wordplay by Ben Simkins
images by www.NevadaLee.com

I smile at the bartender as she places my drink on the coaster I’ve been flipping for the past five minutes. My wife receives her drink with the same curt smile, turns slowly using her toes for the motion and sips her short (but strong I’m assured) drink while observing something just out of my view. “It’s funny really…” She says trailing off in an obvious pause set up for the compulsory “what?” that I utter over the music. “How far we are from the old days at Tracks?” she concludes.

I’m no native to these shores, although I’ve had my fair share of American upbringing, mind you.  What with TV, Movies and my Grandmother’s unexplainable inability to call a trash can a rubbish bin even though John Lennon was still alive when she and the family, including my father, packed up and left the fair shores of Long Island for a more overcast climate. However, my Denver upbringing comes solely from my wife’s tales of her misspent youth. Tracks is never far from one of these stories. This place, I’m told, was the where a Colorado kid went to get as close to the New York club social scene that our fair mountain urban sprawl could get. A place where the uniform pants and skirt signs over the bathroom doors were more for the purposes of decoration than a strict social code. It was the place to see the alternative in all its glory, where majority and minority were blurred and they danced.  They actually danced.  Not like these overgrown frat houses that line far too many of the downtown streets. I did get to go to the opening of Dream some years later.  But as my drink announces its end by the watery, alcoholic dregs of my milkshake slurp, I realize that my wife is still observing. I spin my stool round to view the sights and find a throng of people. I realize that things have changed. It may be cheesy to put it this way but evolution shows a… well evolution of sorts.

As my gaze scans the interior, I get the feel of the same old Denver club and wonder if there’s just one interior designer that has the contract on all the clubs in the downtown area. That said, they’re still doing a nice job. And even though the same mix of exposed brick and shiny minimalist style makes up the interior of Evolution, the real heart of this club comes from the people that fill its two levels. Evolution makes you feel at home as much as a club can, whatever your sexual preference. Whether your thing is Manicure Mondays, Texas Hold’em Tuesdays or Saturdays, Bent (with male strippers) Wednesdays, come together …to dance Thursdays, Unleashed (Dance) Fridays, Plush (Hip Hop and R&B) Saturdays or Fierce Drag Show Sundays, there’s something for all. I’m sitting here in the now crowding throng on Plush night, and as I push my now polished off drink glass away, I realize I seem to have misplaced my sea legs. This is my perfect alibi not to dance as I can see my wife is poised now to move onto the dance floor. I order another reasonably priced drink and check out the very nice selection of Scotch, bourbon and Vodkas they have on offer.

As I leave Evolution, I realize that I haven’t experienced the Tracks that Katelyn has created in my mind, but something different. The GLBT community has evolved in the past few years while retaining the things we’ve always loved about it. In my eyes, Evolution is a reflection of this and that’s no small feet.

22nd & Champa

www.ClubEvolutionDenver.com