Metro Pulse/Music/Eye on the Scene

Old City Confidential

"I want to dance on my head on the table for you and your friends."

It's not the kind of thing women in bars usually say to me. But this wasn't just any bar, it was the Last Chance Adult Theater, newly opened in the Old City, and I and my friends were on a fact-finding mission for you, dear readers. Leaving wives and girlfriends behind at another nearby establishment, we set out last Friday evening with the grim task of ascertaining the sordid, squalid truth about downtown's newest entertainment palace, the place that had other local business owners, politicians and not a few beat patrolmen in a state of decided agitation. We'd heard various stories: it would be full of policemen, the women were only stripping down to their bikini tops and bottoms, we were all going to hell. But no matter the risk to our wallets or our eternal souls, we had to ascertain the facts.

And the facts are these: the Last Chance, at the back of the courtyard along Jackson Avenue that also houses Blue Cats music club, is your basic strip club. Black and white tiled floors, cut-out silhouettes of busty babes in the windows, an elevated stage with mirrors along the back of it and the requisite number of strategically placed fireman's poles. I don't know what definition of "topless" the club's lawyer uses, but the dancers we saw certainly met the layman's understanding of the term. Some of them may have had clear plastic pasties covering their nipples, but they were invisible to the, um, naked eye.

The place wasn't crowded, but it was still early, not even 10 p.m. (I've been told it got busier later in the evening.) There were no police in sight (although they also got busier later, issuing the club one of several citations it has now received for allegedly violating the city's adult entertainment ordinance). There were a handful of guys more or less like us—average looking, casually dressed, mostly white, ranging in age from their 20s to their 50s, lots of button-down shirts—and a half-dozen attractive women in revealing outfits and ridiculously high heels taking turns on stage, where they would disrobe down to a G-string and garter and writhe around in pantomimes of ecstasy.

We had brought one six-pack of beer among the five of us; within five minutes of sitting down, one of the women approached and asked if she could have the sixth bottle. We shrugged and handed it to her. She gave the Sierra Nevada label a funny look and said, "You all drink fancy beer."

The most impressive dancer, from an acrobatic standpoint, was a young woman with an improbable name (which won't be repeated here, lest it somehow open her up to prosecution) who spun around the poles upside down and then stood on her head and did things I'm pretty sure she didn't learn in yoga class. She's the one who offered us a table dance. Honestly, we were pretty well ready to leave by that point, but we felt bad for not having tipped the dancers—who, whatever you think of their profession, clearly need the money (guilt plays a big and underappreciated role in the whole strip club dynamic). So we chipped in for the $25, and she did, indeed, dance on her head, spinning her face and other body parts around in front of each of us in turn. After the song was over, we thanked her, gave her some more money, and hurried out before anyone else approached us. We were out of cash and out of beer (the Last Chance does not serve alcohol, and charges you for each drink you bring in).

When we got back to our significant others, they looked at their watches and started laughing. "You guys didn't last very long," one of them said. No, we agreed sheepishly, we didn't. And given City Council's new ordinance aimed at slapping even more citations on the club, the Last Chance Adult Theater may not either. It's (ahem) hard to see that as much of a loss for anyone. At the same time, it's equally hard to understand what, exactly, still gets us all so riled up about someone getting paid to take off her shirt and dance on her head. I know a lot of people who get paid a lot more to do much less impressive things.

Go.

Thursday: William Topely at Blue Cats. Brit-born Topely has a way with American R&B, roots rock and a touch of hip hop.

Friday: Nice Gals Finish Rich at The Foundry. A business seminar/fashion show that will benefit the Thompson Cancer Survival Center.

Saturday: Apelife with The Indicators at Pilot Light. Originally, the Opposable Thumbs were slated to play. But it's been a bit since we've seen this incarnation of Mr. T and his projects. The show should be a humdinger.

Sunday: Ted Leo Pharmacists at Pilot Light. You read about them last week. Come see them this week.

Monday: Her Space Holiday at Pilot Light. We hate to give one venue so much space—but this week the Light has a great line-up. HSH is melancholy, trippy electronica.

Tuesday: Sam Venable at UT Bookstore. Yeah, I know, we're supposed to hate all N-S writers. But, truth be told, it's hard not to like Mr. Sam.

Wednesday: Joan Baez with Dave Carter, Tracy Grammer and Richard Shindell at Tennessee Theatre. Thoughts of Baez trigger memories of Dylan, American flags and a mesmerizing voice.

—Emma "oogling strippers so you don't have to" Poptart with Jesse Fox Mayshark