Melba's doesn't play. Shiny cocktail glasses are kept on wooden shelves above the long wooden bar, which is reflected in the wall-to-wall mirrors and bathed in blue and red lights. It feels like the '70s in a good way— like stepping back into another era when people dressed to impress for a night on the town, as the club's dress code taped to the windows indicates. We felt self-conscious in our jeans when everyone else was dressed to the nines, including the bartender. Melba's is like a tuxedo in the closet full of yoga pants that is nearby Charles Village.