What to Expect @ Yah Yah’s

By Sophie Lane

“Yah Yah’s?”this all too common cringe nosed response from the pesty bottle top blondes (ignoramus peroxidius) is precisely what draws the attention of checkered-shirt pitchfork.com-reading peppys to one of Melbourne’s most successful underground bars in the heart of beatnick Fitzroy.

The dark dingy side street entrance welcomes a cast of characters, with the only prerequisite being quirk. That said there’s one thing missing from this pretentious and obscure typical hang out. Instead of being met with a stare and a wave of monotonous Morrissey sighs, the almost empty archive is warmly welcoming.

Upon entrance you feel as if this is a place totally encompassed by family and friends and once getting through the highly unexclusive chipboard doorway, the exclusivity will overwhelme. What is it that these indie fellow say? “Don’t stereotype” (sigh). As I look around a room full of checkered shirt Charlies, I wonder whether I missed the memo regarding tonight’s theme. Oh, the irony.

Arty anecdotes aside, this Smith Street side bar provides the perfect night out for anyone wanting to “spice up ya life” without the use of cringe-worthy 90’s esque hot pants. There’s a 80 percent chance that the music ringing throughout will be virgin to your ears, just as a comb is to the boy to your lefts hair. Think pop meets pep with a little bit of “screw society” punch, and that’s what you’ll find at Yah Yah’s.

You’ll undoubtedly find the bar service to be fast, as the staff are only ever asked for beer. “Cocktail?” I may as well have spoken Japanese. Lucky for me I love a cold Corona.

One vertical half of the bar is dedicated to tables and chairs, it’s the perfect place to discuss existentialism after a few too many drinks, after all. Don’t let your high school memories inhibit ice breaker confidence, you’ll find joining a table of checkered chatter easy. As I look around, the sweet juxtaposition of smiles and sighs is somewhat soothing.

Toilet trips are tough if you don’t have a beer hopping bestie to hold your hand all the way. The cubicles are hidden behind the bar towards the very back of the club. As they are located opposite the courtyard smoke room, a two minute trip soon turns into a ten minute turmoil of “No, sorry I don’t have a lighter”.

The small cosy dance floor invites members of the crowd to stand on top of the even smaller stage and flop loose limbs around fiercly. “I was happy in the haze of a drunken hour, but heaven knows I’m miserable now”, The Smiths say it all.

No matter what the dance move is, your participation will surely be met with cheers. It’s nice to look around a club and find that there are no cages encompassing drunk ditsy girls spending too much time moving a pink Cruiser bottle neck in and out of their sloppy slapper mouths. Somehow, I imagine in a place like this, cages would promote protest. We’re all vegan and believe in animal rights of course.

Yah Yah’s twenty-something teeters ensure a great night is to be had by all. Just be sure to leave your judgements at home, you’ll be clinking bottles with the kings of the stereotype after all.

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