I don’t know if this was from the actual night I was there, but I went to see Mogwai at the Astoria in 1999. It was the first night of the Brats tour. I had their records, and I was there with Tash and fellow emo kids, Mitch and Tom. I don’t think I was prepared for how good they would be live. It was awesome, transcendent. That night their quiet-loud-quiet-loud formula felt bigger. It was like a tide, sweeping the crowd helplessly along with it.

2 years ago 

Teenage Fanclub 1994

(image credit: Libraryman at Flickr)

She was the most beautiful girl I’d seen, oh, that day. At least. That week, certainly.

But then when you’re 14, a certain someone who’s not yet a certain someone, but might become a certain someone, if you were very lucky, the stars were aligned and every ship that ever sailed a sea suddenly docked, was always likely to be the most beautiful girl you’d seen.

Until the next one.

She’d made eye contact first. And smiled. Which was the pools, the league title, the FA Cup, the gold medal, all in two gestures.

Especially considering that I wasn’t making it easy for her, what with me fiddling with my Walkman, hitting rewind again and again and again.

‘Hey! Is your star sign every wrong?’ Yes, always.

Maybe tonight would be the one night it would be right.

Even good things happen on the Metropolitan line. Sometimes.

I had a spare ticket to the gig too.

I didn’t know anyone who’d loved Grand Prix as much as me. So I determined to go anyway.

And now, when presented with the chance of going with someone, someone who could become a certain someone, I baulked.

I wasn’t the type of boy who could ask a girl out there and then.

(I still haven’t become the type of man who can do that either.)

And all the way through the gig, I kept seeing her; imagining holding her hand through ‘What You To Do Me’, shyly smiling back at her – in my mind, at least, it was possible – during ‘About You’.

Naturally, I cried during ‘Everything Flows’.

(As I was to later discover, I always do.)

Did that missed opportunity matter much, in the scheme of things?

I still don’t know. But what I do know is that I trust in the journey now. And not knowing the destination; well, that’s kinda the point, isn’t it?

And I try to remember that. Every day. At least. Every week, certainly.

2 years ago 

manics 1994


The Astoria was enormously important to me growing up as a suburban Londoner. Lots of my first gig experiences took place there. That was where you went to see all the good bands, the proper ones who weren’t performing at The Venue in New Cross.

I saw the Manic Street Preachers do their penultimate gig with Richey Edwards there in 1994. It was brilliant; angry, fragmented and full of visceral energy. I thought the Manics looked at their coolest during The Holy Bible period, throwing together army surplus, makeup and religious iconography with their trademark (and pretty opaque) sloganeering. This was them at their peak moment of contrariness, fitness and discipline.

We got a Christmas present of a transfer tattoo of Holy Bible artwork on the way out of the Astoria. The following night the Manics played their last gig with Richey and trashed their equipment.

And for some reason I can still remember how James, the singer, introduced the first or second song in their set. He said, “This is about the least progressive word in the English dictionary, and it’s called Yes.”

That, to me, as a 16-year-old who basically hated everything I was allowed to hate, said everything. It distilled into a sentence everything I had thought about school, authority figures, expectations, peers and social dynamics, my (very sixth form) politics, self-esteem and lots of other things I couldn’t possibly hope to articulate.

And it would pretty much articulate everything I would think for another couple of years too.

2 years ago 

We like this man. He may in fact have seen everything ever at the Astoria. And there is an outside chance he is a character from a sketch show. These are things that make him brilliant.

2 years ago 

These are your nights

I’m sifting my gig memories, in order to share them, but in the mean time, to add to what James said: you can’t have missed the fact that music is becoming more and more corporate - its the HMV Forum now, not the Forum (not even the Town and County Club, for those even longer in the tooth), the various O2 Academies and so on (disclaimer: I sometimes write copy for gigs at those various venues.)

And while it was ever thus, it seems a shame that the only things we remember should be those are those memories that are officially industry-sanctioned - I mean, have you been to the British Music Experience?

Exactly.

And, while there has been a burgeoning amount of popular music given (subjected to?) the heritage treatment, it does always seem to fit into a narrative - top-down, big acts, change the world, shift lots of units blah blah blah - which doesn’t bear any resemblance to the way that you or I might have remembered that act, heard that singer.

In the rush to make sure that the music industry has a viable future, we’re forgetting what it is that will ensure that it has a viable future.

Us.

The fans. The punters. The hardbeat kids, the indie snobs, the glam girls and raggamuffins, the blissed-out elders, the bugged-out wannabes. The makers and the shakers don’t actually matter. It’s those of us who believe in this stuff, this wonderous, unlikely, indefatigable collection of vibrating atoms played by chance, with precision, with intent, with delight. The people who queue in the rain for a glimpse of the hands that strummed the opening chord on the piece of vinyl that you played to her one Saturday afternoon that made her think, yeah, maybe it’s you.

So think of this tumblelog not just as a place to add your voice to make sure that London doesn’t lose another live music venue. Think of it also as a place where you can claim your memory of the music you love back from those you would tell you your stories in a way that you don’t remember.

These are your bands. These are your songs. These are your nights.

2 years ago 

join #tcrcrossrailpopupop

So they’ve demolished the Astoria, a classic live music venue on Charing Cross Road in London, to make way for one of the new Crossrail stations.

Fair enough. People tried to save the Astoria, but it didn’t work. Things change. That’s how it is. And Crossrail and Westminster Council have promised a new live venue will be at the heart of the new development.

But at the same time, a big part of pop music history has disappeared with the building. It saw seminal gigs by the Rolling Stones, Oasis, Green Day, Prince, U2, Metallica, Black Sabbath and loads more since it was converted for live music in 1976. And whilst idly tweeting, Rishi and James felt like something should be done. We’ve got a few great gig memories between us. after all. Sure, unlike other campaigns we don’t have any bands or people like, y’know, the NME on side (yet?). And there are probably others doing the same thing. But for some reason that didn’t stop us.

So this tumblog is a place where you can collect your gig and club memories from the London Astoria in one place. It’s also somewhere you can make a point about why live music matters in the development at Tottenham Court Road. Let’s say it has to do with heritage, culture or other such fancy words. It’s all fine by us.

Show your support by using #tcrcrossrailpopupop on Twitter, by following @crossrailpop, or by submitting your gig and club memories at http://crossrailpopupop.tumblr.com/submit.

Thankyaverymuch.

2 years ago  1 note

I don’t know if this was from the actual night I was there, but I went to see Mogwai at the Astoria in 1999. It was the first night of the Brats tour. I had their records, and I was there with Tash and fellow emo kids, Mitch and Tom. I don’t think I was prepared for how good they would be live. It was awesome, transcendent. That night their quiet-loud-quiet-loud formula felt bigger. It was like a tide, sweeping the crowd helplessly along with it.

Teenage Fanclub 1994

(image credit: Libraryman at Flickr)

She was the most beautiful girl I’d seen, oh, that day. At least. That week, certainly.

But then when you’re 14, a certain someone who’s not yet a certain someone, but might become a certain someone, if you were very lucky, the stars were aligned and every ship that ever sailed a sea suddenly docked, was always likely to be the most beautiful girl you’d seen.

Until the next one.

She’d made eye contact first. And smiled. Which was the pools, the league title, the FA Cup, the gold medal, all in two gestures.

Especially considering that I wasn’t making it easy for her, what with me fiddling with my Walkman, hitting rewind again and again and again.

‘Hey! Is your star sign every wrong?’ Yes, always.

Maybe tonight would be the one night it would be right.

Even good things happen on the Metropolitan line. Sometimes.

I had a spare ticket to the gig too.

I didn’t know anyone who’d loved Grand Prix as much as me. So I determined to go anyway.

And now, when presented with the chance of going with someone, someone who could become a certain someone, I baulked.

I wasn’t the type of boy who could ask a girl out there and then.

(I still haven’t become the type of man who can do that either.)

And all the way through the gig, I kept seeing her; imagining holding her hand through ‘What You To Do Me’, shyly smiling back at her – in my mind, at least, it was possible – during ‘About You’.

Naturally, I cried during ‘Everything Flows’.

(As I was to later discover, I always do.)

Did that missed opportunity matter much, in the scheme of things?

I still don’t know. But what I do know is that I trust in the journey now. And not knowing the destination; well, that’s kinda the point, isn’t it?

And I try to remember that. Every day. At least. Every week, certainly.

manics 1994


The Astoria was enormously important to me growing up as a suburban Londoner. Lots of my first gig experiences took place there. That was where you went to see all the good bands, the proper ones who weren’t performing at The Venue in New Cross.

I saw the Manic Street Preachers do their penultimate gig with Richey Edwards there in 1994. It was brilliant; angry, fragmented and full of visceral energy. I thought the Manics looked at their coolest during The Holy Bible period, throwing together army surplus, makeup and religious iconography with their trademark (and pretty opaque) sloganeering. This was them at their peak moment of contrariness, fitness and discipline.

We got a Christmas present of a transfer tattoo of Holy Bible artwork on the way out of the Astoria. The following night the Manics played their last gig with Richey and trashed their equipment.

And for some reason I can still remember how James, the singer, introduced the first or second song in their set. He said, “This is about the least progressive word in the English dictionary, and it’s called Yes.”

That, to me, as a 16-year-old who basically hated everything I was allowed to hate, said everything. It distilled into a sentence everything I had thought about school, authority figures, expectations, peers and social dynamics, my (very sixth form) politics, self-esteem and lots of other things I couldn’t possibly hope to articulate.

And it would pretty much articulate everything I would think for another couple of years too.

We like this man. He may in fact have seen everything ever at the Astoria. And there is an outside chance he is a character from a sketch show. These are things that make him brilliant.

These are your nights

I’m sifting my gig memories, in order to share them, but in the mean time, to add to what James said: you can’t have missed the fact that music is becoming more and more corporate - its the HMV Forum now, not the Forum (not even the Town and County Club, for those even longer in the tooth), the various O2 Academies and so on (disclaimer: I sometimes write copy for gigs at those various venues.)

And while it was ever thus, it seems a shame that the only things we remember should be those are those memories that are officially industry-sanctioned - I mean, have you been to the British Music Experience?

Exactly.

And, while there has been a burgeoning amount of popular music given (subjected to?) the heritage treatment, it does always seem to fit into a narrative - top-down, big acts, change the world, shift lots of units blah blah blah - which doesn’t bear any resemblance to the way that you or I might have remembered that act, heard that singer.

In the rush to make sure that the music industry has a viable future, we’re forgetting what it is that will ensure that it has a viable future.

Us.

The fans. The punters. The hardbeat kids, the indie snobs, the glam girls and raggamuffins, the blissed-out elders, the bugged-out wannabes. The makers and the shakers don’t actually matter. It’s those of us who believe in this stuff, this wonderous, unlikely, indefatigable collection of vibrating atoms played by chance, with precision, with intent, with delight. The people who queue in the rain for a glimpse of the hands that strummed the opening chord on the piece of vinyl that you played to her one Saturday afternoon that made her think, yeah, maybe it’s you.

So think of this tumblelog not just as a place to add your voice to make sure that London doesn’t lose another live music venue. Think of it also as a place where you can claim your memory of the music you love back from those you would tell you your stories in a way that you don’t remember.

These are your bands. These are your songs. These are your nights.

join #tcrcrossrailpopupop

So they’ve demolished the Astoria, a classic live music venue on Charing Cross Road in London, to make way for one of the new Crossrail stations.

Fair enough. People tried to save the Astoria, but it didn’t work. Things change. That’s how it is. And Crossrail and Westminster Council have promised a new live venue will be at the heart of the new development.

But at the same time, a big part of pop music history has disappeared with the building. It saw seminal gigs by the Rolling Stones, Oasis, Green Day, Prince, U2, Metallica, Black Sabbath and loads more since it was converted for live music in 1976. And whilst idly tweeting, Rishi and James felt like something should be done. We’ve got a few great gig memories between us. after all. Sure, unlike other campaigns we don’t have any bands or people like, y’know, the NME on side (yet?). And there are probably others doing the same thing. But for some reason that didn’t stop us.

So this tumblog is a place where you can collect your gig and club memories from the London Astoria in one place. It’s also somewhere you can make a point about why live music matters in the development at Tottenham Court Road. Let’s say it has to do with heritage, culture or other such fancy words. It’s all fine by us.

Show your support by using #tcrcrossrailpopupop on Twitter, by following @crossrailpop, or by submitting your gig and club memories at http://crossrailpopupop.tumblr.com/submit.

Thankyaverymuch.

Teenage Fanclub 1994
manics 1994
These are your nights
join #tcrcrossrailpopupop

About:

A place where you can collect your gig and club memories from the London Astoria in one place - just send them to http://crossrailpopupop.tumblr.com/submit.

Following: