Spike Blunt

Des Leuves

As layers of heavy cotton and velvet drapes in hues of beige and maroon line the walls, lit by hooded candles and fragranced with oud and frankinscence, it feels like 1930s Saigon, and the lazy house band reek of whiskey and smack, as their singer slurs and stumbles her way through a medley of mangled lounge classics, rendered virtually unrecognisable through the thick fog of intoxication.