There they stand, aloof and alluring, tempting you to approach. This is your chance, but what will you say? Will you like the same music? Are you wearing the right shoes? Are you actively on the hunt for the perfect club, or do you fantasise about running into your night time utopia as you turn a street corner one day? Fret not, it’s out there somewhere…
Ministry of Sound: She’s starting to show a few cracks, but nothing a brand new Touche Eclat pen can’t cover up. Since she came on the scene 19 years ago (that’s 45 in human years) many younger, trendier models have been and gone, but still she holds on like an aging starlet clings on to her still-firm bosom. And why shouldn’t she? After all she’s still in good nick: the sound system can still pump out the most visceral of beats and the world’s top DJs turn up to grace the decks. Granted, you’re more likely to find the high-earning, well established jocks plying their trade here than the latest underground sensation, as Ministry is too old for such caboodles and just wants the comfort of solvency these days, which goes some way towards explaining the club’s ownership of Hed Kandi.
Notting Hill Arts Club: This trustafarian has grown out of passing fads and now likes to come down to his ‘local’ on a regular basis to check out the new talent. His days of backpacking around Koh Phangan are over and now he just wants to settle into the comfort of a booth with a cold Peruvian beer while catching a band or three, preferably of the hip hop variety. In spite of his new-found love of brunch in the W11 area he maintains a graffiti-loving, prankster-playing edge. Peers deem him to be oh so cool they feel the temperature dipping when he walks in the room.
\n\nPlastic People: He gets all hot under the collar about model aircraft, font types (oooh, Haas Helvetica) and vintage tube amps. He has a burning passion for and encyclopaedic knowledge of music and owns a plethora of gadgets that help him convert from analogue to digital, but refuses to buy an iPod. He prefers it with the lights off, as this chap is the shy and retiring type who believes he is forever destined to spend night after night poring over his vinyl collection. Not that he doesn’t get a kick out of that, but what he doesn’t realise is that his unassuming manner, high intellect and effortless dress sense make him very very cool indeed, just like the club with its unsightly toilets, humble size and musical credibility, which is easily the best venue in London.
Insert here whichever flash in the pan ‘hotspot’ is currently being touted around by style mags as the new place to be, often to be found in Dalston or the ubiquitous Shoreditch. He/she appears cool for exactly five minutes before the public figures out what is happening in there, which is mostly a lot of posing for photographs to cover up an inability to dance. They make a blistering entrance, hog all the limelight and then crawl away in disappointment when the next best thing comes along. Devoid of smiles, they instead choose to wear an expression that looks like they’re suffering from a hernia, and stare at each other across the dancefloor in confusion. Off-duty they can be found in Café Nero reading Vice, non-prescription NHS-style specs perched atop their head.
Fabric: Highly unpredictable, sometimes he’s in a rowdy mood and wants to bounce around to dubstep with the boys. Other times he shakes off his boisterous image and wants to listen to a bit of deep house undisturbed. He’s a pretty boy on the surface, which results in quick judgements being passed, but tight V-neck aside there’s a music lover waiting to be set loose every weekend. Fabric may have a large total capacity but the club consists of small intimate rooms, boasting one of the best sound systems London has to offer (Martin Audio, for you Plastic People heads). Furthermore, rather than parade the brand name around the world a la Ministry of Sound, he maintain a resolutely low key image. It takes a bit of effort to get to know him properly, but the reward is worth it.
\n\nVendome: Blessed with endless legs, diminutive waists and shiny hair straight out of a L’Oreal ad, she’s the kind of girl that makes the rest of us feel sorely inadequate. Are they supermodels? Wags? C-list celebs? No, they’re supremely polished PR girls and personal assistants spending a night on the brightly coloured tiles of a swish Mayfair dancefloor. Considerable sums of money are poured into maintaining her shiny upkeep, however somewhat bizarrely, beneath the veneer lingers an insecurity, as Vendome can’t really measure up to the success of Mahiki or the musical credibility of Ministry of Sound. For this reason the gals appear to be on the constant lookout for a man as they perch on the dancefloor, scanning the room for potential candidates, although the clientele at Vendome seems to be 75% women, all here for the same purpose.
Jamboree: If you don’t know Jamboree, that’s the point, as he would rather exist discreetly and blend in among his more extroverted brothers than kick up a huge fuss. He’s happy sitting in a corner nursing a pint while reading The Doors’ biography and doesn’t take kindly to noise, unless it’s being made by one of the guitar bands on stage. This intriguing fellow may seem inaccessible at first, but he knows what he likes, which is mostly good music, literature and film, just like this charming venue in far-flung Limehouse.
