Last night I went back to the
Speakeasy again, or at least entered the basement chamber that used to house the Speakeasy, down
the same stairs and into the same area where we left our coats and where the
names of those who’d passed bad cheques were scrawled on a blackboard, then
through the doors and…
It was about 10pm. I
was walking from Gt Portland Street to Oxford Circus tube and took a detour
down Margaret Street. Outside the awning at number 48 was a crowd of people
behind one of those ropes designed to separate smokers from passers by, and
there was a stern looking black doorman guarding the old door. Emboldened by
drink, for I had been at a Christmas party, I went up to one of the smokers.
“Is that still a
club down there?” I asked.
“Yes, why?”
“Well it used to be
a very famous club, visited by legendary rock stars back in the sixties and
seventies, and people from the music industry, and I used to be a member.”
“Really?”
“Yes, I saw Bob
Marley play there once.”
“Bob Marley?”
“Yes. And The
Beatles used to go there in the sixties. And the Stones. And The Who. I once saw Led Zeppelin set fire to a
pile of money in the dining room. You couldn’t get me inside could you?”
“It’s a private event.”
“I won’t stay. I just want a quick look.”
“I won’t stay. I just want a quick look.”
“OK.”
The doorman smiled
at me. I think he’d overheard a bit of the conversation. He let me pass. I
followed my new friend down and…
… through the doors
and it’s one great big room now, unrecognisable really; no bar, at least not
where it used to be on the left as you entered, no dining room where Luigi
served the best petit pois and peppered steak in the whole of London, just a
big open space though I noticed that at the very far end, where the stage used
to be, there was a place where drinks were dispensed. A band with a black girl
singer was playing pumped up soul music on a big stage along the wall behind
where the bar was. It was very noisy and packed, and the lighting was quite
bright, much brighter than it used to be, and I stood there misty-eyed amidst all these people and thought to myself that not one of
them would have known the history of where they were partying tonight. I lost
my friend in the crowd and was alone, and I stood out because I was more than
twice the age of everyone else there. I had a lump in my throat. Must have been
the red wine I’d drunk earlier.
I stayed for maybe
five minutes, feeling a bit foolish in my big warm coat and scarf amid people milling
around dressed for a party. A few people stared at me, wondering who this old
geyser was, and I’d have chatted with anyone who wished but the music was too
loud for conversation. So I left, climbed up those stairs again and into the
night. The doorman smiled at me.
“Is it like you remember?”
he asked.
“No. Not at all.”
“Did Bob Marley
really play down there?”
“Oh yes. I was
there. Jimi Hendrix too, though I never saw him myself.”
“Hendrix? Really?”
“Oh yes, g’night.”
“G’night.”
“G’night.”
4 comments:
Oh 'the board of shame', but as we know there were many that had none!
You can hire it if you want...
http://beat-london.com/
Ha! All things change. Remember great gigs there with CW ; Curtis Mayfield, Jeff Beck and, when you're hungry at 2h in the morning, the least expensive thing on the menu was a corn on the cob ...
as i was the singer from heaven, we used to play there often, the o'leary brothers were great friends , and louigi, what a star, later he opened his own restaurant in kings road, great memories,
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