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We always hang in a Buffalo stance
Nov. 14th, 2014 11:22 amI wrote this for Smoke's Nightbus to Camden project, but then rejected it in favour of the thing I wrote about the Notting Hill Arts Club instead. Yesterday, I heard, or rather read, that the Buffalo Bar is closing down, which made me feel sad and this piece ironically passé.
The Last Days Of Indie
Small venues in London may be shutting down in spades, but one remains permanent: the Buffalo Bar. Whether it be a much-anticipated gig, or popping in on the way home on a Friday night because there's always something on, you never pay more than a fiver (or sometimes free, if it's late and Delia's on the door), and in the words of Whit Stillman: “Everyone we know is here, and everyone we don't know.” It, and the custard vodka, is a constant. It's hardly les Deux Magots, but it's a meeting place for the indies, where no-one can laugh at your flailing dance to Camera Obscura or mock your carefully curated lapel badge collection.
The only time we couldn't get in was because Stuart Murdoch was DJing at the How Does It Feel To Be Loved club. But we we weren't there to see Mr Murdoch, we wanted to listen and dance to records at Ian Watson's soul and schmindie night, but we were foiled by the superstar DJ routine. Ian Watson put on a Sarah Records night the evening before my 30th birthday, took a snap of my frugging and included it in the artwork for a How Does It Feel CD compilation. So whatever happens to the Buffalo Bar, whether it's torn down or filled in, or a Tesco's, Starbucks or a car park is erected on the site of it (and the upstairs meeting-pub, the infamous Famous Cock), a little bit of it will last forever.
In the '90s, if you wanted to put on a small gig, the unholy trinity of Camden toilet venues, The Bull and Gate (RIP), The Water-Rats (gone) or the Dublin Castle (still going), was your best bet. In the early 2000s, when Dalston was a no-go rather than a go-to area, the scene had already started moving east: Upstairs at the Garage was the preferred damp, dingy, unfriendly door-staffed venue serving watered down lager at £3.50 a pop. But if that was already booked, the Buffalo Bar was your place. When I first went there, the club was called The Po Na Na Souk bar and had silky curtains and pot plants, red lights and seating, accordingly. That changed when it became the sticky-floored Buffalo Bar, the only concession to faux-glamour are the big vases of glass beads. The VIP area is a settee behind the DJ booth, there are columns on the dance-floor that obstruct the view of the band or play havoc with your northern soul splits. But once the band has left, you can always dance on the stage, or take a break from the boogie by playing pinball, as installed by Stoke Newington's Pinball Geoff. And as you squeeze past the bar and the scrum of people standing to the left of the speakers and finally get to the loo queue, you'll make new friends because the toilet doors are so heavy that you stand in line for ten minutes wondering if the lass on the lav has fallen asleep, before someone finally pushes open an empty cubicle and, invariably, you end up next to the same person in the next queue, finding your previous predicament hilarious. And as well as the custard vodka, it is the home of Percy, London's only helpful soundman, who once produced welding tools in order to fashion that fatal fifth DI box needed by a band, and who manages to get a good sound out of the Buffalo Bar's creaky PA system.
There's no dress code, no barrier to entry (except for S Murdoch), whether its club or gig, you sit at the back, fingering the glass beads, avoiding the bouncer's eye, waiting for him to tell someone Don't Stand On The Stairs, before palming a few for your Buffalo Bar glass stones collection (I have a bowlful), and, to quote Stillman again, “It's really important there be more group social life. Not just all this ferocious pairing off.” It's not the 2i's Coffee Bar, (but did they serve custard vodka there? No, they did not) but it's ours, for now, to dance, drink, listen and admire, we have to admit to being part of this group for it to exist. This month, the Buffalo Bar hosts: Inner City Soul, Guided Missile bands, the Great Big Kiss 60s night, and Afro-cuban salsa lessons. Not so much a nightclub as a night time community centre. I predict Zumba to Belle and Sebastian in the near future.
The Last Days Of Indie
Small venues in London may be shutting down in spades, but one remains permanent: the Buffalo Bar. Whether it be a much-anticipated gig, or popping in on the way home on a Friday night because there's always something on, you never pay more than a fiver (or sometimes free, if it's late and Delia's on the door), and in the words of Whit Stillman: “Everyone we know is here, and everyone we don't know.” It, and the custard vodka, is a constant. It's hardly les Deux Magots, but it's a meeting place for the indies, where no-one can laugh at your flailing dance to Camera Obscura or mock your carefully curated lapel badge collection.
The only time we couldn't get in was because Stuart Murdoch was DJing at the How Does It Feel To Be Loved club. But we we weren't there to see Mr Murdoch, we wanted to listen and dance to records at Ian Watson's soul and schmindie night, but we were foiled by the superstar DJ routine. Ian Watson put on a Sarah Records night the evening before my 30th birthday, took a snap of my frugging and included it in the artwork for a How Does It Feel CD compilation. So whatever happens to the Buffalo Bar, whether it's torn down or filled in, or a Tesco's, Starbucks or a car park is erected on the site of it (and the upstairs meeting-pub, the infamous Famous Cock), a little bit of it will last forever.
In the '90s, if you wanted to put on a small gig, the unholy trinity of Camden toilet venues, The Bull and Gate (RIP), The Water-Rats (gone) or the Dublin Castle (still going), was your best bet. In the early 2000s, when Dalston was a no-go rather than a go-to area, the scene had already started moving east: Upstairs at the Garage was the preferred damp, dingy, unfriendly door-staffed venue serving watered down lager at £3.50 a pop. But if that was already booked, the Buffalo Bar was your place. When I first went there, the club was called The Po Na Na Souk bar and had silky curtains and pot plants, red lights and seating, accordingly. That changed when it became the sticky-floored Buffalo Bar, the only concession to faux-glamour are the big vases of glass beads. The VIP area is a settee behind the DJ booth, there are columns on the dance-floor that obstruct the view of the band or play havoc with your northern soul splits. But once the band has left, you can always dance on the stage, or take a break from the boogie by playing pinball, as installed by Stoke Newington's Pinball Geoff. And as you squeeze past the bar and the scrum of people standing to the left of the speakers and finally get to the loo queue, you'll make new friends because the toilet doors are so heavy that you stand in line for ten minutes wondering if the lass on the lav has fallen asleep, before someone finally pushes open an empty cubicle and, invariably, you end up next to the same person in the next queue, finding your previous predicament hilarious. And as well as the custard vodka, it is the home of Percy, London's only helpful soundman, who once produced welding tools in order to fashion that fatal fifth DI box needed by a band, and who manages to get a good sound out of the Buffalo Bar's creaky PA system.
There's no dress code, no barrier to entry (except for S Murdoch), whether its club or gig, you sit at the back, fingering the glass beads, avoiding the bouncer's eye, waiting for him to tell someone Don't Stand On The Stairs, before palming a few for your Buffalo Bar glass stones collection (I have a bowlful), and, to quote Stillman again, “It's really important there be more group social life. Not just all this ferocious pairing off.” It's not the 2i's Coffee Bar, (but did they serve custard vodka there? No, they did not) but it's ours, for now, to dance, drink, listen and admire, we have to admit to being part of this group for it to exist. This month, the Buffalo Bar hosts: Inner City Soul, Guided Missile bands, the Great Big Kiss 60s night, and Afro-cuban salsa lessons. Not so much a nightclub as a night time community centre. I predict Zumba to Belle and Sebastian in the near future.
