One drink more! Inside Soho's musical theatre bar
The Room Where it Happens features singalongs and warbling waiting staff... but are they living the dream or trapped in a living nightmare?
By Anya Ryan
Here’s a secret about me: karaoke is my guilty pleasure. At Christmas, I’m the first to try and convince my family to sing, belting out a heavily off-key rendition of Frozen’s “Let It Go” at the top of our lungs into a hairbrush. Combine that with my job as a theatre critic – where a night in the stalls watching show tunes is hardly unusual – and my long-standing appreciation for a well-shaken martini, and it seems inevitable I’d find myself drawn to The Room Where It Happens, a new Soho bar where all three are supposed to collide in perfect harmony.
So, on a boiling hot Thursday evening, that’s precisely where I’m heading, with my musical theatre-loving sister, Zara, and my not-so-musical-theatre-loving partner, Angus, in tow. Along Greek Street, we wander through the door and up the stairs into a singing wonderland. Named after a big-hitter from Hamilton (come on, you know the song), The Room Where It Happens takes its inspiration from New York’s famous piano bar, Marie’s Crisis Café. It launched in London in February, and now stays open till 2am Wednesday to Saturday evenings (and till 12.30am on a Sunday, for anyone wanting a belting end to a weekend).
The room itself sits at the top of a tall Soho townhouse, which was often visited by Oscar Wilde back in the day. Perhaps unsurprisingly, it has deliriously dramatic energy: it’s a dimly lit space that glows in amber and gold, with framed Playbills and vintage West End posters lining the walls like holy relics. There’s even a thick red velvet curtain as a backdrop. And most importantly of all, there’s singing. Lots and lots of singing. The waiters double as performers, swapping their notepads for microphones. For a musical theatre devotee, it could be described as a small paradise.
For Angus, though, this is something more uncharted. “Are they going to sing all night?” he asks, cautiously eyeing a nearby server belting out “The Wizard and I” between drink orders. Yes, I inform him. That’s exactly the point of The Room Where It Happens. Here, the staff are trained musical theatre actors, many of them fresh from the West End or gearing up for their next audition, who moonlight as bartenders between jobs. “Oh right,” he says warily, “we better get ordering.”
Luckily for him, there’s a whole menu of cocktails ready and waiting. But with names like The Patti and The Bernadette, he looks at them blankly. “Are these supposed to mean something?” “Yes,” my sister says, scandalised. “They’re only some of the greatest stage performers of all time.” What he does understand is the two-for-one drinks deal, every night until 8pm: “What a bargain.”
I’ve got to give him some credit because The Room Where It Happens is definitely a lot. The first part of the evening is dedicated to audience requests, scribbled down on slips of paper and handed to the pianist at the centre of the room. He barely glances at them before launching into the opening bars, apparently blessed with the uncanny ability to summon any musical theatre song out of thin air. One moment it’s Waitress, the next it’s Les Mis, then Six, Cabaret or Hamilton. His performance alone is enough to wow: his fingers fly across the keys and his head bobs, barely missing a beat. Even Angus can’t help but be impressed by his musical wizardry.
Staff flit between tables mid-number, delivering our order of The Cynthia (an appropriately green concoction made of tequila, kiwi and lime) with an additional bow, and clearing empty plates to the sound of Hamilton’s “You’ll Be Back”. It’s part service, part spectacle. The vibe is less cheesy karaoke bar and more boozy Broadway revue. As the drinks flow and the crowd loosens up, the singing from the audience at the cabaret-style tables gets a little bit louder.
Right on time, because at 9pm, we get the chance to gather around the piano and join in with a live sing-along. Cue the big hitters: “One Day More” gets rousing applause, “The Greatest Showman” is met with a chorus of screaming women; there’s a group that has travelled to London especially for an evening here. “Seasons of Love” sounds oh-so-nearly idyllic; voices crack, the harmonies clash, but the crowds are giving it their all. This is what they’ve come for.
And good job, too, because the food is nothing special. “It’s like a good school dinner,” Angus says, albeit while wolfing down his vegan shepherd’s pie (very plain). My sister and I have opted for a series of starters to share — a zesty papaya salad, a slab of burrata, and some salt and pepper squid. It is all perfectly edible but distinctly unremarkable.
But who cares about what’s on your plate when the person serving it could burst into song at a moment’s notice? When I chat to our waitress, Ayesha (an almost unbelievably strong singer), she gushes about how great working at The Room Where It Happens has been. “I get to sing even when I’m not in a show,” she tells me, beaming. And for those of us listening to her, we’re certainly glad she’s here instead of on a regular stage.
We do our bit, and join in the singalong at the piano. “I don’t know the words,” Angus whispers to me nervously, while trying his best to fit in. But that’s the thing about The Room Where It Happens: it is built for musical fans and musical fans only. It is not meant for phonies like him. If you’re familiar with the showstoppers and can dispel your fears of singing in public (God, horror!), then you’re almost certain to have a good time. By the time we were all huddling around the piano, it started to feel like we were one big chorus.
Still, I feel obliged to caveat that by saying The Room Where It Happens is probably lots of people’s idea of a living nightmare. So, you’ll probably guess the final verdict. “Did you enjoy it?” I ask my companions on the way out. “I didn’t totally hate it,” Angus says. “I’d love to go again,” Zara grins.
It might not be a place for theatre beginners, but for fans, it’s a bar that hits all the right notes.
The Room Where it Happens is open Wednesday to Sundays
Always wanted to give this a try!