Yet, as I stand gazing at the newly refurbished interior of the Camden Palace, in north London, which is still most fondly remembered as the glittery nexus of the New Romantic movement in the early to mid-1980s, it’s hard not to feel a little pang of excitement. For the past 10 years, this fine old theatre has been a disco location, its grandeur fading with each lonely change of ownership and identity. Next week, however, it reopens under its pre-Romo name, Koko, while just down the road in Leicester Square, an attempt is being made to breathe life back into the most distinguished Brit-rock brand of them all, the Marquee. On their own, these two events would be of minor interest, but taken together they tell the happy tale of a shift back to live music after years of subjugation to DJ-led club nights. They also provide a welcome reminder of how lucky British gig-goers are in terms of the places they frequent.
The old Palace sits on a corner plot at the unfashionable Euston end of Camden High Street, right next to Mornington Crescent Tube. The Sex Pistols and the Clash played there; Madonna performed her first UK show; and Prince’s post-Wembley Arena parties, in his late-1980s prime, are the stuff of legend. Anyone who knew the building then, or has visited since, will be aware that a beautiful structure existed somewhere under the layers of slap and makeover (it suffered the fate of the New Romantics themselves), but the new owners have stripped all this away to reveal a building that is quite simply stunning: sloping steeply from back to front, through myriad nooks and crannies and eccentric but elegant bar arrangements, under a dome strewn with ornate plasterwork and a blood-red and gold colour scheme that bathes the dancefloor and broad stage in unexpected intimacy.
The people I speak to inside tell me that Charlie Chaplin was one of its founders in 1900, and that The Goon Show was recorded here in the 1950s, but only later do I learn that it was originally known as the Camden Royal Theatre, and was designed by WGR Sprague, whom Pevsner’s Buildings of England describes as “the most interesting theatre architect of his time”.
Furthermore, “his time”, from 1890 to the Edwardian period, marks the absolute apex of theatre design, which one expert claims “was never bettered”. Importantly, these places were built as music halls, variety theatres — they were intended to serve popular culture, not the elite theatrical establishment that later claimed them. Thus, one of the lessons learnt by Koko’s architects was that humility served them well. If they allowed the Victorian structures to function as intended, they worked brilliantly. The apparent incongruity of bands thrashing guitars around plaster cherubs and velvet is an illusion. These theatres were made for us.
There is something perverse about this discovery, though, because one of the things we prize in a venue for rock music is a sense of incongruity. In an unscientific but exhaustive survey conducted for this article, almost everyone, from fans to up-and-coming bands such as Clayhill, contenders such as Spiritualized and even veterans such as the former Deep Purple keyboardist Jon Lord (who recalls being forced to put on stage garb in coal sheds in the group’s early days) cite the Albert Hall as the destination of choice. Perhaps the two most notorious live performances in the British pop canon are Bob Dylan’s rasping electric set at the Albert Hall and Bob Marley’s landmark shows at the Lyceum in 1975. As with Air, PJ Harvey and Brian Wilson at Somerset House and Cornwall’s Eden Project over the summer, such apparently eccentric settings add a sense of occasion that we like.
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When I speak to Vince Power of the Mean Fiddler Group, whose venues tend to be simpler and more traditional, he tells me that atmosphere is a less complicated commodity than I’m imagining. Get the price, the beer, the staff and the music right, he says, and memorable performances and good times will follow; the fabric of the building is secondary. If he is right, then the new Marquee, which opened this weekend with what is claimed to be the biggest exhibition of Jimi Hendrix memorabilia ever collected, stands a chance. Situated in Leicester Square, in the shell of the collapsed superclub Home, the new Marquee couldn’t appear more different from the original. As the club’s new custodian, Nathan Lowry, a young Northern Irish promoter, outlines his plans, which focus on music policy before all else, and may include a return to the long-lost idea of residencies, it is hard not to root for him.
It is good news that enthusiastic people think this is something worth investing money and imagination in again.
Best venues
Albert Hall, London. Makes everyone involved feel precious, and that something precious could happen. Often does.
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Union Chapel, London. Representing many converted churches nationwide, this being by far the most beautiful and complete.
The Leadmill, Sheffield. The original people’s venue, from the days when ABC and the Human League ruled, and still one of the nation’s quirkiest.
Worst venues
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Wembley Arena, London. Surprisingly interesting architecture, but a miserable place to experience music.
SECC, Glasgow. A giant armadillo on the Clyde. To quote one observer: “They looked at the new Welsh opera house and thought, ‘We’ll have a bit of that.’ But then they built a rodent!”
Brixton Academy, London. Bad sound, bad backs from sloping floor, and no matter where you stand, someone is always pushing past you.