Home > Chicago Bars & Clubs > Editorial Review > Inside: The Underground

When word of The Underground the new night spot from Rockit Ranch Productions (Billy Dec, Arturo Gomez and Brad Young) got out, the details were few and far between. They refused to confirm the exact location (turns out it's in the old subterranean Harry's Velvet Room space), and a guerilla marketing campaign and YouTube videos touted it as an anti-hotspot (read: no attitude, not another cheesy club). So, how does it measure up to the anti-hype hype? We checked it out during some pre-opening parties.

Billy, it's cold outside
We didn't have a reservation, we weren't VIP and we didn't have a bevy of beauties in tow to help our case. We were just three guys who wanted to hang out at The Underground (Click here for address, hours, reader reviews and more) on a Friday night. Granted, it wasn't "officially" open -- it was in "soft opening" mode, hosting its fourth week of private parties -- but after watching owner Billy Dec's series of YouTube videos, which portray The Underground as a club for the everyman, we thought we had a chance. The place just seemed so accessible!

Accessible, it wasn't. However, the headset-wearing, clipboard-wielding staff couldn't have been nicer about not letting us in. First, we e-mailed the door manager to see if he'd put us on his list. He declined but politely invited us back when the club was officially open. (We ignored the e-mail and showed up anyway.)

Upon our arrival, the same door manager remembered our e-mail, seemed somewhat swayed by our plea -- "But we already valeted!" -- and said he might be able to let us in, "in 15 or 20 minutes." A half-hour later, after shivering in 20-degree temps and watching hordes of VIPs stroll in, our friendly door guy finally leveled with us: We weren't getting in.

As indignant as we got (we gave it our all), he never got flustered. Instead, he offered to set us up at Rockit or Le Passage, two of Dec's other clubs. Cold comfort, really, when you want entrance to a hot club, but gracious nonetheless. We declined.

So is The Underground a spot for the everyman? We're suspicious; guarded and roped-off entrances send a clear message. It'll only be truly fair to judge once the spot officially opens (the first weekend of February). In the meantime, we're just happy to be out of the cold.
--Matt McGuire, metromix editor

VIPs and Misses
Clubland is a lot more accessible for two girls. Of course, it doesn't hurt if the club owner just happens to be a co-worker of sorts. (Full disclosure: Billy Dec is the nightlife and celebrity special contributor for "metromix" on CLTV.) We had RSVPed to a special Thursday night event; our names were on the list; we walked down the stairs and straight into the lounge; and low and behold, there was Dec himself. I've been out with the "metromix" TV crews and Dec for a shoot or two, so we exchanged hellos and chatted a bit. Since it was early, he offered us a seat at an otherwise reserved table score!

Standing around is great since you can scope the crowd for eye candy, but if you plan on wearing your stilettos, call ahead to reserve a table because it's certainly nice to have a place to perch. Once you have a seat you can order strong signature cocktails with names like Espionage, M16 and Agent Orange ($11 each), or late-night nibbles such as mini Kobe beef burgers ($8 for four), soft pretzels ($5) or Poptarts ($5).

When resident DJ White Shadow hits the decks, be prepared to party. You can dance where you want to, and we certainly did when we heard the bangin' mix of disco, old-school hip-hop and rock 'n' roll with a "Sexy Back" thrown in.

Just a word of warning: When the club fills up, and the drinks have been flowing, be prepared for gaggles of girls teetering around to set the guys' tongues wagging. And of course, girls teetering around on a mission may mean your cocktail gets knocked over.
--Karen Budell, metromix nightlife producer

Boring down
Hey, baby, look at us! We're at The Underground, and we're totally on the list. OK, so everyone's on the list for this soft launch, but give us a break. We never get on these VIP things, so we want a moment to revel. Turns out, we only had a moment to feel special on a Saturday night. At the coat check, a drunken, frizzed-out, foulmouthed young woman charged ahead of me. After I gently said, "Oh, I think I was next," she spewed so much venom that I thought I was on the set of "Deadwood." Charmed, I'm sure.

But the movie set soon changed to "Dr. Strangelove" as a bouncer whooshed open a steel door to reveal a tricked-out adult playground with a post-nuclear war room theme, complete with world map outlines lighting the wall. Fun! But the herd of hard-to-please queens I brought with me wasn't having any.

"These people are tacky," complained one, surveying the crowd, which probably was about 10 years younger than us. Even I had to admit that though the place was packed, I was hungry for some eye candy. Still, decking out the staff in paramilitary drag was a nice touch.

"What's with this DJ?" groused another friend. "He's like a K-Tel record." The mix of easy-to-recognize snippets from -- as they say on radio promos -- the '80s, '90s and today was going too fast for him. (For the record, I liked it.)

We made our way to the bar. I heard The Underground had kooky signature cocktails, but when I asked the bartender about them, I was treated like I was radioactive. "Uh, there are menus on the tables," he said. I looked, but didn't see any so just plunked down $38 for four vodka tonics.

"Is that Billy Rockit?" my boyfriend asked me, pointing out the guy in the trademark canvas ball cap. "Yeah, but his name's Billy..." Oh, why tell him? I'm not bringing him back, and besides, it's time for him to get to bed.

As we left around 1 a.m., we saw a small, shivering crowd had gathered near the entrance waiting to get in. Soon, a taxi full of ratted-up girls arrived, and we waited patiently until they finished primping and finally climbed out to join the clot in front of the club. Were these girls also on the list? I don't know, but for the entire ride home, I could smell their watermelon hairspray or Lip Smackers or whatever it was, and I'm sure they had a better time than we did that night.
--Chris LaMorte, metromix dining producer

Originally published Jan. 30, 2007.

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