Post 465 - Moshulu

Aberdeen bar boss tells of fears as Warehouse shuts down

You know what? I'm going to miss that place. It's a sad and undignified end to what was a hugely important part of my life for many years - if my life were like Friends, Moshulu would have been my Central Perk. When the Palace closed down in 2002 I felt like I would never find anywhere to replace it, however it was only a short time before the Mudd Club was up and running in Moshulu and although it would never be the same as The Palace, I loved the place from day 1. In fact, the very first entry I ever wrote in the blog, way back in August 2002 was about my first visit to the new look Moshulu since it changed from neddy dance club to rock club. Don't believe me?

Post 1

(Don't read it though, it's awful. Believe me).

From 2002 - 2005 I attended Moshulu religiously every Friday night, like a moth to a flame. The customers were so loyal to the place I could walk in on a Friday night and it would take me half an hour to get to the back as I would know everybody I was walking past, and would have to stop and chat. Some, if not most, of the best memories I have from nights out involve Moshulu in one way or another. I met some amazing people in there, and I had some great times - moshing in the Thursday night mosh cage; jumping around to the rock anthems on a Friday night; inventing a drinking game involving ordering two unrelated drinks (a gin and tonic and a vodka coke for instance) sitting them side by side on the bar, sticking a straw in each and seeing how quickly you could drink both simultaneously; mastering downing a bottle of blue WKD in 4 seconds; ogling unattainable and uninterested goth girls; losing all my money in the bandits with Terry and Kai from Sirius; perving on Kai's girlfriend; the ALWAYS awesome Hallowe'en parties; puking up sambuca on the carpet, getting chucked out the side door and running round to the front door and paying in again; turning up with 5inch medusa spikes, chains, painted fingernails, sunglasses, covered in badges and wearing 4 watches; staggering out to the kebab shops at 3am; pulling an enormously fat chick while dressed as a nun; pole dancing; shining a broken spotlight in people's faces; having a face slapping competition with my much larger, stronger friend and losing badly. Some fantastic memories that I'll always cherish.

In 2005 I started to grow a bit tired of the place. The playlist on a Friday night seemingly hadn't changed in 3 years, the friendly atmosphere and camaraderie of the place had gone, and more and more I found myself walking around a room full of total strangers, as many of the old crew had stopped going. Around this time I had cut off all my hair, thrown out my wacky wardrobe and generally grown up a bit, and I just didn't quite feel like I belonged there any more. I had also just broken up with a girl who frequented the place, so I used that as my excuse to stop going on a Friday night, choosing instead to visit Exodus, and also to explore the dance music culture which had grabbed my attention. However the place had recently doubled up as a gig venue for touring bands, and despite avoiding the place as a club, I still went along there to gigs (in fact see here for a eulogy on the place as a venue which I wrote yesterday). As a venue it was awesome, the sound was great, the atmosphere was great, and the floor so sticky that during a gig there by the Dropkick Murphys, my shoe stuck to the floor and came right off my foot. Before too long I was missing the place, and began sporadically visiting again on a Friday night.

The place had a bit of a refurb in 2008, but it was little more than a lick of paint and a new carpet - it badly needed it, but it didn't make that much of a difference, it was still dingy, dark and depressing, and it still played rock. And I still continued going. The death knell for the place though came in 2009, when it closed down and re-opened as "Warehouse" - all sparkly decor, pink flashy lights, and, shock horror, commercial chart music. It tore the heart and soul out of the place. The building itself actually seemed sad, like it had somehow lost it's dignity, like some 3-dollar whore. That rock kids fled en masse to the nearby Korova (which I fucking hate) and Warehouse was but a distant memory, a cheap imitation of Moshulu. Except for me. I still kept going. In fact I would say I went even more often when it reopened as Warehouse than I had done in the past few years, as it was much quieter, and easier to get a seat and get served. I stuck with the old girl to the bitter end, and now, 8 years since I wrote my first blog about my first ever night in Moshulu, I am now writing a lament to the place.

Adios Moshulu. It's been an honour and a privilege.