The following piece was sent to us independently without extortion, cohersion or bribery.
LBB4
As an eighteen year-old 60s obsessive, finding a club-night that
tickles your fancy isn’t the easiest thing to do. So when browsing
modculture.com, I came across a newly announced event solely geared
towards celebrating 60s culture; I bought my tickets there and then.
Four months later, I was on a train from Leeds to London with my
best friend. It suddenly hit me that maybe this thing wouldn’t live up
to my expectations. Local 60s events had been lacklustre, and had often
let me down – attacking my wallet in the process. I had a lot banking
on LBB4 and it was the centrepiece of my little London holiday. Maybe
it will be dead, I thought. Maybe the DJ will stick a load of horribly
obscure crap on that I can’t dance to. Maybe it will be full of
defensive Northern Soulies, who were there ‘the first time round’, and
don’t much like ‘young kids taking the piss’ (I speak from experience).
The whole event kicked off in one of the most exciting ways possible
– The Sonics playing live! On the tube ride to Camden, I found myself
sitting next to what looked like a rocker and a prettier version of
Yoko. Sure enough, this delightful pair were on their way to LBB4 and
they assured me I’d dig the whole thing. Their words were assuring, but
I was still going with an open mind.
On entering the Kentish Town Forum it was packed with absolutely all
sorts of people. I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a mixture of ages
and styles in once place – punks, hippies, mods… Sure enough, the band
didn’t fail to impress. The audience loved them. It was as if we were
keen to right the wrongs of the past, when The Sonics were so sadly
overlooked by the masses, and every song went down a storm. Any
expectations of the band looking like a bunch of sad old has-beens,
nodding at eachother during cringeworthy solos, were thankfully
smashed, and luckily, The Sonics didn’t need to try and prove they
still had it. The proof was in the performance.
I left shortly before the end, hoping to beat the queues at LBB4 –
the thing I was most anticipating. The doormen told me it wasn’t open,
so after twenty minutes eating a kebab around the corner, I went back
up. The queue was creeping around the entire block. I couldn’t believe
it.
Although disappointed I’d have to wait ages to get in, I was chuffed
at the turnout. The clientele seemed good. And then, as if my prayers
were answered, the doorman came around telling us that weekend ticket
holders could jump the queues. I didn’t think it could get much better.
I was wrong.
I found myself in what looked like a huge school assembly hall.
Drinks were cheap, and slowly but surely, the place was filling up. And
look how brilliant this crowd is, I thought. Most importantly, the
tunes I was hearing were blowing my mind. Eventually, the place packed
and the floor was filled. On nipping to the toilet, I heard music
coming from elsewhere, and was literally ecstatic to find two other
rooms. One was pumping out rhythm and blues, and Nuggets-ish garage
tunes were coming from the other. I honestly could not believe my ears.
On returning to the big main room, I was finally fuelled enough to
dance. I could not have asked for a better DJ. The guy was mesmerising.
He wasn’t much older than me by the looks of it, but he was flawless.
His playlist was divine. His set fit together like a magnificent little
jigsaw, but he was never predictable. It was as if he’d been stalking
me and had found out EXACTLY what I want from a 60s club. I couldn’t
possibly pass up on the opportunity of such a perfect DJ (who I later
learned was called Rob Henderson), and so the vast part of my Friday
evening was spent dancing to his fine selection, right up until I
danced myself to exhaustion and went back to my digs for some shut-eye.
The next day I visited everywhere I’d always wanted to go to in
London. First stop was Carnaby Street, and I was a little gutted to
discover how soul-less the place had become. Nevertheless, I headed
over to the LBB to check out the market. As per, it didn’t fail to
please. Although a bit smaller than I expected, I picked up a nice
bunch of Tamla .45s and headed back to the house to scrub up for the
evening ahead.
Approaching the venue on Saturday night, I thought it’d be much
emptier. I assumed most the crowd from last night would have just
naturally filtered through after The Sonics. Once again, I was very
wrong. The place seemed fuller if anything. A euro garage band was
playing in the main room this time – The Staggers. As I sipped my first
few drinks, it was hard not to watch them. Their songs were infectious,
and I found myself wanting them to carry on all night. I was so
impressed that I silently even preferred them to Friday night’s gig in
Camden!
We decided we’d focus on the R&B room tonight, and on being in
there for only a few minutes, I was making lots of friends. The most
striking thing about the R&B place was how well-dressed everyone
was. The boys’ suits were so sharp and well fitted, and the girls were
beautiful. The LBB crowd clearly went to the effort, and for that
attention to detail, I loved them all. At the same time though, they
weren’t at all cliquey. There’s a common misconception up north, that
down in the capital, no-one talks to eachother. This wasn’t the case.
There was no trouble, and without sounding like a walking cliché, the
only thing anyone seemed to be bothered about was dancing with and
meeting eachother. Again, the main room didn’t fail to deliver. Tonight
it was pure rockabilly. Speaking to one or two 60s faithfuls, I
gathered they weren’t too pleased about the main room showcasing a
style they regarded as DEFINITELY 50s. But to be perfectly honest, I
couldn’t have disagreed more, and I found myself sharing my night
equally between the mod and rocker rooms. You might say I felt like a
modern Ringo…!
Once again, I went home a happy boy. Not even the fact I was (quite
worryingly) picked up by a taxi moonlighter - posing as the driver I
had ordered, who even tried to extort an extra tenner out of me - shed
any bad light on my evening. It seemed like my weekend was getting
better.
I woke up on Sunday to hear the dreadful news that Liverpool had
received a bitter pounding from Man United. I honestly don’t think
anything other than the prospect of another night at LBB could have
picked me up from a) the fact I slept right through the match, and b)
the fact that horrible team had won again. But I was determined to make
sure the weekend went out with a bang.
After a delicious curry on Brick Lane, we headed over to 229 for the
final offering. By now I had got to know a lot of the staff and the
regulars, and luckily, the fact this was the last night didn’t affect
the mood. It seemed like the place to be was the garage room. I loved
it in there. It was psychedelic and full of weird and wonderful people
from literally all over the world. The atmosphere was electric. The
girls were universally stunning and the DJs’ music even better. I
noticed one of The Horrors was often in the booth, and although I’m not
into his band’s work, his playlist was unquestionably fantastic. As the
night wore on, I visited every one of the rooms one last time, to bid
them goodbye. I ended up where I started though, in the garage room,
for the final bow. And what a bow it was. Even now I can remember the
last track as clear as day – a gorgeously selected “Get Off Of My
Cloud” to end what was without a doubt, the finest weekend of my short
little life!
Philip Wright-Lewis
