he year is 1978, and Karl Lagerfeld is arriving at Théâtre Le Palace in a gondola. His former partner, Jacques de Bascher, has fashioned himself a wearable version of the Rialto Bridge for the Venetian-themed ball. Vogue Italia contributor Anna Piaggi is negotiating a large platter of fish on her head in an effort to look like an Italian fishmonger who has caught her haul in the Grand Canal.
“Every night was a surprise,” resident DJ Michel Gaubert, who filled the intimate basement dance floor with his eclectic New Wave, disco, funk and jazz between 1978 and 1982, tells Vogue. Tributes to the Veneto region’s architecture might have turned heads on the streets, but inside the 9th arrondissement theatre-turned-nightclub, the dresscode was the DNA of the “crazy cast of people who lived the night, the glory of night, the fun of the night, the expression of the night, which was not allowed in the day”.
The nightlife impresarios in Lagerfeld and Yves Saint Laurent’s sets would leave Le Palace at four o’clock in the morning, and be at work just hours later at eight. “These people came alive at night!” Gaubert continues. “They made, borrowed or bought things from flea markets to make outfits that were really out-there, because dressing up was a very important part of going there. The street is freer now – you can dress up all day long. It was difficult back then for the people who just wanted to live.”
“Every night was a surprise,” resident DJ Michel Gaubert, who filled the intimate basement dance floor with his eclectic New Wave, disco, funk and jazz between 1978 and 1982, tells Vogue. Tributes to the Veneto region’s architecture might have turned heads on the streets, but inside the 9th arrondissement theatre-turned-nightclub, the dresscode was the DNA of the “crazy cast of people who lived the night, the glory of night, the fun of the night, the expression of the night, which was not allowed in the day”.
The nightlife impresarios in Lagerfeld and Yves Saint Laurent’s sets would leave Le Palace at four o’clock in the morning, and be at work just hours later at eight. “These people came alive at night!” Gaubert continues. “They made, borrowed or bought things from flea markets to make outfits that were really out-there, because dressing up was a very important part of going there. The street is freer now – you can dress up all day long. It was difficult back then for the people who just wanted to live.”
If New York’s Studio 54 brought disco lovers to the dance floor, Le Palace drew in an eclectic, off-beat crowd. “It was intellectual, it was different,” Gaubert muses. French painter Gérard Garouste decorated the downstairs layer, which became a base for artists to come and go through the twilight hours. But, he maintains, "the amazing thing about Le Palace was that everyone, I mean everyone, mixed together.” There were no VIP areas, just nooks and crannies on the club’s several levels. “It was very free and very open every single night… something I haven't seen in a while.”
Moves on the floor were not dictated by Saturday Night Fever, but the New Wave genre filtering through Europe. “When Gary Numan played, everyone did a kind of pogo, novo dance where they jumped up and down. It was so fun to watch.” At the end of the night there would be a thousand cigarette butts on the floor, but people were respectful of the old theatre fixtures. “People never destroyed stuff,” Gaubert is quick to point out. “The drugs were different, the drinks were different back then.” Anyone who was anyone drank vodka peppermint.
Gaubert played his last set at Le Palace after the 10pm to 7am shifts began to take their toll: “In those days DJs didn't play for two hours, we played for the entire time, I had to get my days back”. The energy had sustained him through each spectacular shift for as long as it could. “It was like a big family, we all wanted the place to be incredible, and more incredible every night.” He counts robots and mermaids as former colleagues, as well as the wonderful Edwige Belmore, who worked the guest list, and Fabrice Emaer, the owner who let Thierry Mugler design some of the staff uniforms. He was "always on good terms with" the “prince of the night”, from the opening night when Grace Jones sang "La Vie en Rose" on a Harley Davidson surrounded by dry ice, to the last.
When Emaer died in 1983, it was the end of an era. “Things were changing politically in France, the mood changed,” he recalls. New, avant-garde performers, like Jones and Prince, weren’t flying in and out of town to hang out with Le Palace’s crew. Gaubert believes it is this sense of freedom that keeps pulling the fashion pack – Hedi Slimane recently celebrated his 50th birthday there and Gucci will stage its spring/summer 2019 show in the space – back to the theatre. “There’s a sense of real French decadence to Le Palace that is such a part of Paris culture. I think fashion is always looking for that,” he concludes. Alessandro Michele, who Gaubert has collaborated with numerous times, is poised to revive the excess and artistry with his unstoppable maximalist Gucci juggernaut on September 24th – for one night only.
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