Great story, Jo (though I'm pretty sure NIWA had moved out of the MetService building by '97). Mine will seem tame by comparison: I have some untamed ones, but they're perhaps a bit too incriminating.
Back in the day, probably late 90s or early noughties, Blair St could have actually passed as classy. Or at least Class A. Boulôt was still Mondo Cucina, (in)famous for Krug- & coke-fuelled "lunches" that started at 11am and ended after midnight. The bar that is now Red Square was sometimes referred to as "Bacon", at least after the raid, since that's what you get when you take the "E" out of "Beacon". Not only was Establishment still Opera, but they actually played opera rather than top 40 crud. Ponderosa was still the much-lamented CO2, while Hummingbird and the defunct Paradiso Bar/Blue Room were just one big happy boozy Paradiso (I once tried to teach a married Eng Lit lecturer the Tango on top of a table at 3am, but that's another story). So what was in Maya before it became known for lysergic decor and exploding cocktails?
Well, among many ventures in that space was a bar and steak house called Exchange; posher than the Green Parrot but far less buttoned down than Crazy Horse. The lounge revival was in full swing (so to speak), and the Benj Berryman Hiptet was the purveyor of louche loungey jazz to the Martinirati. Rat Pack wannabe Benj would leap up on the bar at various venues, with a tumbler of Scotch in one hand and an old-time microphone & cigarette in the other, and belt out classics from the golden era of swingin' cheese. The Hiptet had a residency at Exchange, and there's one particular evening I'll never forget.
It was one of those muggy, sultry, slightly drizzly January nights when the temperature never drops below twenty and citizens start to wonder whether air conditioning might be justified in Wellington after all. All the front windows had been folded away at the Exchange, so that all that stood between the bar and Blair St was a low wall. Benj was in full swing while we savoured some after dinner maltage, when we began to notice that across the way, in a doorway between Mondo and Opera, a couple were lugging a couch out of a doorway. It seemed rather a late hour to be moving flat, their purpose soon became clear when they plonked the couch on the pavement, placed an ice bucket next to it, popped open a bottle of bubbly and settled down to enjoy the music.
After a while, the Hiptet noticed, and one by one they picked up their instruments and moved towards the windows. Benj stepped out, followed by the trumpeter, trombonist and even the bassist. With only the drummer and electric guitarist remaining stuck inside, the rest of the band formed a conga line and headed across the road to the couple. Before you could say "staaart spreading the neeeews", the couple joined in the conga and followed the band back into the bar. We and the other patrons were all press-ganged into the line, which wound its way back into the open, up and down Blair St and gathering patrons from all the adjacent bars. The impromptu dance session eventually petered out after a few songs, but it's a lasting reminder of the early days of inner city living, when the response to noisy bars wasn't "Call noise control!" but "If you can't beat 'em, join 'em".
Great story, Jo (though I'm pretty sure NIWA had moved out of the MetService building by '97). Mine will seem tame by comparison: I have some untamed ones, but they're perhaps a bit too incriminating.
Back in the day, probably late 90s or early noughties, Blair St could have actually passed as classy. Or at least Class A. Boulôt was still Mondo Cucina, (in)famous for Krug- & coke-fuelled "lunches" that started at 11am and ended after midnight. The bar that is now Red Square was sometimes referred to as "Bacon", at least after the raid, since that's what you get when you take the "E" out of "Beacon". Not only was Establishment still Opera, but they actually played opera rather than top 40 crud. Ponderosa was still the much-lamented CO2, while Hummingbird and the defunct Paradiso Bar/Blue Room were just one big happy boozy Paradiso (I once tried to teach a married Eng Lit lecturer the Tango on top of a table at 3am, but that's another story). So what was in Maya before it became known for lysergic decor and exploding cocktails?
Well, among many ventures in that space was a bar and steak house called Exchange; posher than the Green Parrot but far less buttoned down than Crazy Horse. The lounge revival was in full swing (so to speak), and the Benj Berryman Hiptet was the purveyor of louche loungey jazz to the Martinirati. Rat Pack wannabe Benj would leap up on the bar at various venues, with a tumbler of Scotch in one hand and an old-time microphone & cigarette in the other, and belt out classics from the golden era of swingin' cheese. The Hiptet had a residency at Exchange, and there's one particular evening I'll never forget.
It was one of those muggy, sultry, slightly drizzly January nights when the temperature never drops below twenty and citizens start to wonder whether air conditioning might be justified in Wellington after all. All the front windows had been folded away at the Exchange, so that all that stood between the bar and Blair St was a low wall. Benj was in full swing while we savoured some after dinner maltage, when we began to notice that across the way, in a doorway between Mondo and Opera, a couple were lugging a couch out of a doorway. It seemed rather a late hour to be moving flat, their purpose soon became clear when they plonked the couch on the pavement, placed an ice bucket next to it, popped open a bottle of bubbly and settled down to enjoy the music.
After a while, the Hiptet noticed, and one by one they picked up their instruments and moved towards the windows. Benj stepped out, followed by the trumpeter, trombonist and even the bassist. With only the drummer and electric guitarist remaining stuck inside, the rest of the band formed a conga line and headed across the road to the couple. Before you could say "staaart spreading the neeeews", the couple joined in the conga and followed the band back into the bar. We and the other patrons were all press-ganged into the line, which wound its way back into the open, up and down Blair St and gathering patrons from all the adjacent bars. The impromptu dance session eventually petered out after a few songs, but it's a lasting reminder of the early days of inner city living, when the response to noisy bars wasn't "Call noise control!" but "If you can't beat 'em, join 'em".