Older gay bars

There used to be a nightclub on Belmont Avenue in Chicago tucked between a grilled cheese restaurant and cellphone repair shop. The windows were blacked out and featured original art, the facade was adorned in black and white tiles, and drag queens often — and rightfully so — skipped the long line that backed up under the instruct tracks of the L’s Belmont Station. The interior was exceptionally dark, the walls painted inky and the accent lights deep shades of indigo and crimson. There were three bars, the biggest of which ran the entire length of the right-side wall and featured above it a large mural of elegant partygoers, clad in tuxedos and ballgowns and sipping from coupe glasses. There were, of course, several shirtless, muscular men painted into the scene as successfully. They didn’t attend as a juxtaposition though; the giant gay party in the painting intimated the energy of the year-old bar it presided over.

This alternative, loud, bawdy space was Chicago’s legendary Berlin Nightclub. It was a venue dedicated to welcoming the modern, especially in the form of verb performance. Without q