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It’s 4am and you don’t want the night to end. The vibrating bass fills the room to a warm fevered pitch. You’re tucked in a corner of Manhattan, but also far above the world, in Bowie’s tin can, and Planet Earth is blue. An infinity of milky white cat eyes through gold-veined mirrors,  your thoughts like swirling vanilla clouds. You could be a Mapplethorpe flower, elegant, depraved, and frozen in time. This is the place where a soup can is a hero. Here, the future is as shiny and gigantic as a metallic Koons balloon. A peach-flavoured molotov cocktail hurled in the face of status-quo. It smells like the glow of liberation, a balmy breeze of paradise. Because it’s always warm in the underground, in that one place where anything goes.

MUDD CLUB
NEW YORK CITY, USA
1978 - 1983

“If you started saying, ‘How long do we have to wait?’ that was a strike against you. If you said, ‘Is there a line?’ that was a strike against you. If you said to me, God forbid, ‘Studio 54 lets us in,’ that was the kiss of death.

“A teenage Basquiat going wild on the dance floor, Jeff Koons approaching the door as a still-unknown. Jim Jarmusch pressed against the wall nursing a beer and Mapplethorpe flaunting full leather, straddling the edges of notoriety and fame.

“There were no rules and no grand plan: the vibe was anything goes.”

— RICHARD BOCH, MUDD CLUB’S DOORMAN

Mudd Club, a full sensory experience: Feel the vibrations of the New York dance floor come to life.

MUDD CLUB — BY OUR RESIDENT DISCOTHÈQUE DJS.