Nataraja, a god of dance, watches over the temple room at Karma, one of the city’s newest megaclubs. Multi-limbed, surrounded by a ring of fire, Nataraja eyes the smoky environs as the multi-culti, pansexual crowd bumps along to the industrial beat of the music. All around the edges of the dance floor, silent figures watch the dancers from the railings or the comfort of large chairs and couches.
Managed by Carson, a permanent fixture on the local nocturnal scene and a past manager of Shelter, Karma plays off an Eastern mystical theme. Some of it works beautifully: The decor plays to the notion with bigger-than-life-size artists’ sculptures and cozy coves. On a recent Saturday night, fortunetellers offered their services throughout the club.
Some things, however, are just plain silly — like the line outside that’s formed not by hordes trying to get in but by the manipulations of the security people, who make the cold process of waiting much longer than necessary. Karma’s got 9,000 square feet and it’s not likely to be so full at any time that anybody should ever have to wait more than a few minutes.
Inside, the space is divided into three floors. The first is a relatively small bar area called the Sound Lounge. Nicely appointed, with jazz and reggae in the air and plenty of living room-style seating, this room appears to be more in use on the way out than on the way in — even though it’s the first place you’re led after being given permission to enter.
Tonight, Daniella’s reading palms down here, drawing crowds so large she has to beg off at 2 a.m., drained from the process. One woman’s so intent on getting her future told that, when Daniella politely demurs, she threatens to call the manager. “I know him,” she says. “I want my fortune told now.” Daniella holds her ground, tells her to come by some other day, some other place. The woman huffs off.
The second floor — the temple room — offers up a large, spacious dance floor with several risers for the exhibitionists and a large mirror on the back wall. Fabric drapes down in large swoops from the ceiling. When Karma has live performances, this is where they take place — on the red-curtained stage where Nataraja holds court. The music’s more industrial, more anonymous and hypnotic here, as is the atmosphere. This is the place to look and be looked at, to appraise and be appraised.
On a recent Saturday, Dr. Camal, an astrologer, sits in just off the coat check, flipping through his well-worn chart book. Dr. Camal’s casual, wearing a fedora, loose pants and a sweater.
“You got quite a bit of Gemini in you,” he tells a Cancer-born woman.
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“Oh no,” says the woman. “I hate Geminis.”
A psychic drag queen (more the Churchlady type than RuPaul) sits near the bar with a whole bag of divining tricks. Her name is Charlene Unger, and she wears a button that reads “I (heart) Berwyn,” lots of plastic bangles and a bad wig.
“Breathe deeply,” she says to a customer, who proceeds to heartily inhale the cigarette smoke. “Now put your hands on the crystal ball and concentrate.” (The crystal ball, by the way, is a pink plastic sparkle ball that vibrates from the thumping bass lines.)
Charlene uses a magnifying glass and a flashlight to examine her customer’s palms. “Is the person I’m with the person I’ve been waiting for?” the woman asks. The palm’s unclear, so Charlene goes for the ouija board. It spells out “eeeft.” When all else fails, Charlene yanks out the eight-ball. A quick shake and the answer floats up: “All signs point to yes.”
The third floor, called the Serpentine Lounge, offers music with more melody and the occasional lyric. It’s warmer in every sense up here. There are couples of all sorts yakking it up, hanging out. A humidor stores everything but Cuban cigars. Two pool tables offer a little competition and plenty of elbow room.
An unnecessary VIP room — cordoned off by a see-through partition that belies the room’s privacy — has a huge fish tank and a less-crowded bar. Last, the men’s bathroom, its door perpetually open, also offers up a show of its own.
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the facts
Thursdays, and Fridays, 10 p.m. to 4 a.m., Saturdays, 10 p.m. to 5 a.m., Karma, 318 W. Grand Ave. $10 cover. Call 312-321-1331.