It was historic. It was built in 1927, designed by Thomas Lamb. It was originally called the Academy of Music—and in the Seventies, it filled the gap caused by the closure of Fillmore East (which later became the Saint). Then, in 1985, Steve Rubell, of Studio 54 fame, bought the building and it was reborn as the Palladium. It was magnificent. Designed by Arata Isozaki (roughly, the Philip Johnson of Japan, and designer of LA’s Museum of Contemporary Art), the Palladium retained the shell of the Academy of Music, keeping the original mezzanine and balcony, with a proscenium arch as large as a building facade. It was huge. It was ornate and mysterious, a labyrinth of rooms, a warren of spaces with art by Keith Haring, Basquiat, and Francesco Clemente, and columns—and a grand double staircase with 2,400 lights suspended in glass blocks. Apart from the Saint, it was the most phenomenal nightclub in Manhattan.

And in September 1996, the Palladium became Junior Vasquez’s Saturday night playground, Arena. And for the next year, every Saturday night became more fierce and dramatic than the Saturday before. It was legendary.

And who wouldn’t want to return to such a perfect sandbox? Ten years ago, it was—so why not a tenth-anniversary party? At the soon-to-be-demolished Roxy? Another club bites the dust—but not before Junior turns it out one more time.

As soon as we climb Roxy’s flight of stairs, we hear “Follow Me” with its lyrics “I am the light…” On the dance floor, there’s a long catwalk-like stage, sheathed in black fabric—with its implied promises of ki-ki shows and struts, and rumors of Dolly Parton leading a “Peace Train,” a song which Junior made an Arena anthem.

There’s a line out in front—and the boyz are still making their way in, filling up the vast Roxy floor, while Junior throws down choruses of “Your soul is mine – ha, ha, ha” and “Do you want me? Do you need me?” Apparently, we do—because we’re here, again. And there’s the chant, “Arena, Arena, Arena,” reminding us of the year that Kevin rode the Arena Gay Pride float—and all down Fifth Avenue yelled little more than that one word.

Junior’s playing x-tremely percussive. The kind of music that feels focused and tight as it moves from your feet to your pelvis. You pick it up on the floor and carry it upwards. And then major chords as he throws down “Can’t Drive You Away,” which provokes cheers from the crowd that has now conquered the floor. It’s the old Roxy mixed up with pieces of Palladium—and Arena anthems. The crowd catches them all. “Din Da Da”—which were Kevin’s first spoken words after his lip-synching years, back from the days when the video monitors at Arena would swirl around with glam shots from his soon-to-be released CD “Box of Chocolates,” back when every Saturday would find Kevin working those boxes and that stage. Back when Deborah Cox was singing “Things Just Ain’t the Same.” No, they ain’t, Deb, but don’t tell this crowd—who’s living it all again, now.

It’s a mixing celebration—and the crowd is having it all. One of those nights when they cheer in unison—unity achieved. While the man in control is reminding everyone, “Don’t Say You Want Me, Don’t Say You Need Me.” And you can’t help but think of the kids you knew back then—the ones at Arena every Saturday night. Marlowe? Where are you now?

Junior always plays well during Pride weekend, and maybe because Junior has a lot to be proud of—and isn’t afraid to show it. As the song says, “Get some love when you need some”—and the man knows how to do that.

It’s a crowd that’s less cocky than sexy. Rodrigo and Peter, Kyle and Corey. Boyz from out of town—they’ve come from South Beach and Lauderdale, Providence and—there’s my dance instructor. Quick, we have to spy on him—to see how he dances when he’s not at the front of a class.

It’s a young crowd, and colorful—and resourceful. One of our friends from out of town says that his goal for the weekend is to get by every door of the weekend without paying. “I told Kyle, use what we got.” Well, good luck, honeychile—you got the booty for it.

Some of the boyz have wandered over from the other parties. Talk about a plethora of choice: there’s Peter and Offer at Stereo, and Victor at Studio, and Junior here—all playing in New York on the same night. Who says nightlife is dead? And Junior’s going, “You got me so fired up.”

The way he’s playing, it’s music as stream-of-consciousness, a kind of Joycean wordplay with songs. To listen to Junior’s choices, and the crowd’s response, is to tweak the subconscious and pique the memory—and all of it feels totally right for a night celebrating Pride—and a party called Arena from back in the day.