The Astoria: My take on the closure of the legendary London gig venue

The closure of the Astoria in London for me is as sad although also highlights changing times in entertainment.
It was the first gig venue I visited after going to the capital to study at university back in October 1992.
I can remember getting off the tube at Tottenham Court Road and walking down Charing Cross Road to the box office to get tickets for the Frank & Walters - remember them?
In daylight, the box office frontage was battered, but suited to a venue at the time which hosted grunge gods like Nirvana.
At night, it was something else.
On the night of the gig, I joined the queue of people in the dimly-lit side-street and waited to get in.
Once inside I can remember looking up at the battered ceiling, the dark-painted, scuffed walls and beer-soaked floors.
Yes, it was a bit scrubby, but then it complemented the sweaty throng of scrawny indie kid gig-goers like myself who gathered.
I remember that the Frank & Walters were standard indie-pop fodder: loads of happy-go-lucky shouty tunes to which the crowd could mosh along, raising clouds of sweat which stuck to the walls.
I also remember collecting two handfuls of cheap plastic toys which the trio had liberally thrown out to their fans.
Then there was the exit. It must have taken 15 minutes to clear the venue, and I remember watching beads of condensation roll down the walls.
But the highlight of the gig for me was watching a recently-signed but otherwise unheard of group. They were called Radiohead.
It’s an unwritten rule of going to gigs - well from my own experience that is - that it’s not fashionable to pay too much attention to the support act.
And I remember chatting while only half-listening to the band, trying to observe this cardinal rule of watching bands.
And then they played Creep. At first there was the typical disdain when the song kicked in, which had been released, given massive support by the NME, but largely unplayed on the radio.
But everyone stopped dead when the lanky guitarist appeared to lose his rag with what was an otherwise typical song and thrashed his guitar with an almighty THRRAA-ANGG!!
And then there was that chorus, that swooping, choirboy-like chorus from shock-yellow-haired Thom.
Words can’t describe that emotion, but it was the combination of the song, the people around me and the venue that created a feeling that I’d never experienced before.
But at the same time, it was the desire to recreate that feeling led me to hundreds of gigs and a life-long passion for music.
And that’s why I loved the Astoria.
The Astoria was also the first place that I conducted my first music interview with some band called Orange, and indirectly led me to my career in journalism.
Of course, times change and the Astoria, which opened in the 1920s as a cinema, couldn’t keep up.
While the grunge of the venue had been a perfect setting for gigs I saw including Smashing Pumpkins, Suede and the Wedding Present, it could not keep up as fans demanded better conditions in which to see their favourite acts.
So it has been swept away by changing public tastes, tastes which have also seen clubs such Valentino’s, Ritzy’s, the Hippodrome, Chico’s all sadly close down.
But the memories will live on.