I hit the G Spot just a week after it officially opened and found that it was still in the process of warming up. Because it's located in the Crossroads space that used to house a gay bar called the Back Door, the next watering hole that goes here has to be called the Taint. As for the best way to reach the G Spot, one of my regular research assistants gave concise directions. "When you get off the I-35 ramp onto Southwest Boulevard, go up and curl around a little to the right," Erik said. "You'll hit it then."
After paying the $5 cover, we passed the well-lighted entryway bar and went through the long middle passageway, which included a pool table and a merchandise nook. The back room was the throbbing heart of the place. A triangular stage was the focal point, and autographed cymbals covered one brick wall. Sadly, the Back Door's dancing cages were gone.
We hung out by the bar and waited for the show to start. The G Spot didn't have beer on tap yet, so we went with a $3 bottle of Bud Light and a $3.50 Corona. The band, which went on around 9, was made up of middle-aged guys who strutted around on the stage with their best guitar-solo faces. They did sound a lot like AC/DC, though. "They're kind of cheesy, but they kind of rock," said Research Assistant John. A couple of the guys' wives told me that it was KC/DC's third performance ever and that the band included a surgeon and a police chief.
I also liked their outfits, even though I was disappointed that no one tried to channel Angus Young by wearing a blazer and shorts. The bassist came close. He wore nylon shorts that read "Ozark Beach" and a white, short-sleeved, button-down shirt, which he sweat through. The lead singer went with the '80s-inspired sleeveless denim vest with patches and a sleeveless T-shirt.
The band played its first set — during which we marveled at how so many AC/DC songs sound alike — then took a break. Our ears ringing, we went to the front bar and ordered some ranch fries. As we waited for our food, I started chatting with Kenny, the friendly guy who's in charge of security and merchandise. He said he used to help run Johnny Dare's and he hoped the G Spot would be "what Johnny Dare's could have been but never was."
More important, I asked why the name changed to the Great Spot. "Oh, political reasons," Kenny replied, making air quotes with his fingers. He said the Crossroads Community Association thought that "G Spot" was obscene and that the bar would bring in a shady crowd. One female association member said the name was disgusting and threatened to push for a boycott, so the owner added the "r-e-a-t" to the giant G on his storefront window. Later, I talked to co-owner Bob Bardwell, who told me that a few people in the association complained about the name. "They thought it was risqué, and I agreed with them," he said.
Setting aside semantics, I wandered around some more and ran into Mercury from Vibralux. He was low-key and not made-up that night. He said he was checking out the space because he wanted to bring in some DJs. Merc, who had taken the full tour, also told me about a posh apartment upstairs for the artists. In true Real World style, the pad includes a six-person Jacuzzi on the roof.
After eating our fries, we met Rebecca, Trina and Beth, friends of the band who are in their mid-20s. Rebecca and Beth met at Washburn University; they lauded the school's mascot, the Ichabod. Naturally, I had to ask: What the hell is an Ichabod? "He's a courteous lad," Beth said. They tried to re-create his pose by putting one foot in front of the other and holding their arms out, midstride.
I asked the ladies if they wanted to share any stories about mythical or real G-spots. "Well, we teased the band that they wouldn't be able to find it and would be driving around all night," Beth said.
Thankfully, they located it and soon returned to the stage. They played more of AC/DC's well-known hits, which pleased the previously staid crowd. RA John noticed that they changed instruments and yelled something about how some guy was playing a five-string fretless, which made it similar to a stand-up bass. I had trouble hearing him — it got pretty loud in the back room — and focused instead on one vivacious, curvy bartender who was totally rocking out. She was sporting a tight white shirt and gray-and-white camouflage capris. She got onstage to dance to "Dirty Deeds." She stuck her ass out and did a quick shimmy-dip, then high-fived the band.
Her enthusiasm was infectious. An older guy with slicked-back gray hair stood by the bar. Clad all in black, he bobbed his head and danced in place. During "Problem Child," he stuck one hand behind his head and made devil horns.
Our favorite person, though, was a chick in her 30s who tucked a black T-shirt into knee-length denim shorts. She accessorized her outfit with a black studded belt, high heels and enormous boobs. "Balconies you can deliver Shakespeare from," RA John observed. Such as Romeo and Juliet's "What's in a name" speech? Well, whether it's called the G Spot or Great Spot, it'd smell just as sweet. And by sweet, I do mean cheesy good times.