Before we get into this, I wanna take a moment to pay my respects and condolences to the friends and family of Andre "Angel" Melendez. What happened to him was senseless, brutal, and a stain on what was otherwise one of the wildest and most creative eras of New York nightlife.
Now, let's talk Glory Daze: The Life and Times of Michael Alig.
See, I actually went to the Limelight quite a few times back in the '90s. But I wasn't there for the Club Kid nights-I was there for the metal nights. The punk shows. The real loud, grimy, headbanging, beer-soaked mayhem that took over that old church on certain nights of the week. And this is something the documentary should have touched on, because the Limelight wasn't just glow sticks, platform boots, and people dressed like sentient candy necklaces. It was also a major hub for metalheads, punks, goths-anyone looking for something raw and electric. But of course, that whole scene got swallowed up by the neon-and-glitter legacy of Michael Alig, James St. James, and the rest of the Club Kid mafia.
That being said, they ain't lying about what the Club Kid scene did to NYC. You felt their presence. It wasn't just the Limelight-it was all of Manhattan, bleeding into the boroughs. The insane fashion, the underground parties, the way they manipulated media and turned themselves into these larger-than-life cartoon characters. The documentary nails that vibe, and if you weren't there, trust me-it really was that crazy. There was nothing like it, before or since.
And then, of course, we get to Michael Alig. The enfant terrible, the creative genius, the ultimate party promoter, and-oh yeah-the guy who let his drug-fueled ego get so out of control that it ended with a murder. Some say Alig killed the Club Kid scene when he killed Angel, but honestly, these things have a shelf life. Social movements like that burn bright, then burn out. Still, it's real interesting to think about how this whole thing would be viewed if Alig hadn't done what he did. Would he be some kind of underground Warhol figure today? A cultural relic from a wilder time? Or would the scene have naturally fizzled, leaving him a footnote instead of an infamous headline?
The real gut-punch of this documentary, though, is the final act-Alig's release from prison. Watching this once-king of the nightlife world stumble into an era of smartphones, Instagram, and internet cancel culture is surreal. You can tell he has no idea how to exist in this world. And the most brain-melting part? If he hadn't gone to prison, if he had just naturally progressed with the times, he probably would have dominated social media. He was built for it. The self-promotion, the spectacle, the endless hunger for attention-he'd be an influencer god. But instead, we get this weird, sad, out-of-place version of him trying to reclaim something that's long gone.
It's a lot to take in.
If you have even the slightest curiosity about this era of the '90s, this documentary is worth a watch. And if you were there like I was, it's almost mandatory. A relic of a time when the underground felt like the center of the universe, and somehow, some of us actually made it out alive.
