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As a club, Pearl Street wasn't particularly different from many dance clubs, even now -- a long, two-story structure with a bar at both ends, a generous dance floor with a DJ booth overlooking it, and plenty of seating and standing room.
It had typical Seventies details, combining cheap art deco with a tropical flavor -- but who the hell cared what it looked like? Previously we danced to tunes by Elton John, Stevie Wonder, Rolling Stones, Billy Preston, and Marvin Gaye, but as the Seventies developed an image of its own, music began to change.
I was in college at ACC and working on a production at Zach Scott and somebody said, "Let's go to the Pearl Street Warehouse." It wasn't my first time in a gay bar -- far from it.At the back of the dance floor was a set of stairs leading to the lower bar and the bathrooms -- the stairs proved treacherous to many queens in platform shoes who had had a wee drinkee of too much good corn liquor. The sound was different -- not too much, I thought, but my boyfriend thought differently.When he went to our table in disgust, I spun on my platform shoes and stalked off the floor in a snit -- and promptly fell down the stairs, landing in a heap on the floor in front of the bathroom.Double-entendres help disguise the filthiest of songs."Snowpeaked Mountains" may be the female breasts, because "way down south" leads to "your daddy's farm", which in this context refers to the woman's genitals.
But Pearl Street -- or PSW, as it was alternately called -- was only the stage, and the music was only the soundtrack -- the drama occurred both on and off the dance floor.