BlackBook Magazine

Despite summer in NYC being akin to taking up residence in a (really expensive) frying pan, there is the glorious consolation of being able to light up a fag while imbibing your frozen whateverberry margarita. So we welcome new outdoor partying spaces with the religious fervor of a Catholic welcoming the Pope (more, actually). Highbar, the super-fab new nightspot opening in May from Greg Brier of Aspen and Amalia, looks set to draw a flash crowd to the distinctly unflashy environs of Hell’s Kitchen (which, despite noble attempts, never actually became the new LES).

Despite protesting-too-much, Quebec did not, in fact, secede from Canada. However, those artful, Frenchie Quebecois do indeed possess a singular stylistic flair, one you surely won’t happen upon in, you know, Ottawa or Edmonton. To wit, the debut Opus Hotel in Vancouver was a paradigm of stylish understatement--but its new Montreal sister property is now flaunting a Schrager-esque penchant for extravagant glamour with the May 10 opening of Koko, its new temple of unfettered decadence. Purported to be a titular homage not, thankfully, to a monkey, but to the glorious Mlle Chanel herself (though hopefully their Director of Spelling been reprimanded). Lots of black velvet, glittering chandeliers and a quasi “runway” (er, why not?) make Koko a dazzling backdrop for all manner of fashionista pose-striking, while the expansive terrace and regular DJs ensure it will be party central for some, well, indeterminate period of time. The menu will be pan-Asian, which apparently and somehow is still permissible.

The return of warm weather to New York brings resurgence. Namely, the reappearance of subMercer, the Yard at the Soho Grand set to host another seasons worth of warm-weather shenanigans, and now this ... Could Soho soon be the next, erm, Nolita? (That would be weird, huh?) The once achingly hip hood, having been swiftly pulled from its perch during a frenetic frenzy of gallery-flight, has been a virtual post-millennium ghost town after dark. So last week's evening transformation of mainstay Café Bari into what's being trumpeted as the new vortex of cool seems a decidedly cheeky move by prodigious nightlife impresario Danny A. At 11pm each night, the ground floor will become the impossibly fashionable late-night munchie haunt Downstairs, while one floor up--at the equally imaginatively named and desperately exclusive Upstairs--you’ll need either immense charm, unparalleled style or a, um, famous friend to make the scene. Godspeed.

The Windy City suffers an abundance of starchy hotel bars, so there could be little downside to applying a mega-dose of Trumpian glam to the scene. A tippling complement to the Trump International Hotel & Tower's chic foodie mecca Sixteen, the flash new mezzanine-level watering-hole Rebar (opening April 18) will feature dramatic floor-to-ceiling windows with ravishing river views (especially glittery in the evening hours), as well as an undoubtedly expensive marble bar and a private VIP room overlooking the lobby. And bartenders seem ready to live or die by some sort of nouveau mixology manifesto known as Liquid Kitchen, which we can only imagine means cocktails so tasty you’ll wish you could eat them.

If we were perfect, face it, you’d be a little suspicious. And indeed, the late 2007 opening of this cocktailers’ paradise did manage to sneak by us; but a recent life-altering visit made it necessary to correct this tragedy. Enter through a secret, (naturally) boarded-up Wicker Park façade into a film-set-dramatic Victorian gothic space (all lavish curtains and resplendent chandeliers) manned by sexy, tattooed hipsters in vintage evening wear.

Ah yes, the new gilded age. New York now flaunts the sort of wealth disparity that has inspired entire nations to revolt. And if Wall Street is the Versailles of high finance, this is surely its Petit Trianon. Another winner from those purveyors of chic sleeps at Thompson Hotels—led by tastemaker Jason Pomeranc—Gild Hall features such signifiers of the posh life as a private library, champagne bar, Slim Aarons photographs, and sheets with really, really high thread counts.

The “plunge” pool at the Gansevoort South in Miami is now accepting bikinis and belly-flops. Officially open today, the infinity-edge watering hole, surrounded by a 40,000-square-foot Stephane Dupoux-designed deck, will play host to superstar DJ Paul Oakenfold, who takes to the tables at midnight tonight.

We were tempted to rehash our college midterm essay about German artist Anselm Kiefer, but, of course, we can’t remember what it was about. We do, however, reckon there was much written on metaphor and visual synecdoche. Anway, Kiefer will unveil his first L.A. exhibition in more than a decade at the Beverly Hills Gagosian from March 29 through April 26. What’s more, the gallery will present a one-off showing of the major installation Palmsonntag (Palm Sunday)—36 paintings, an uprooted palm tree—at the First Baptist Church Gym (yep, you read it right). —N.H.

Later this month, the Morrison Hotel Gallery will unveil its new art space, 3000 square feet formerly occupied by CBGB’s Gallery. The opening exhibition, appropriately, is titled “Rockers” and features art music photography by Steve Joester. Bathroom graffiti will remain intact. —N.H.

Attention all art aficionados! New York City is no longer the center of the art world! At least not from May 31 to September 21! We’ll stop yelling! Calling New York ‘no longer the center of the art world’ might be a tad harsh, but we don’t want to detract from the major exhibit landed by the Museum of Contemporary Art in Chicago, between the dates mentioned above. Jeff Koons, y’all. The provocative artist will be bringing his works—many of them iconic—to the museum’s halls in what will be the largest Koons exhibition in 15 years. The show will include his famous sculptures metal Rabbit (left), Balloon Dog, and Hanging Heart. Koons worked closely with the MCA to select the pieces, which will include the staged-sex photos and sculptures he made with his porn star ex-wife, Ilona Maller. —B.B.