On my way back from a work promo event last week (Dean Rogers had photographed the film noir-esque campaign for a new top-of-the-range lager called Stella Artois Black - I promptly renamed it 'Premium Wifebeater'), tiny bit on the pissed side (strong stuff, that), when I decided to check my emails. Lurking amidst the work and assorted other guff, I saw a mail from The Luminaire, and the header read "Friends, it is with sadness that we have to announce the closure of The Luminaire..."
I thought it was some sort-of joke. A bit of a piss-take. So I mailed Andy at The Luminaire to ask. It's not a joke. It's all too true.
And so, I'd like to personally thank a couple of people. The people he wrote about in the mailer a few weeks ago. The fucking arsehole who nicked the three mics that it'd cost The Luminaire £200 to replace. The stupid selfish twat who kicked in the Green Room door that meant a doorframe having to be rebuilt. Fuckers like you, selfish idiots who make it all the more difficult in what must be trying financial times for small venues and promoters, you deserve a good kicking (normally completely anti-violence me, but recently, petty criminals have worn my patience thin...more of that below).
More importantly, I'd like to thank The Luminaire, Andy Inglis and his lovely staff for some brilliant evenings. Host to this year's birthday hilarity, but also the place I chose to nearly lose my hearing once and for all. Seeing Sweden's very finest (and most gorgeous) heavy-osity, the very wonderful and unfeasibly loud Graveyard and Witchcraft one evening (couldn't bear to put my head on the pillow for the ringing in my ears that night) to be followed by Oz's superb The Drones two days later (deaf as the proverbial post following that). Luckily, my hearing came back, but it was touch-and-go for a bit. Not big or clever, but definitely brilliant. So, RIP to another fine independent London venue, leaving those of us not up for Spice Girls at The O2 more limited choice than ever. Huge fucking sigh.
(Postscript: petty criminals, you can beware too - few weeks back, a couple of little scallys stalked me on mountain bikes and tried to snatch my handbag. Lucky for me, it was one of my old vintage bits, so the handles broke - nearly broke my shoulder too - and the little shits rode off completely empty-handed, but not without the sound of "You little fucking bastards, I hope you die" ringing in their ears. Now, I know I'm a bit of a potty-mouth, but I'm also pretty good-natured, try and see the humour in the direst of situations. Even surprised myself with that one...and although I wasn't sure where the outburst came from, I was really rather pleased with it. If you could knock someone out with profanity, I think I'd be heavyweight champ.)
