Dolphin Loos - Photo by Emily Webber
This
was supposed to be about the Barbican, a building turned complex. Now it is also
about The Dolphin, a place sometimes spoken about by people on buses in
Hackney; I finally managed to go inside after wanting to for months, knowing it
should only happen by accident. Having never asked for a description of it, of
why it was so great, all I knew about it was second hand. But can a building
ever be condensed to pure description of its elements? I could write about the use
of concrete at the Barbican, of its adjacencies and flows, and leave it
incomplete. I could also describe the general roughness of the Barbican,
not only in the way its mass embosses your eyes, but the opacity of how it works.
What happens in each room? And why is that rocky, chapped finish on every wall?
It could be compared with a sponge, which would capture its texture and visual
impression, along with its acoustic porosity and ability to retain your
attention.
Absorption
and intrigue are planted about its different levels, brittle CD’s flicked in
metal racks can be heard above, and the open door to the auditorium during a
rehearsal are sonic distractions, heard while walking on sloping floor plates
past Gordon Matta-Clark holes. It’s the perfect place for people with short
attention spans.
This
kind of theft of experience is like an infection, and happens also at The
Dolphin, Both of these buildings are familiar to me in similar terms but in
differing textures - of dry and wet.
The
Barbican is close and warm in its ruggedness and The Dolphin flimsy in a soggy
haze, the kind that is germinated. Entrance to The Dolphin is at the wrong door and
requires £3, a bag search and the surrendering of fluids. Final passport
to entry is gained with a temporary tattoo. Once inside the small lean-to
corridor has one dim light bulb and a giant fridge holding seized liquids. It
leads to an outside covered deck decorated with Christmas Trees. With the start
of rain above the plastic ceiling people push under its shelter in surges, and faces
come closer. “I never knew places like this still existed, its like
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Review
of The Dolphin from www.beerintheevening.com
By
dameoisdone
-
Possibly
had the best shot down ever delivered to me by the barmaid who never smiles...
me; So where you from?
Her; North.
me; so you having a good night?
Her; (Shrugs).
me; what time do you finish?
Her; Look are we done here? Good.
Was in the Dolphin last night, again...and will be in there Sunday, until
This pub is ruining my career, my wallet, my dignity, and my life.
Only visit the Dolphin if you are willing to sacrifice all of the above.
Perfect mix of sluts, junkies, hackneyites, builders, students, locals and
thieves.