New York City, baby.

Wednesday, January 14, 2004


Nublu (Avenue C)

Magic hour is a moment in time. Or rather out of time. Late night. We mean real late night. You dig.

This year’s winner is that kid’s fort on Avenue C -- Nublu.

With its wood beam interior, European hostel-style bar, and a backyard conjured up by a rural New England spirit-ghost that got lost in the Lower East Side, it was the place to send the taxi after a night swimming through the usual suspects and the usual spots.

We could always depend on great music being played to get us in the flow -- some kind of Kravitz-before-he-was- too-Kravitz sound -- with even more fertile rhythms later in the evening so that even white boys from New England can appreciate the full wonders of magic hour.

For those curious, that uncanny similarity between their name and ours did not go unnoticed. Indeed, a point was tallied in the Trippy Signs row of our Excel spreadsheet.

The nature of magic hour and such, we are sure to discover it somewhere entirely new in 2004. And just like before, only when we take that trip to the rarest of places in the city -- nowhere -- will it be found.


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