Disco on Santa Monica Boulevard in January 2000, and once again the response was fanatical. Dean didn't invent the DJ-as-rock-star, but he certainly opened L.A.'s eyes to the phenomenon. Fans filled a parking lot and lined up along the street to see the likes of U.K. DJ Carl Cox spin in the custom-designed, floor-side DJ booth. One winter night, Dean's own mother waited in his Chevrolet Suburban because the place was so packed, fire inspectors wouldn't let even her inside. Soon, Dean inspired La Pietra to upgrade to an EAW Avalon Series sound system. On April 22, 2001, Dean has said, he was pushed out over money. He was escorted from the club. Thomas and Spundae's principals – who claimed to be partners in Giant but whom Dean has said were not – took over and renamed the ‰ night Spundae. Thomas claimed Dean owed him back pay and bonuses. Dean, meanwhile, is suing La Pietra over the deal-gone-sour. That spring, Dean tried to find a suitable home for Giant. But soon the brand was used mainly for occasional one-offs, “live mix” DJ compilations, and overseas events in Tokyo and Ibiza, Spain. The Giant crowd was amazingly loyal and resilient, however, and when Lyons and Adelman came calling, Dean was ready to fill their new venue to the brim with a sharp-dressed clientele.

“Dave Dean was doing Giant at Circus, and I noticed in their ad in the LA Weekly that one of the things they were touting was the Avalon Series sound system,” Lyons says. “I thought, ‘Well, they're on the right track.' We were coming to town, and we met with Dave, and he sounded like a sensible guy with an understanding of the music and the scene. We're likeminded in many ways. We thought it would be good to have someone from the L.A. market who understood our philosophy. It's a good fit.”

“He has his [finger on the] pulse on the dance scene in L.A.,” adds Adelman. “He's the best guy in Los Angeles, no doubt about it.”

Rival Thomas begs to differ, and, after being kicked out last week, he seems ready for war. Already, the two-club-town nature of L.A. has led to higher DJ fees and a tough choice for dance-music fans. (One recent night pitted techno star Richie Hawtin at Spundae against British live act Hybrid at Avalon.) “This is a rivalry,” says Thomas, a Brit who once owned Santa Monica's Global Grooves record store and started promoting DJ events at downtown's Mayan Theater in the late '90s.

“We book talent on a national basis, and we have done so for a long period of time,” Thomas says of Spundae's far-flung dance nights. “We're the only national club brand. They've come into town thinking … I don't understand why they're doing a DJ-driven night. We're controlling the bookings. We offer a platform for the artists to reach a larger audience. We're working on some major deals that are going to put us in a realm of undoubtedly being the No. 1 promotion company in the U.S.”

Meanwhile, Circus owner La Pietra has had his own run-ins with 1735 N. Vine St. After booting Dean in 2001, La Pietra continued a New Year's Eve tradition that started under Giant branding in 2000. La Pietra's 2001 event closed down several blocks of Hollywood Boulevard for an outdoor party, much to the dismay of several club and business owners in the area. The next year, when he applied for a permit to do another of his “Center of the Universe” benefit parties, he was surprised to find that an organization had applied to hold an event the same night. It was the Coalition for Hollywood – a group of angry Hollywood Boulevard business people – and their leader was Joel Fisher, then-publicist for the Palace. The business people wanted a short parade that would essentially block La Pietra's nightlong party. They weren't only mad about the festivities that would shut down traffic and the potential flow of business, they were mad at La Pietra for bad-mouthing the community during his failed campaign for Hollywood secession. He often described the area as a crime-ridden trash heap at a time when business owners were investing in a turnaround led by nightlife. The police commission denied La Pietra's permit.

Not long after, in December 2002, U.S. Drug Enforcement Administration agents, Alcohol Beverage Control investigators, and L.A. police raided Spundae, and authorities claimed to have seized 10,000 ecstasy pills. Five people were arrested, including two Circus employees. La Pietra argued vehemently that the raid was payback for his bashing of the city during the secession campaign. He has asked why no charges against him or his club have been brought. (La Pietra did not return CityBeat's calls.)

Still, the lesson has not been lost on Avalon, which clearly aims to corral an older, more mature, and less-ecstatic crowd, to say the least. For one, Giant's music policy seems to eschew the popular, drug-taking soundtrack of trance in favor of slower, funkier, house-based rhythms. (Deep Dish, Steve Lawler, and Danny Howells have been guests, and all play deep, tribal, and progressive sounds.) “House is making a big comeback with people educated on trance,” Dean says. “What we're doing now is more appropriate for where the market is going.”