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The Big Splash - Charles Khabouth plans Nightclubs, Restaurants, Hotel Brand
Interesting article in today's Globe....wonder where he is planning the first 'Bisha' hotel?
The Big Splash
Amy Verner
From Report on Small Business magazine, Thursday, Jun. 04, 2009 12:19AM EDT
Among the many things Charles Khabouth has learned over his quarter century as a nightclub impresario is that novelty is crucial. Take Tattoo Rock Parlour, one of his latest experiments on the Toronto entertainment scene. The year-old venture is an unusual hybrid: part club, part live-music venue, part restaurant. Oh, and then there's the tattoo shop, for scenesters looking for a permanent souvenir of their night on the town.
When Khabouth says “there's nothing like it anywhere,†it's easy to believe him. The funky interior–designed by ahead-of-the-curve local designers 3rd Uncle–draws curious club kids out strolling Queen Street West, but on a recent evening Tattoo Rock Parlour also hosted a lively crowd of 400 being feted by an advertising firm with dinner, music and temporary tattoos. Companies vying to make their events the talk of the town have flocked to Tattoo's edgy atmosphere, making it a popular spot for corporate functions on the Queen West strip.
All of which means that so far, the innovative space is working. But the man behind the concept admits that a little unorthodoxy can be a dangerous thing. “Novelty is something you have to be very careful with,†says Khabouth, who currently owns six venues. In the entertainment business, today's trend can quickly become tomorrow's failure. So if business drops at the tattoo shop, he'll move fast to put in something else.
For Khabouth, gauging a new spot's prospects isn't so much about opening-night receipts as the vibe in the room: “I watch people, their reactions, their faces, how fast people are leaving.†He'll often stand near the door to catch what customers are saying as they walk out. (Eschewing flashy three-piece suits for understated rock-inspired style, the low-key club owner fits in with most crowds.) He'll tune out the gladhanders to eavesdrop on strangers' conversations, hoping to learn what they think of the music and decor. When Tattoo first opened, he says, attendance was low: fewer than 150 people on average in the first couple of weeks, in a venue licensed for 450. But he saw that those who came stayed for hours, and he knew he had another winner.
Once he'd established that, he set out to do what he always does: Start planning another. And another, and another. His Toronto-based company, Ink Entertainment, is poised to launch a handful of ambitious new ventures, including three restaurants (one a high-end relaunch of the once-trendy foodie destination Rain) and a 45,000-square-foot event space in Coral Gables, Florida, a co-project with fellow impresario Nick Di Donato (who also owns a stake in Tattoo Rock Parlour). There's also talk of the pair establishing another live music venue on Queen West. Not to mention the creation of an international hotel brand, which Khabouth plans to inaugurate with the opening of Bisha boutique hotel in downtown Toronto. All in all, he's aiming for a 20 per cent increase in Ink's business this year, on annual revenues of more than $30-million.
The prolific string of start-ups, in the worst economic climate in memory, suggests that the 48-year-old entrepreneur has either been touched with hubris or he's glimpsed a unique opportunity. And while Khabouth is the first to describe himself as a striver, his more than 15 venues to date–several of them risky departures from the till-then tried and true–have taught observers to curb premature skepticism. The fact that he has no direct experience in the hotel industry, for instance, doesn't faze him. “I'm very, very open-minded to bringing people on board to teach me and show me what I don't know,†he says. “I think it's crucial that before you get started on any project, you say, ‘This is what I can do and this is what I cannot do.'“
So what can Charles Khabouth do? His formula for success combines a few strengths that others in his industry envy: Identify a promising market, conjure up an aesthetic vision that's one of a kind, and find the right partners to help him create it. After that, all it takes is a 70-hour workweek to keep the places running.
Given his family background, it's not surprising Khabouth ended up in the nightclub business: His father owned a club called Les Trois Tonneaux (the Three Barrels) in Beirut, where Khabouth was born. After civil war broke out in Lebanon in 1975, his mother moved the family to Canada. (His father died of a heart attack before the war began.) Khabouth's first job was at a McDonald's, and his penchant for working gruelling hours soon emerged: At one point during high school, he held down three part-time jobs.
Soon, he was itching to start his own business, and launched a clothing line, which showed some early promise. But he quickly realized it would take years to build a name in fashion. He loved style, music and dance, and clubs encompassed all those interests. Plus, in the nightlife business, you could succeed overnight.
Club Z (pronounced “zeeâ€) opened with little fanfare in 1983 near Yonge and Wellesley Streets. The bank gave him a $30,000 loan against his car, and he decorated the basement space with merchandise from Canadian Tire, the best his budget could afford. He aimed to build regular crowds through specialty nights: house music on Saturday (during the week, Khabouth says he would drive to New York or Chicago to bring back the latest tunes) and gay nights on Sundays. But it was the tiger incident that really put Club Z on the map.
To build buzz for the venue, Khabouth rented a tiger and a cougar. The cougar caused a stir when Khabouth walked it through the club, but the tiger earned him even more attention: It broke a window after the club had closed for the night, and when police investigated, the sight of the animal prompted the arrival of officers with rifles, the Humane Society and local media. After that, the club took off.
Even as Club Z continued to draw crowds, Khabouth saw an opportunity for something new–something Toronto lacked. The clubs in the city tended to sport tired brass-and-glass decor and cater to suburban youth. There was nowhere for more mature, sophisticated urbanites to cut loose. Khabouth knew that to attract them, he needed an air of exclusivity, top-notch service and class–professional male bartenders rather than scantily clad female eye-candy, for example. In 1986, he leased a space with a dirt floor for the über-cheap rate of $4 a square foot in a rundown part of downtown. Today, that corner, at Richmond and Duncan, is ground zero of Toronto's entertainment district.
The city's club-goers had never seen anything like Stilife. Khabouth commissioned Canadian designers Glenn Pushelberg and George Yabu, who had created a splash with the first Club Monaco store on Queen Street, to design the space. They visited New York for inspiration, bringing the emerging trends–concrete interiors with edgy, industrial design details–back home. “Everyone went to see the chain walls,†recalls Raymond Perkins, who worked as an event promoter at the time. “It was the first time design was brought into that environment in Toronto.†The space was so sophisticated, Perkins made it his venue of choice for entertaining hip out-of-towners. He remembers being there the night that Prince came and held court.
Stilife made Khabouth one of Toronto's hottest new club operators. Emboldened by his success, he decided to bring some of the club's sexiness to a restaurant setting. He opened Oceans next door, recruiting the best new talent in the food world: chef Greg Couillard and, later, Susur Lee (though the latter only stayed a few weeks). The hires drew people in–and the restaurant was featured on the TV show Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous–but neither of the star chefs stuck around long. “He didn't intend to have food be important there,†says Joanne Kates, restaurant critic for The Globe and Mail. “And when it became clear he couldn't run it as a club and efficiently make money and have all that fancy food, the thing imploded.†Khabouth says the real problem was too many egos in the room: “I had a hard time working with some of these chefs. With celebrity chefs, it's like you work for them.â€
Eventually, he merged Oceans with Stilife and moved on to other ventures, but financing was a challenge. Banks didn't see nightclubs and restaurants as good risks. “I was lucky enough to have a friend who owned a mortgage company, but it was tough,†he admits, adding that things got so rough 12 years ago, he stopped driving his car because he couldn't pay the insurance. “For the first 10 to 15 years, I was short-financed–if I needed to borrow a million, someone would lend me $300,000 or $400,000 and then I would have to juggle,†he says. “It was always me stretching it.â€
As his business grew, Khabouth sought partners who could contribute both money and different skills. Steven Levy, senior vice-president of MMPI Canada, a Toronto-based event management company, recalls meeting Khabouth in 1986. Levy was running the Festival of Canadian Fashion (a precursor to Toronto Fashion Week) at the time, and the young go-getter approached him and offered to host a pre-party at Stilife. Nearly 25 years later, Levy now owns a “small per cent†of Tattoo Rock Parlour. “I think some people in his business put cash before creative,nd some put creative before cash,†says Levy. “I can tell you, in my business, I prefer the second algorithm better.â€
Interesting article in today's Globe....wonder where he is planning the first 'Bisha' hotel?
The Big Splash
Amy Verner
From Report on Small Business magazine, Thursday, Jun. 04, 2009 12:19AM EDT
Among the many things Charles Khabouth has learned over his quarter century as a nightclub impresario is that novelty is crucial. Take Tattoo Rock Parlour, one of his latest experiments on the Toronto entertainment scene. The year-old venture is an unusual hybrid: part club, part live-music venue, part restaurant. Oh, and then there's the tattoo shop, for scenesters looking for a permanent souvenir of their night on the town.
When Khabouth says “there's nothing like it anywhere,†it's easy to believe him. The funky interior–designed by ahead-of-the-curve local designers 3rd Uncle–draws curious club kids out strolling Queen Street West, but on a recent evening Tattoo Rock Parlour also hosted a lively crowd of 400 being feted by an advertising firm with dinner, music and temporary tattoos. Companies vying to make their events the talk of the town have flocked to Tattoo's edgy atmosphere, making it a popular spot for corporate functions on the Queen West strip.
All of which means that so far, the innovative space is working. But the man behind the concept admits that a little unorthodoxy can be a dangerous thing. “Novelty is something you have to be very careful with,†says Khabouth, who currently owns six venues. In the entertainment business, today's trend can quickly become tomorrow's failure. So if business drops at the tattoo shop, he'll move fast to put in something else.
For Khabouth, gauging a new spot's prospects isn't so much about opening-night receipts as the vibe in the room: “I watch people, their reactions, their faces, how fast people are leaving.†He'll often stand near the door to catch what customers are saying as they walk out. (Eschewing flashy three-piece suits for understated rock-inspired style, the low-key club owner fits in with most crowds.) He'll tune out the gladhanders to eavesdrop on strangers' conversations, hoping to learn what they think of the music and decor. When Tattoo first opened, he says, attendance was low: fewer than 150 people on average in the first couple of weeks, in a venue licensed for 450. But he saw that those who came stayed for hours, and he knew he had another winner.
Once he'd established that, he set out to do what he always does: Start planning another. And another, and another. His Toronto-based company, Ink Entertainment, is poised to launch a handful of ambitious new ventures, including three restaurants (one a high-end relaunch of the once-trendy foodie destination Rain) and a 45,000-square-foot event space in Coral Gables, Florida, a co-project with fellow impresario Nick Di Donato (who also owns a stake in Tattoo Rock Parlour). There's also talk of the pair establishing another live music venue on Queen West. Not to mention the creation of an international hotel brand, which Khabouth plans to inaugurate with the opening of Bisha boutique hotel in downtown Toronto. All in all, he's aiming for a 20 per cent increase in Ink's business this year, on annual revenues of more than $30-million.
The prolific string of start-ups, in the worst economic climate in memory, suggests that the 48-year-old entrepreneur has either been touched with hubris or he's glimpsed a unique opportunity. And while Khabouth is the first to describe himself as a striver, his more than 15 venues to date–several of them risky departures from the till-then tried and true–have taught observers to curb premature skepticism. The fact that he has no direct experience in the hotel industry, for instance, doesn't faze him. “I'm very, very open-minded to bringing people on board to teach me and show me what I don't know,†he says. “I think it's crucial that before you get started on any project, you say, ‘This is what I can do and this is what I cannot do.'“
So what can Charles Khabouth do? His formula for success combines a few strengths that others in his industry envy: Identify a promising market, conjure up an aesthetic vision that's one of a kind, and find the right partners to help him create it. After that, all it takes is a 70-hour workweek to keep the places running.
Given his family background, it's not surprising Khabouth ended up in the nightclub business: His father owned a club called Les Trois Tonneaux (the Three Barrels) in Beirut, where Khabouth was born. After civil war broke out in Lebanon in 1975, his mother moved the family to Canada. (His father died of a heart attack before the war began.) Khabouth's first job was at a McDonald's, and his penchant for working gruelling hours soon emerged: At one point during high school, he held down three part-time jobs.
Soon, he was itching to start his own business, and launched a clothing line, which showed some early promise. But he quickly realized it would take years to build a name in fashion. He loved style, music and dance, and clubs encompassed all those interests. Plus, in the nightlife business, you could succeed overnight.
Club Z (pronounced “zeeâ€) opened with little fanfare in 1983 near Yonge and Wellesley Streets. The bank gave him a $30,000 loan against his car, and he decorated the basement space with merchandise from Canadian Tire, the best his budget could afford. He aimed to build regular crowds through specialty nights: house music on Saturday (during the week, Khabouth says he would drive to New York or Chicago to bring back the latest tunes) and gay nights on Sundays. But it was the tiger incident that really put Club Z on the map.
To build buzz for the venue, Khabouth rented a tiger and a cougar. The cougar caused a stir when Khabouth walked it through the club, but the tiger earned him even more attention: It broke a window after the club had closed for the night, and when police investigated, the sight of the animal prompted the arrival of officers with rifles, the Humane Society and local media. After that, the club took off.
Even as Club Z continued to draw crowds, Khabouth saw an opportunity for something new–something Toronto lacked. The clubs in the city tended to sport tired brass-and-glass decor and cater to suburban youth. There was nowhere for more mature, sophisticated urbanites to cut loose. Khabouth knew that to attract them, he needed an air of exclusivity, top-notch service and class–professional male bartenders rather than scantily clad female eye-candy, for example. In 1986, he leased a space with a dirt floor for the über-cheap rate of $4 a square foot in a rundown part of downtown. Today, that corner, at Richmond and Duncan, is ground zero of Toronto's entertainment district.
The city's club-goers had never seen anything like Stilife. Khabouth commissioned Canadian designers Glenn Pushelberg and George Yabu, who had created a splash with the first Club Monaco store on Queen Street, to design the space. They visited New York for inspiration, bringing the emerging trends–concrete interiors with edgy, industrial design details–back home. “Everyone went to see the chain walls,†recalls Raymond Perkins, who worked as an event promoter at the time. “It was the first time design was brought into that environment in Toronto.†The space was so sophisticated, Perkins made it his venue of choice for entertaining hip out-of-towners. He remembers being there the night that Prince came and held court.
Stilife made Khabouth one of Toronto's hottest new club operators. Emboldened by his success, he decided to bring some of the club's sexiness to a restaurant setting. He opened Oceans next door, recruiting the best new talent in the food world: chef Greg Couillard and, later, Susur Lee (though the latter only stayed a few weeks). The hires drew people in–and the restaurant was featured on the TV show Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous–but neither of the star chefs stuck around long. “He didn't intend to have food be important there,†says Joanne Kates, restaurant critic for The Globe and Mail. “And when it became clear he couldn't run it as a club and efficiently make money and have all that fancy food, the thing imploded.†Khabouth says the real problem was too many egos in the room: “I had a hard time working with some of these chefs. With celebrity chefs, it's like you work for them.â€
Eventually, he merged Oceans with Stilife and moved on to other ventures, but financing was a challenge. Banks didn't see nightclubs and restaurants as good risks. “I was lucky enough to have a friend who owned a mortgage company, but it was tough,†he admits, adding that things got so rough 12 years ago, he stopped driving his car because he couldn't pay the insurance. “For the first 10 to 15 years, I was short-financed–if I needed to borrow a million, someone would lend me $300,000 or $400,000 and then I would have to juggle,†he says. “It was always me stretching it.â€
As his business grew, Khabouth sought partners who could contribute both money and different skills. Steven Levy, senior vice-president of MMPI Canada, a Toronto-based event management company, recalls meeting Khabouth in 1986. Levy was running the Festival of Canadian Fashion (a precursor to Toronto Fashion Week) at the time, and the young go-getter approached him and offered to host a pre-party at Stilife. Nearly 25 years later, Levy now owns a “small per cent†of Tattoo Rock Parlour. “I think some people in his business put cash before creative,nd some put creative before cash,†says Levy. “I can tell you, in my business, I prefer the second algorithm better.â€
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