To those who live in and around North Williamsburg, the rent has gone up—and up and up and up. Galapagos, which opened in 1995, blazed an artistic trail along a waterfront teeming with drugs, prostitution and neglect. Galapagos was new, edgy & daring, flaunting all things experimental. At the time, who would have thought that Williamsburg would become a destination neighborhood filled not only with the Hipster locals but also Westchester Glitterettes & Long Island Sparklers. (All you need to do is spot the shorts & 4-inch stiletto pumps to know that things have changed.)
Rent quadrupled between 1995 and 2008 as condos sprung up like mushrooms all over the neighborhood, encircling McCarren Park like a mini-Upper West side. As for the waterfront—let’s just say that the war still rages on, its most visible and controversial victim being the partially destroyed Marine Terminal Building in nearby Greenpoint. Battles lines have been drawn and condo-mania & big-box branding are winning.
Galapagos, feeling that heat and more, had to flee rent increases that made it impossible for them to operate in the manner to which we were all accustomed. Edgy does not translate into high volume sales. Consequently, Galapagos has opened its doors in
DUMBO, a mature art zone with more teeth and a big knot of transportation routes nearby. What's more, the building is labeled Green.
The self-labeled event space occupies a block of Main Street that couldn't be any closer to the water without floating out to sea, and that's not the only aqueous correlation. In the main area, past a small coatcheck and access to the mezzanine, circular outcroppings jut from a central aisle, each filled with small round tables and smaller stools as well as a few couch contenders, but one look over the side of your particular circle and vertigo takes hold. A black pool of water fills the space between the seating areas and the walls, reflecting the beams and lights of the ceiling so clearly that acrophobes won't know any better. One might wonder how many people have tried to put their bags on the mirage of a black floor only to find their purses drenched! The stage beyond the viewing area is simplistic at best, a wooden affair with a piano not-so-sequestered off to the side. Up in the mezzanine—past the door to the outdoor enclosure where smokers can imbibe and inhale within the legal boundaries of the space—the same furniture scheme continues, albeit with more commanding views of whatever particular action is going on that night. A small satellite bar negates the need to head downstairs for a refill; that is, if a waitress doesn't offer you another first.
The sound system hits every square inch of the space, from the rim of the mezzanine to the soundbooth to the eaves of the first floor where you might be waiting for that next drink. Prices are about what you'd expect from the ever-gentrifying DUMBO, maybe even on the cheaper side, but a Blue Moon will still cost you seven dollars and a cocktail—poured with a heavy hand, at least—will run around nine depending on the ingredients.
