Club Dance in Columbus Ohio
Just beyond the familiar I-270 outerbelt that Columbus natives know so well, lies Club Dance, a unique establishment nestled amidst the typical suburban sprawl of strip malls that dot the landscape between Whitehall and Reynoldsburg. Despite its location in what might seem like an unassuming area, Club Dance is far from a newcomer. It has been a fixture for nearly two decades, operating under various names, much like many of the strip clubs and eateries along this bustling section of Brice Road, even if technically it carries a Channingway address.
For those of us accustomed to the downtown skyline visible from our homes, it’s easy to underestimate the sheer size and scope of Columbus. We hear reports of its continuous growth, but it’s not until you venture out to the eastern edges of the city, charting the miles and minutes, that the reality truly hits you. Reaching the outer suburban limits, particularly in this direction, completely shatters any preconceived notions of Columbus being a small, easily conquerable city. Experiences exploring the western outskirts months prior had already hinted at this, but this journey to Club Dance solidifies the realization: Columbus is vast, sprawling, and impossible to fully grasp in a single lifetime, or even ten. The east-to-west expanse is simply mind-boggling.
Life is about choices, and each night we gamble on the most promising option, spinning the wheel of possibilities. We weigh our choices based on ever-evolving information, constantly recalculating our plans. When Nicole and September call, suggesting we meet them at this “bizarre but insanely popular” club, Club Dance, we’re intrigued and decide to go.
The club presents a fascinating dichotomy: half hip-hop hotspot, half urban cowboy bar. These seemingly opposite worlds collide with surprising harmony within Club Dance. One side, dimly lit with red brick floors, pulsating strobes, and bone-jarring beats, caters to the hip-hop crowd. The other, bathed in bright white light reminiscent of the sun, boasts a gleaming wooden dance floor where line dancing enthusiasts thrive, encircled by a curious audience. In each section, DJs cater to their respective genres and lingo, creating a stimulating hybrid atmosphere unlike anything we’ve encountered before in a Club Club Dance setting.
Cowgirls in tight jeans and tiny red boots strut by, their hair perfectly coiffed, mascara flawlessly applied. Then, the scene shifts as a young woman in skimpy shorts and a revealing tank top catches the eye, her physique toned and tanned, embodying an effortless blend of casual fluidity and urban edge. Our mission for the night is to navigate this intriguing space, which also houses four bars, a pizza place, and a pool hall, to find Nicole and September amidst the vibrant crowd at this unique club club dance.
Eventually, we locate them at a table overlooking the hip-hop floor, shrouded in relative darkness. September, several drinks in, declares herself over Robert, despite the somewhat perplexing presence of his cousin, Scott. Scott, a lanky young man in a football jersey and jeans, immediately asks if I’m up for a game of pool.
We secure a pool table, and Alan and Scott team up against September and me, with Nicole assuming her role as the cheerful, quiet observer. Barely through our first beers and halfway into our initial game of nine-ball, September, standing abruptly in the middle of the room, bursts into tears. She shields her face and dashes out of the building and into the night.
Nicole, despite her heels, is quick to follow her best friend. Confused, the men exchange glances, take a moment to gather our wits with a sip of beer, then place our pool cues down and follow them outside. No sooner do we step onto the asphalt than Nicole’s car speeds towards us. She rolls down the window and instructs Scott to get in. With a quick, almost dismissive goodbye to Alan, she drives out of the parking lot towards Mansfield, disappearing into the night, ending our club club dance experience abruptly.
“What the f***?” Alan mutters, bewildered. We don’t even consider going back inside, deciding to call it a night ourselves after this unexpected turn of events at the club club dance.
Club Dance back dock
Fast forward to the year 2000, and Club Dance is still a thriving destination, even with a missing “e” on its exterior sign, now reading “Club Danc.” However, the atmosphere inside is anything but “dank.” It continues to attract a large crowd most nights. The country side, officially named “The Big Easy,” even hosts national touring acts. Ohio’s own David Allan Coe seems to be a frequent performer, and Merle Haggard made an appearance in March 2000. A review in The Other Paper praised Haggard’s performance, noting his effortless connection with the audience and a setlist that included hits like “Silver Wings,” “Mama Tried,” “Think I’ll Just Sit Here And Drink,” “The Bottle Let Me Down,” and “Okie From Muskogee.”
By 2001, the venue had rebranded as “The Big Easy/Club Dance,” suggesting a stronger emphasis on the country music aspect. Or perhaps “country fifth” would be more accurate, considering that Bourbon Street, Red Dog Saloon, and Guido’s Pizza were also operating within this expansive establishment at the time. It’s remarkable how many of these older clubs incorporated dedicated food services. Yet, I have no memory of ever trying the food and might have even denied its existence if not reminded. Therefore, I can’t offer any firsthand account of Guido’s Pizza’s quality, or lack thereof, at this club club dance.
Years after its peak popularity, we made our final visit to Club Dance’s far east side location. The decline wasn’t solely due to the fickle club crowd chasing the latest trends – although that was partially true – but also because the atmosphere had become noticeably seedier. The turning point was a night when my car was broken into in the parking lot. Coats, purses, and my stereo were stolen. “Broken into” might be too strong a term, as I hadn’t even locked the car. This incident, however, underscored the changing vibe of the place. I wasn’t in the habit of locking my car and had never experienced such trouble elsewhere until this visit to club club dance.
“Okay…where would I park if I were a car that didn’t want to be broken into?” Damon quipped as we arrived, trying to choose the safest parking spot.
Yet, surprisingly, the place immediately felt safer than before. You could almost sense a shift in the atmosphere before even getting out of the truck. Even the cover charge was lower, down to $3 from $5 in previous years, making the club club dance more accessible.
Despite it being midnight and the parking lot being packed, The Big Easy side wasn’t overly crowded when we entered. There were plenty of people, but the club’s cavernous size and bright lighting made it easy to scan the room for familiar faces. The club remained divided into its distinct hip-hop and country halves, attracting the eclectic mix of patrons that this unusual combination implied for a club club dance experience.
We wandered around, searching for the girls we were supposed to meet. We ordered a first round of bottled beers – Miller Genuine Draft for Damon and Rolling Rock for myself – and then a second round, but still no sign of them. During our drive east, we had joked that if they didn’t show up, we’d be outraged. Now, it seemed our worst-case scenario was unfolding. We grabbed seats in the walkway connecting the two contrasting halves of the club and kept watch for familiar faces in this club club dance environment. I suggested we wait another round, and if they still didn’t appear, we should consider moving on.
But then, we spotted Melissa, Melanie, and Amanda – familiar faces who had apparently been there all along, somehow missed in our initial scan. Besides them, there was another Amanda with her boyfriend, Stacy (the notably unwelcoming new president of their sorority), and Beth, whose twenty-first birthday we were supposedly there to celebrate at this club club dance.
We all migrated to the dance club side to explore the evening’s possibilities there. Calling the music strictly hip-hop or pop wasn’t entirely accurate. It was more like contemporary music, incorporating some hard rock tracks as well. From the wannabe gangsters in gold chains and backwards caps to their excessively thin girlfriends, the crowd was thick. There was no mistaking this for anything but a dance club. The music was deafening, the clientele was rude, and the staff was only slightly more polite… yes, this was definitely a dance club, a true club club dance experience.
While not exactly our usual scene, we joined the ladies in gyrating – or at least vaguely moving – to the relentless stream of music on the dance floor. Somehow, we ended up on a precarious, wobbly ledge, a full story above the main floor, along the back wall. Accessible by a rickety staircase, this platform was meant for perhaps six people, yet we crammed a dozen or more onto it.
Most of the people on the ledge were with our group, but there was a row of three unfamiliar women along the railing. Seizing the opportunity, Damon and I maneuvered until we were pressed against them, our bodies close. The women didn’t object, simply glancing back with smiles, perhaps understanding the limited space on the crowded ledge of this club club dance. We had little choice but to be close in this packed club club dance setting.
Twelve, maybe fifteen of us were on the swaying platform. Hopefully, the club owners knew what they were doing and the structure was deceptively safe… but it felt questionable. Adding to the unsettling feeling, the next song was a ridiculously overplayed anthem, “Bodies” by Drowning Pool.
Let the bodies hit the floor!
Let the bodies hit the floor!
Let the bodies hit the…flooooooooooor!
the lead singer screamed, making some of us silently pray we’d survive the song on this shaky platform at this club club dance.
“I wish the bodies would hit the floor already,” I joked to Damon. He laughed, but I quickly realized this comedic angle was ill-advised. It sounded like something an old person would say, complaining about modern music, and it was also an unintentionally direct commentary on our precarious situation. Being on this rickety ledge, the last thing I wanted was for bodies to hit the floor of this club club dance.
After the song ended, we collectively lost interest in the overcrowded catwalk and descended. Back on the main floor, even the row of women had come down. Foolishly, we didn’t follow up with them after they came down, missing an opportunity we’d seized countless times before at a club club dance.
Until this point, our night had been surprisingly enjoyable, but the remaining charms of the place quickly faded. We even managed to mostly ignore Stacy. We tried to talk to a few other women, but with no success. Lately, everyone in the city seemed jaded, and unless connections happened organically (like with the women on the ledge), our efforts were usually wasted. Or perhaps we were the ones who had become jaded? It had always been a numbers game, and maybe nothing had changed except our dwindling patience for the club club dance scene.
We had also arrived late, which didn’t help. Time flew by, and suddenly, club-goers were streaming towards the exits. We joined the exodus, somewhere in the middle of our group, not wanting to be the pathetic stragglers left when the lights came on. Not ready to completely give up on the night, but also not wanting to linger too long. On this, my latest visit, I questioned the “Big Easy” moniker. The place was large, yes, but nothing about this club club dance experience had felt particularly easy.
