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If you're planning to hang out at Trio Club (909 E Burnside St., 234-5003),
a word of advice: Sit by the windows. Far more entertaining than the
gelled-up Beavertonian mangling "In the Air Tonight" on the light-up
dance floor is watching passersby peer inside the gleaming-white karaoke
palace and mouth, "What the fuck is this place?" No one mourned
the demolition of overpriced dungeon the Galaxy last year, but who
thought it'd be replaced by a business that looks sprung from the mind
of Parks and Recreation's Tom Haverford? It might be the weirdest
place on the "weird side" of Portland, and it isn't even trying—though
if you ask me, Las Vegas is much weirder than our town could ever hope
to be. And with its luxury-suite sleekness, fluorescent lighting, $5
cover plus security pat-downs, $4 PBRs, lack of well drinks, Jumbotron
lyric screen, behind-the-bar waterfall, smoke machines and three rooms
separated by soundproof glass—including a rentable party room where you
can apparently order a sparkler-topped bottle of Grey Goose for your
birthday—Trio Club's owners are clearly trying to trick suburbanites
into believing they can relive that one wild weekend in college just
over the Beaverton-Hillsdale Highway. That's all fine for an Old Town
meat market, but there's a reason the most popular karaoke joint on the
eastside is a rundown Chinese restaurant: The appeal of spending a night
publicly butchering popular songs is the besotted egalitarianism.
Everyone sucks, no matter how many lasers and how much fake fog you
surround them with, and that's the fun. But Trio Club mistakenly
believes everyone wants—and deserves—faux-VIP extravagance. What the
fuck indeed.
WWeek 2015