Time Out rating:
Time Out says
Posted: Thu Nov 1 2012
Blondie, so called for the bottle blondes and of course, Deborah Harry, icon of the seventies and eighties, frail and cool at the same time, like a neon light. In Barcelona, the girl with the fair skin and full lips is a bar in the Barri Gòtic, its ceiling of fluorescent drinking straws and a small showcase of art, from a city where it costs two kidneys and a liver node per square metre.
Greeting me is this little showcase of sorts, which seems to be filled of toys stolen from someone's little brother and displayed as objects of art, all limited-edition, of course. They've collected together a transistor radio, the Incredible Hulk groping Barbie, some Star Wars Pez dispensers, a Rubik's Cube (completed!) and a snapshot of Barack Obama as if he were the fifth member of Kiss.
I start thinking about what I'm wearing and realise that it might be better to go home and put on my Dangermouse T-shirt. But I head in anyway, because I'm a risk-taker and a bit self-destructive like that and I know that the eighties had that 'anything goes' attitude. My eyes are drawn to a wall of photos of various famous blondes such as Annie Lennox and Kurt Cobain, along with some blonde inflatable dolls. Also staring back at me are faces from another time: Blondie in their 'Heart of Glass' days, Keith Richards, Elvis Costello... Also featured are a pair of electric purple platforms that speak to anyone who have done the walk of shame after a big night out. Amidst this collection are countless photos of Debbie Harry, queen of this sanctuary of the eighties, where the clientele drink mojitos as they perch on black leather stools surrounded by lamps straight out of Studio 54. Every night, the DJ, facing the wall, plays his own music collage, taped together with the best rock of the moment.