Spanish Fly
When it comes to organized forms of dancing, we’re hopelessly uncoordinated. Sure, we’re good at drunkenly doing such cheezoid moves as the robot, the sprinkler, the shopping cart, the lap dance … er, what? Anyway, when it comes to moving our hands and feet in a coordinated pattern, it’s not a thing of beauty. Even scarier, we were attempting to do this in a somewhat sober state at Habanero, a VIP opening-night party presented by SalsaNoche.com at Kabal to launch “Kansas City’s first two-level Latin night,” which will be held every Thursday at the club.
We crashed the May 13 event around 10 p.m., having decided to skip the free lessons from 8 to 9 p.m. “We can probably just figure out the basics from watching people,” said Research Assistant Kaelen. Theoretically, that was a great idea, but after we arrived, that plan was rendered useless as we watched couples of all ages and races whirl around in a blur on the dance floor. It was an amazing sight. Some women went all out in their fluttery silk tops paired with tight white jeans; others flashed cleavage and leg in form-fitting dresses with long slits in the skirts. Many of the guys were in button-down shirts neatly tucked into pants. People around us chattered in Spanish, and considering the industrial-looking yet sleek club, it seemed as if we weren’t in KC anymore.
“It feels like a club in Miami,” said Howard Carney of SalsaNoche, who explained that he brought Latin night to Kabal at the request of the owners. So, as a tribute to the festive music and the tropical feel, we ordered Malibu rum and pineapple juice and stood up top on the bar level, looking down at the dance and restaurant area, which was several feet lower. Behind the dance floor was a wall of blue panel lights; the remaining walls were made up of giant windows. Paintings hung above the bar; so did a video screen showing a hilarious how-to-salsa video featuring people in ’80s clothing dancing in a blue-curtained room and sometimes bumping into each other.
Our friend Nicholas very kindly and patiently tried to teach us the steps. “Pick up your feet,” he told the NR, but, frustrated with her lack of rhythm, she decided to stop with the Dirty Dancing-esque lessons and just drink. RA Laura picked up the steps easily, though, so she went to brave the dance floor with Nick. But it cleared out dramatically at 11 p.m. — not because of them but because the basement level had opened and was featuring Latin house and “reggaeton,” which Carney explained was “a mix of reggae and hip-hop, but all in Spanish — booty-shakin’ music.”
The basement level was equally industrial. We appreciated the high make-out factor of the space; quasi-beds with plump cushions were in the main area, and near the bar was a small, carpeted space containing sofas illuminated by red light bulbs. The hot vibe of the basement was enhanced by the music, a mix of Caribbean rhythms and hip-hop. “There’s a lot of this going on on the East Coast,” explained Winston Jiminez, a native of Colombia who was taking pictures for MiLatino.com. “If you listen, it’s rapping in Spanish mixed with salsa and merengue.”
“I don’t know what the fuck they’re singing, but I love it,” Laura said. “It’s got a good beat.” And we were heartened to note that not only did the music transcend cultures; leg lifting and crotch grindage on the dance floor do as well.
We headed back upstairs and did our part to improve international relations when we befriended Jon, who had just returned to KC after six months as a diving instructor in Australia and Thailand. He was still slightly disoriented. “I don’t know shit about salsa,” he cheerfully admitted. “I think George Michael put it best when he was with Wham: ‘Guilty feet ain’t got no rhythm.'” Ah, a sentiment we can get behind. And speaking of behind, who wants a lap dance?
