Perhaps I need a therapist but bondage and torture come to mind as I survey the décor at Ching-a-lings, one of the newest small bars in Sydney. After all, there are small cages filled with broken bulbs emitting a seedy yellow light onto black leatherette sofas, strips of red light shining from the floor, and the walls are largely bare save for a painting of a skeleton near the bar. I’m not sure if Ching-a-lings used to be one of several adults-only venues on Oxford Street but it wouldn’t surprise me.

From the street you’d never even know Ching-a-lings existed since there’s no sign: just an open doorway with a man in black lurking outside the stairwell. As I’m about to go in he stops me and asks what I’m doing.

“I’m just going in to Ching-a-lings for a beer,” I respond.

He peers at me closely.

“Have you been here before?” he asks suspiciously, not that I can see what difference my previous attendance would make.

“Yes, of course,” I bluff.

He looks at me again, as if assessing whether or not I’ll lower the tone of the establishment, before waving me in.

When I’m up there it’s warm (why are so many new bars skimping on the air-con?) but a breeze is thankfully blowing in from the large open windows that look out onto Oxford Street. Funk is playing on the sound system while a number of bedraggled looking hipsters in 80s-style clothes lounge around. Even though it’s a Saturday the main bar is half empty but the outside smoking veranda is absolutely packed. I’d describe what it looks like but there’s nothing to say: it’s just plain wooden (or chipboard) surfaces with lots of people exhaling.

It’s not just the décor that’s Spartan: the menu is too. There are no cocktails or bar food here, and so most people just drink beer or spirits.

To be honest I’m not sure if I like Ching-a-lings. I certainly like the idea of rebelling against the overblown bars that Sydney has made an art of creating and on paper this ought to be a cool place to hang out in (as I finish my first beer the DJ puts on Marvin Gaye, which is a huge tick in the bar’s favour), but … I don’t feel any magic and I certainly don’t feel wooed. But perhaps it’s early days.

PS: For those who like trivia, Ching a lings is the name of a largely Puerto Rican motorbike gang from the Bronx that rose to prominence in the 70s and Missy Elliot had a song called Ching-a-ling. We don’t know if the song was named after the gang: after analysing the video clip in detail, the only part we understood was the line “show me your moneymaker”. We also learnt some new dance moves.

But we digress.

Now it’s your turn – how do you rate this bar?
(5 votes, average: 2.80 out of 5)
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Ching-a-lings, Level 1, 133 Oxford Street, Darlinghurst. Open Thursday to Saturday from 6pm to 1am, and Sunday from 5pm to 10pm.

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