Synchronicity. On the same day that DJ, writer and broadcaster Dave Haslam’s book Life After Dark: A History of British Nightclubs and Music Venues landed on my doormat, news came through that Fabric, one of London’s largest and most celebrated nightclubs, has had its licence revoked on the grounds that security at the 2,500-capacity venue was “grossly inadequate”. This followed two separate MDMA-related deaths in the summer and a month-long suspension; the decision to revoke the licence was taken by Islington council’s licensing sub-committee.
Many, including London mayor, Sadiq Kahn, were shocked by the decision to close Fabric. Perhaps other people, though, were wondering what all the hoo-ha was about – there were two drug-related deaths at the venue, so close it. No club, no problem – simple.
However, it’s really not that simple, not least because, despite the tragic deaths, Fabric had a good record, to the point of being viewed by many as an example of how to run a large and thriving nightclub. Which in itself was no mean feat, taking into account myriad bureaucratic and licensing hoops that modern clubs (established big business concerns) are routinely made to jump through to appease police/civic demands, some of which seem downright impracticable.
It’s as if clubs such as Fabric are tasked with “stopping drugs”, but this is nonsensical. They’re nightclubs, not airports; they can hardly start performing full-body searches with latex gloves. Nor could they feasibly stop people exercising their free will while on their premises or taking drugs before they even enter. Moreover, while monitoring nightclubs must be a headache for the police, to varying degrees the same could be said of anything that draws large crowds – football matches, marches, festivals, even the Chelsea Flower Show.
In Fabric’s case, there’s also the issue of whether the mysterious machinations of these licensing sub-committees could bear further examination? Within a hellishly complex system involving codes, laws (the 2003 Licensing Act allows clubs to be penalised for what their customers get up to) and “summary reviews”, from what I can make out Fabric’s licence was permanently revoked without the police even being required to prove their case beyond reasonable doubt.
One of the pieces of “evidence” was this undercover eyewitness account: “It was abundantly obvious that patrons in the club were on drugs… this included sweating, glazed, red eyes and staring into space and people asking for help.” What is this: a sensible report on a nightclub or the first draft of a disaster/sci-fi script with a dance-floor theme? If people looking a bit sweaty and out of it is viewed as adequate supporting evidence to close down a club, then it’s cheerio! to all British music venues and festivals.
This is not to undermine those tragic drug-related deaths, nor am I pathetically pretending to be “down, man!” with modern dance culture. I was interested in looking at Haslam’s book because of my “raving” past, “past” being the operative word. However, just because I’m too much of an old crock to still be out there raving doesn’t alter the fact that Fabric seems to be an all too convenient head on a spike.
This is another case of bureaucracy/gentrification beats club land, but this time there are question marks.
While it’s only right that clubs must rigorously implement anti-drug security, it has to be odd if they appear to have been terminated peremptorily. As it is, Fabric’s demise hasn’t just had an impact on innumerable (presumably young) employees, it’s dented London’s financially and culturally crucial international reputation for vibrant nightlife (with a brand new 24-hour tube service).
If Britain doesn’t want to send out the message “London isn’t closed, but it goes to beddy-byes early”, then further questions about the decision to close Fabric need to be asked.
Lowry rebranding logic is match thin
There’s a bit of a fuss because Peel, the current owner of the Lowry Outlet shopping centre (named after artist LS Lowry) plans to change the mall’s name to Lifestyle Outlet Manchester, even though it’s in Salford.
In the mid-1990s, the Lowry Trust was put in charge of the development at Salford Quays, which included the Lowry Centre, a footbridge and the Digital World Centre. The mall was added a year after the theatre and gallery complex, which houses hundreds of Lowry’s works.
Proposing the name change, Peel said it wanted to address the mall’s “soullessness”. It added: “The philosophy behind Lifestyle Outlets is to create destinations with personality. We want to change the face of outlet shopping and redefine perceptions of what an outlet can be.”
So, to recap, this mall will become Lifestyle Outlet Manchester ... with the possible tagline: “Psst ... it’s really in Salford. And we just lopped off the Lowry name, even though he’s a globally renowned local artist.”
Far be it for me to stand in the way of retail progress, but is Peel absolutely sure it wants to do this?
Lowry isn’t just famous, he’s one of the most instantly recognisable and beloved artists of all time. Even people who wouldn’t claim to know anything about art and who have never visited a gallery would be able to identify his paintings.
More importantly, many people connect with the feelings his work evokes. Lowry’s deceptively simple creations are pulsing with atmosphere, emotion and information about working people. While his style is blunt and unassuming, all human life is there.
With respect to Peel, this appears to be rebranding for rebranding’s sake. For many people, Lowry and his art are the very definition of soulful.
Gaga, stop typing. It makes me feel horribly ancient
Lady Gaga has revealed that she wrote the lyrics for her new song, Perfect Illusion (collaborating with, among others, Mark Ronson) on her “vintage portable typewriter”. There are photos of Gaga, tapping away on this quaint, retro-instrument that few 21st-century citizens would recognise. Except I do. It looks like one of those manual jobs that looked great for Virginia Woolf-style posing (oh yes, darling, I’m a writer!) but could turn your fingers into bloodied stumps if you tried to bash out more than three consecutive sentences.
For me, this was one of those sobering “you know you’re getting old when…” moments. As in, you know you’re getting old when pop stars start brandishing something similar to the device you used to work on in your music hack pomp, agonising over your Jesus and Mary Chain reviews (splintering nails, shredding typewriter ribbons, drowning in Tippex), as if it were some mysterious objet from yon olden days. Which I suppose it is.
Hey, Gaga, just you wait until some cheeky mare from the future starts marvelling at the retro-glamour of auto-tune. Tune in next week to watch Beyoncé put her smalls through a mangle.
