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Video by Paul Seyb

My eyebrows soared north when my friend Charlie suggested a trip to Brixton for a night of "mental gipsy-klezmer hooliganism". I didn't have a clue what that meant but, more importantly, where in Brixton would they put on something like that?

I was to learn two things: the curious description was for a night called Stranger Than Paradise-an intoxicating evening in celebrationof gipsy culture, the wilder the better, all for just £10; and that the venue was Dex. A wicked new club, incongruously located above KFC in Brixton's main road, it has a growing reputation for quality nights, from drum&bass to funk revivals.

With the promise of a hot tub on the roof thrown in, curiosity got the better of me. There wasn't a dress code, but Charlie had told me to use my imagination.

I turned up at 10.30pm in normal Saturday night get-up - dress and heels - and soon regretted it. Up a Gosford Park-type staircase and through heavy double doors, I was met by a vision of gold Spandex, burlesque tassels and shell bikinis. These punters were properly dressed up. The ballroom's walls and columns swirled with delirious shapes and projections, all in time to the samba-funk pulsing through the room. It was like the whole room was on an absinthe trip.

Fun and games: Stranger than Paradise is 'for people who like to play'

Charlie, looking devilish in a corset, stockings and luscious red lips, spotted my rabbit-in-the-headlights stare and quickly ushered me to the bar. "You're just in time," she yelled, "the first performance is about to start."

Sucking on my £5 double vodka and Red Bull, I was steered towards the stage where a band was setting up. As the samba faded out, so began Chancery Blame and the Gadjo Club, a self-proclaimed group of gipsy ghetto pranksters who delighted the crowd with mournful melodies and a man who gyrated in a sheet before stripping to a belly-dancing costume.

The act ended in wild applause and the DJ reverted to his invigorating Latino set. I couldn' t believe that this unpretentious place was not only a members' club (where they also hold parties for non-members) but also home to such an unexpected and off-the-wall occasion. And despite the hedonistic, otherworldly vibe, it was one of the friendliest nights I've been to in ages.

Up close: clubbers dress to thrill at Stranger Than Paradise (left) and take a dip in the hot tub

Happily getting into the swing of things, Charlie and I wandered up to the roof terrace. Despite the unrelenting rain and howling wind, you couldn't miss the cries from the direction of the hot tub, where excitable young men were trying to convince pretty ladies to join them. The raucous cries were not quite as classy as the environment merited - the sweeping curve of teak decking and skyline views are the stuff Mayfair rooftops are made of - but the contrast just made it more exciting, like a black-tie party being gatecrashed by the cast of Moulin Rouge. Back in the main room, the evening's creator and hostess, Amanda, was introducing the next act. As she welcomed Plaster Of Paris to the stage, a pirate roared his appreciation for the exotic madame in her black feather ensemble.

People travel from all over for Amanda's monthly nights, which move around the capital. She spoke to the crowd of hundreds as one might to close friends in your living room. Her aim, she explained, was to provide nights for people "who just want to play", and it really did feel like a grownups' playground. The party went on until 7am and was packed to the finish.

No one wanted to leave Amanda's fantasy for the real world. As we finally admitted defeat and stumbled outside, I realised how Lucy must have felt when she stepped out of the wardrobe from Narnia.

The next Stranger Than Paradise is on 12 April at Dex, 467-69 Brixton Road, 7pm-7am, £10. More information: myspace.com/gypsymadness

 

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