Three clubs that “rocked” the 90s

1. The Heavenly Sunday Social at The Albany

“If good things lasted forever, would we appreciate how precious they are?” asked the American cartoonist Bill Watterson. Perhaps that’s true of the legendary Heavenly Sunday Social, which ran for just 13 weeks from summer 1994, but – sigh – a bit more party time would have been so lovely.

Run by the Heavenly Records label, the Sunday Social spent its short, joyous life in the basement of The Albany pub in Great Portland Street. Despite the iconic status it rapidly achieved, it was an unsophisticated affair – which, of course, was part of what made it so special. It was about brilliant music, fun and nothing else.

You rocked up early evening, paid a few quid to the guy on the door, had your hand stamped with the Heavenly bird logo, then trundled into the beery gloom of the basement for one of the best nights of your life. While Bobby Gillespie, Tim Burgess and Saint Etienne were regulars, you didn’t have to be anyone, know anyone or dress in a certain way; it wasn’t just a night for 90s scenesters and those in the know. Students and suburban teenagers danced and drank alongside the rock stars and record label folk.

As for the music, that sweaty, smoky pub basement was the scene of a revolution. At the time, you picked your genre when you went to a club: house, indie, hip-hop. But the Social’s young DJs, the Dust Brothers (now the Chemical Brothers) were true music lovers who threw in everything from hip-hop and soul to rare groove and indie, to produce blistering, soul-stirring joy. You might get Carlos Bario’s Doing It After Dark, Lee ‘Scratch’ Perry’s Soul Fire and Tomorrow Never Knows by The Beatles. The night would wrap with Live Forever by Oasis mixed into Love Unlimited’s Under The Influence of Love, as the amyl was passed around on the dancefloor. And, if you ran, you could still make the last tube back to the suburbs.

Word spread and a few weeks in, queues of 200 people or more were snaking down the street. Even if you hadn’t arrived early enough, you could often blag your way in; the raucous party atmosphere leaked into the pub upstairs while you waited for an opportunity to sneak down. But it was clear that the Sunday Social had grown too big, and in November 1994, it shut – flashing briefly back into action for a New Year’s Eve party where Shampoo smoked at the bar, dressed in pink, and Noel Gallagher drank beer with Paul Weller.

Actually, the Heavenly Sunday Social didn’t really die: it evolved into a long-running, much-loved night at Turnmills, and spawned bars in London and Nottingham. But nothing has ever again quite captured the chaotic, swinging London magic of the original Sunday night.

2. Smashing at the Eve Club, Regent Street

Glamorous and camp, in that very 90s tongue-in-cheek way, Smashing had an ‘anything goes’ vibe, starting with the dress code, such as it was. Sure, you’d get in wearing Adidas trainers and a skinny T, but you’d be ushered to the front of the queue if you were sporting a creative hat, lurex, a feather boa and a sequin or two (and that was just the boys, ho ho).

Heck, even artistic body paint was de rigeur (a very Smashing phrase, btw). Dressing up suited the venue, a proper old-school nightclub with velvet banquettes, a flashing, multi-coloured Perspex dancefloor and artificial foliage curling around the bar. Smashing had a bona fide host, too, in the wonderfully over-the-top form of Matthew Glamorre, who was in the band Minty (pictured, above) with Leigh Bowery. With that heritage, it was no surprise the club featured a bonkers cabaret act in the early hours.

If Smashing was a band, it probably would have been Pulp, and Jarvis Cocker was a regular, spotted one night post-chart success leaning up against a fake tree, looking a bit overwhelmed at the attention he was getting. (Fact fans: the video for Disco 2000 was filmed at the Eve Club). Pulp were on the playlist, along with 60s movie soundtracks, Bowie, the Buzzcocks and James Last.

Smashing was pencil skirts, lip-gloss, vintage corduroy suits and dancing around your handbag. A perfect reflection of the mid-90s trend for knowing kitsch, it paved the way for the easy, cheesy listening trend: the Double Six Club, Club de Fromage and Guilty Pleasures would never have existed without Smashing, and nor would Mike Flowers.

3. Blow Up at the Laurel Tree, Camden Town

On Saturday nights between 1993 and 1996, a low-key gay pub in a Camden back street was transformed. Gleaming scooters were parked outside and stylish boys and girls with androgynous mod hairdos and perfect eyeliner queued at the door. Inside, it was like stepping back into 1964. Downstairs, the Karminsky Experience played Hammond-heavy lounge grooves, and upstairs the acest faces danced to The Who, the Kinks and the Yardbirds, alongside current records with a retro vibe, from the likes of Blur, Stereolab and Edwyn Collins. Cool new bands on the London circuit, such as Pimlico and Livingstone, played regularly, setting the beer pumps rattling.

The club is often touted as the birthplace of Britpop: Damon Albarn, Graham Coxon and members of Suede and Elastica were regulars (Blow Up also spawned Menswear – remember them?) It set a sharp new sensibility that influenced fashion and music for years to come. While the spirit of Blow Up was rooted in the 60s, it represented the new New Wave. Before Blow Up, mainstream culture was dominated by low-fi grunge and shoegaze, shapeless hair, slouchy shirts and DMs; Blow Up allowed a smarter, brighter sound and look to shine through, by way of Parklife and Different Class, and it felt fresh and exciting – at least before everyone got a bit smug and jaded and went to the Groucho.

At the Laurel Tree, the club always had the friendly feel of a local boozer – it wasn’t widely advertised so tended to attract the same crowd week in, week out. But its growing fame demanded a larger venue, and in 1996 Blow Up moved to Soho’s Wag Club. It was a smash hit at its new home, but for the loyal regulars, it would always belong in Bayham Street.

The original Blow Up shaped, for life, the musical tastes – and haircuts – of those who loved it.