rom a block away, you can see the swollen line-up leading to Level’s front door. Deep inside the monster club at the foot of Peter and Adelaide, the speakers are blasting a techno remix of the Stefani single “Rock Steady” and a herd of social strivers are trying to do just that. The just-opened club has thrown not one, but two grand openings; one for the main Level, and one for its rooftop patio, Wetbar.

Touring through the levels of the club - through a non-decorated red stairwell - left me catching my breath at the top. Only the staircase left me breathless. For what the club displayed – from entranceway to rooftop deck - was a monotonous rehash of the club land formula.

With the main Level area in all red and the rooftop in all white, designers could be angling for a lust theme for the former and heavenly for the latter, yet both drop short at dull. The plain interior, while monstrously large, is uninspiring with the requisite LCD screens and bottle-service areas. While the rooftop sees more Lycra curtains and leather sofas bookend by two crowded bars on the north and south.

Recycled bartenders, very familiar with the clubland empire, man the counters for the mid to late twenties crowd. A certain crowd, I can’t help but notice, heads straight to Wetbar to avoid Level’s monstrosity of a line up. The invitation said dress to impress, but it didn’t look like everybody got it. A lifeless bunch filled the floor chatting away as if by the water cooler, discussing the latest reality TV hit. The vibe was standoffish and stuck-up, something easy to find in the entertainment district.