Author: Purple Wyrm

My social life has been stupidly busy lately. Well, stupidly busy for me which probably means it’s getting close to what a normal person would regard as the bare minimum of social activity to stop them passing into a coma. In any case I’ve been doing so much that I haven’t had the time to blog about any of it – a situation I plan to partially rectify by writing about my Thursday night, when I attended my good friend Katie’s birthday do at DeVille’s Pad.

DeVille’s Pad is a place I’ve been meaning to check out (in a vague and unfocused way) ever since it opened up in the old Polygon nightclub next to McIver railway station. It’s a bar/nightclub that attempts to combine a chic, somewhat kitsch 1950s tiki-bar style with a devil and hell theme – a synthesis that they actually manage to pull off quite well.

(The same people operate a smaller 1950s style tiki-bar near the cathedral, so they’ve had practise)

The interior is done up to look like someone transplanted a Vegas hotel from the 1950’s into a cave. The walls curve around into interesting organic shapes, there’s stalactites and wrought iron all over the place and a stage and a dance floor.  Ah! Here’s a convenient panorama that gives some idea. The place is very cool, frankly I’m astonished they let me through the door.

Katie had invited about 25 of her friends, very few of whom I’d met before so I basically just found somewhere comfortable to sit back and enjoy the show. And a show there was, as (it turns out) Thusday nights are Karaoke at DeVille’s!

The performances had their high points and low points. There was one woman in particular who – “performed” is probably the best word as “sang” would be entirely inaccurate – a number of songs in an off key bawl that could have cut metal. The guy hosting the show on the other hand belted out several numbers – notably The Final Countdown – really well. The big surprise was a somewhat diminutive staff member who did an incredible version of Twist and Shout. She was then joined by a six foot tall, black-clad apparition of doom with hair like Cousin It for ACDC’s Thunderstruck, which varied between her astonishingly powerful rock vocal and his truly impressive death grunting.

Another staff member briefly abandoned the bar to do a great version of Sexual Healing, which is not a phrase I ever thought I’d have cause to type. Then a Scottish couple did Build Me Up Buttercup – well, sort of, he just shouted the lyrics in his thick Scottish accent, while she looked embarrassed. But it was quite entertaining. Later on they broke out into a spontaneous sword dance, minus any swords (at least I presume they didn’t have any swords, I couldn’t see their feet from where I was sitting).

All of the food has either a hell or 1950s theme. After some consideration I went for the Royale with Cheese burger. I have to say this was a bit disappointing – it was a perfectly adequate burger, but there was nothing to make it stand out against any other perfectly adequate burger you could get elsewhere rather cheaper (I guess I’ve just been spoiled by Grill’d).

I said my goodbyes about 10 and got the train home. A good night all up and I’ll certainly consider heading back when I need somewhere impressively unique for a meal.