Jordan Domont
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I'm at Belltown's Barracuda Lounge on its hugely popular "Sultry Night," which features reggaeton and salsa music every Saturday. It's packed to maximum capacity, with guys paying $10 cover and ladies getting in for free. All around me sweaty people grind against one another while clenching Coronas and cocktails. One couple alternates between spinning in dizzying circles and making out. Large television screens flash the words "Warning: Muy caliente!" before offering close-ups of Hispanic women jiggling their asses.
Beyoncé's "Naughty Girl" is blaring on the speakers. In English. And most of the people around me are speaking English, not Spanish.
What's so caliente about that?
Belltown has become a hotbed for Latin-themed dance nights. Clubs like the Barracuda, Tia Lou's, and See Sound Lounge offer Latin music almost any night of the week. Seattle club owners, like many across the country, have recognized the wide crossover appeal of Hispanic music. But during an intense week of club-hopping I discovered that even as downtown clubs profit from the craze, many local Hispanics feel unwelcome.
I start my adventure at the cusp of Belltown at See Sound Lounge. It's surprisingly busy on a Sunday night (with a $5 cover), perhaps because it offers free salsa lessons. Women in sexy getups practice their steps in front of a mirror. They can also attempt to emulate the moves on overhead television screens showing a salsa competition.
At the bar, a well-coiffed Anglo in his early 20s inquires loudly in English, "What sort of Mexican spirits do you carry?" Mexican spirits? Why not just ask for tequila, dude? If he is sincere about seeking an authentic Hispanic experience, he's shit out of luck. The only person there who looks remotely Hispanic is the salsa teacher.
On Thursday I head over to Tia Lou's Latin Night ($10 for guys, ladies free). I struggle to make my way across a floor that's sticky with spilled drinks. The crowd is more ethnically diverse at Tia Lou's, but the men stare me up and down, hoping for eye contact so they can approach. The star of the night is a tiny girl with dark hair that cascades down her back; she's attracting about a man a minute. Upstairs, near where I'm observing, there's a stripper pole. Muy classy! Salsa music blares over the speakers, but the place mainly resembles a fraternity party full of horny bros.
"It's more of a meat market than it is a dance floor," says Tracy Watson, an avid clubgoer. "Everybody's hitting on each other downtown." She tells me I should check out Selena's Guadalajara.
So I head north the following night. Selena's is a small 25-year-old Mexican restaurant in Wallingford that's easy to overlook as you're driving past on 45th Street. It's owned by Laura and Miguel Santibañez, both Mexican immigrants.
The food at Selena's is satisfactory, but the place gets hopping on Fridays and Saturdays, when it's open late for dancing. It was a successful business decision shaped by the Santibañezes' own unhappy experience in Belltown.
Laura recalls that she and her husband were excited when she heard Belltown clubs offered a slew of Latin-themed dance nights. So they changed into their best shoes and hit the Barracuda Lounge. But the Santibañezes' first visit there ended up being their last.
"I didn't feel comfortable there," Laura reflects, shaking her head. "The people are too flashy. They watch Dancing With the Stars and take dance classes. Suddenly they think they can dance better than Hispanics.
"It's not a competition," she continues. "It's not about who can be the sexiest or spin the fastest. A room full of people dancing should feel warm and welcoming. They should care more about feeling the rhythm and enjoying themselves than how they look in the crowd. It's a different idea of dancing they have going on."
The salsa music that patrons at Selena's are accustomed to hearing actually originates in the Caribbean and Latin America. By the '70s, however, the genre had been embraced by citizens of Mexico, the Dominican Republic, and Venezuela, to name a few.
Today, Selena's has accumulated a loyal customer base, most of whom are Hispanic, that shows up regularly on weekends (with a $10 cover). The waitstaff clears the center area of tables, hits the lights, and starts up the fog machine. Miguel disappears into the back and reemerges in a sharp dress shirt and matching shoes. His wife has on three-inch heels that wrap around her ankles. She sneaks onto the dance floor every few songs while Miguel tends the bar.
The majority of her patrons are in their mid-30s. It's not the 20-something pickup scene of Belltown. During one visit I watch an overweight man—surprisingly graceful on his feet—dance with a new partner each time the song changes. But his manner is friendly, not sleazy. I wouldn't have a problem with my little sister coming here alone. The small dance floor is friendly and familial, with no stripper poles or posers in sight.
Some of Selena's regulars tell me they prefer it to the trendier clubs. "There are a lot of these places downtown that play salsa," says regular Gonzalo Rivera. "But really it's just people drinking and looking at girls all night."
