Glasgow’s Cathouse Rock Club has hit the ripe old age of 21, and it was packed to the rafters with drunkards out to celebrate with a pile of folk like the guys from Anthrax/Steel Panther:
and Irvine Welsh of Trainspotting fame (he’s the bald one):
and various folks like my good pal ‘legend’ who had blagged VIP passes simply by being around forever:
Not too long after I started it had become a bit of a popular sport to criticise the Cathouse for a list of reasons as long as a piece of string.
“They don’t play rock music anymore.”
“I heard x song the other night. That isn’t a rock song; it’s in the charts.”
“Look at the photos. It’s full of kids.”
ad nauseum.
The irony of the whole situation seems lost on the people making these statements.
Glasgow as a city has a vibrant alternative music scene, which arguably could never have been sustained without the Cathouse being around for years prior and Donald MacLeod plowing money in at a loss where nobody else would dare.
Apparently instead of celebrating the fact that the tradition and interest in metal and alternative lifestyles is carrying on and still attracting young folk, we’re meant to lament the fact instead.
Nightclubs are attended predominantly by young people… shock horror.
Maybe we should be complaining that our peers won’t come out any more before criticising those who are prepared to do so week after week.
Maybe people forget that when they were going to the very same places, they were in fact… young, and that the ‘alternative’ music they are desperate to have played over and over was in fact more popular at the time of release than they may care to admit.
Truth is, after a while you don’t even hear the music that a club plays; it all becomes background noise to the people you’re with and the drink you’ve consumed. Frankly, I can take or leave most of the stuff that appears on the playlists – be it ‘classic’ rock or otherwise… More important than individual songs is the whole atmosphere and attitude of a place: somewhere you can go without feeling like you have to dress or think or shag or be a certain way to fit in. Cathouse wins out every time on that count.
Here’s a picture of Al, because he’s way older than me and reads this blog. (!)
Happy birthday Cathouse! Hopefully I’ll be around for many more.
