‘There’s another youth revolution around the corner we don’t know whether it will happen here or elsewhere but let’s keep our eyes open.’
Words from the late, great Tony Wilson, founder of the Haçienda, Manchester; a club that would change the world forever.
The Haçienda offered something new, something different and something that was passed like a northern clubbing revolution baton to my home city of Sheffield.
The revolution was Gatecrasher, and I was there to see it.
The club culture of the late ’80s to early ’00s was a defining moment in many people’s lives. You became part of something that gave a nice smiley ‘fuck you’ to the authorities, to the system that sought to dominate and control.
Their response was that everyone was on drugs. ‘Arrest them’ cried the prescription-medicated masses, chardonnay in one hand and tax duty in the other. Drugs taxable and non-taxable were consumed and lots of them.
The hysteria that was Gatecrasher originated in Birmingham, but it was Sheffield that was to become synonymous with the legend that was the lion.
At the time clubbing options were dire. Rise at the Leadmill and the Music Factory (now Sainsbury’s) were the only serious choices.
There was, of course, the lager-fuelled commercial clubs that promised a night of violence. But the serious clubber needed a haven in which to indulge. Gatecrasher at the Republic made this possible.
The door policy took inspiration from those of the late ’70s New York clubs of the Paradise Garage and later Twilo.
The policy was much-maligned but, ever irresistible, was simple: Happy people only.
The beer monsters were turned away and left to fight in the squalor of the mundane.
The music was pure trance. Songs that went on to become mainstream commercial successes were born in Crasher. The DJs were legendary. Local boy Scott Bond came of age and the six-hour sets of Paul Van Dyke became clubland folklore.
House heads like me had the sanctuary of the plasma lounge in the back room where local DJs like Corey and Ricky Chopra delighted us with pure, unadulterated sexy house.
The clubbers were great and love was well and truly in the air. Students mixed with us locals. A sense of community was forged with people from around the UK and the world.
The night would end on a high note with the crowd singing while the lights went up and the music had stopped and you made your way outside into the sunshine.
But the party didn’t stop there; it was only 6am.
Some of us would go to Insomniacs or if you were feeling dirty it would be Niche. Then it would be onto The Howard near the train station to carry on the party.
Trance on a Sunday afternoon in the middle of Sheffield is a memory I will never forget.
This is the past and to the future we must look. The planning proposal by Gatecrasher to take over the bottom of the ‘cheese grater’ car park has been rejected by the city council. So what now for the city of Sheffield in terms of future clubbing?
The odds of going clubbing are good but the goods are odd.
Forget the commercial clubs of Embrace and Plug. Forget the Union nights (except The Tuesday Club). The club culture that existed has gone from the city.
DQ is the clubber’s night of choice with the eclectic mix of nights like Club Pony and Threads.
Comparing Sheffield to Manchester and Leeds becomes painful.
The DJ Magazine top 100 clubs contain two from Manchester and one from Leeds, with Sheffield missing from the list.
What makes it more painful is that one time we would have ruled a chart like that. But today there is nothing.
But perhaps it needs to get worse before it gets better. Maybe rejecting the planning permission was right and to go forward we must not look back.