I was here when it started
This was the home I chose
I watched while founders parted
The drama comes and goes
But throughout the many years
I've sent my little rhymes
And for all the laughter and tears
You have to say we had good times
When it all at last implodes
Hopefully, we'll stay friends
Even if we pick different roads
You'll have to tell me how ends
So blow a kiss, a great big mwah
It's not adeiu, just au revoir
The secret to The Velvet was always the people.
When it first started, it was just a way to get dwell, back when that was a thing. That’s why all dance clubs started. If you could keep people on your land for any amount of time, the Lindens would reward you for creating compelling content. Everyone was scrambling for a way to make a little scratch from the pixel-place we’d built. It’s what spawned the casinos and dance clubs.
We based it off an old movie theater in Dallas: the Major. I know that plywood model isn’t much to look at, but it was a real place. There were punk shows there and it’s where I first told the dead-kitten story after Mitch broke two guitar-strings. We used to smoke up on the balcony, when that was still legal. Back in the 90s, that was a shared space. It was rebuilt in SL, to share with everyone.
After a while, The Velvet became more than just a dance club. It was a place where friends could meet up and chat and be in each other’s company. Playing music for each other was just a way of sharing the things we loved. “I have found this thing that gave me joy. I hope you enjoy it as well.”
The first build fell because of a disagreement between friends. Still, Flopsy, the owner of the Iron Fist sim, understood the importance of the place and allowed us one final night of dancing on the rubble. The Velvet in the Iron Fist. That was always the joke, thus the name.
Pushbutton, the first manager, handed things over to Jasper. We floated over the Romeo sim while zombies were built under us. That venture failed and The Velvet landed heavily, but continued. It was still friends getting together and sharing what we’d found. The Laundromat (same sim) was a pale imitation of an off-shoot. It needed The Velvet to survive.
The club moved to the Downtown sim. We’d watched our siblings—The Silo, The Winchester, Emerald City—try and fail. The gravitational pull of friends getting together allowed no satellites. There was only one Velvet, even after it was rebuilt.
Jasper gave way to Astrud gave way to others gave way to Maht. The club moved to its own sim. The sim failed and The Velvet came to where it is now.
But it was still friends getting together and sharing our discoveries. It wasn’t just a club but a kind of collective scrap-book: the tiny details that make a place a shared environment. This couch, that table, those chairs, these rugs. It was a place built by the people who went there. No one person owned it but the group.
Call it stone-soup. Anyone could point to a thing and know its place. Forever evolving, it was a virtual representation of that old saying, “When the house is done, death enters.” Everyone added their bit.
It was never the décor or the posters or the couches or trinkets. It was always the people. It was friends who got together and supported each other. We got each other through the pandemic. Together, we did that. Never just one person, but all of us. If it was only one ego, it wouldn’t have lasted as long as it did.
The Velvet wasn’t just a club; it was a philosophy. “Things shouldn’t have to suck.”
I watched The Velvet be born and I swore I’d stick around until it died.
Over the last year-and-a-half, I haven’t felt completely welcome—that my continued presence is only permitted as a favor to history (not that any DJ I visit has done that). An anchor to the past is just that: an anchor that prevents movement. While it’s been my home for over eighteen years, it’s an adult now and it needs to grow on its own. I am grateful that I’ve been allowed to leave on my own terms, but I do need to leave.
I’m not dying. I’m not abandoning SL (although I will be taking a break). I’ll still DJ here and there, but I can’t be a part of The Velvet anymore. It’s the end of one chapter, but the start of another.
You were all wonderful and I wish the best for everyone. Make me proud.
Stay safe.
Have fun.
Be kind.
