Angel pub on Coldharbour Lane becomes arty community space run by Brick Box

He's saying that your club nights could be called gigs, using your own argument.

It's quite clear.

Loads. Even primary schools.

In a way, Brixton was undervalued before in market terms. You could see this as a correction to the prejudice that people have had against the area. Of course, this means that people who previously had this prejudice come to live/socialise here, and it's unsurprising that their arrival isn't welcomed by those they previously snubbed. And it's more serious if you're actually priced out by their arrival.

It's also tempting to rail against the symptoms when you feel powerless to change the cause. Tempting, but not very constructive - I'd be more interested in a thread about positive ideas/action from those who don't like the changes to reinforce the culture (for want of a better word) that they want to see in Brixton.

So where will any (if any) new council housing ever be built?

You've no idea what I'm on about? Seriously?

You dismissed the notion that the events I listed were club nights on the basis that they were GIGS and NOT CLUB NIGHTS.

Even though, in my book and just about everyone else's, they are indeed club nights.

So I wondered what your definition of a club night is. And it turns out that you define your Offline night as a "club night", which also features a mixture of gigs and DJs.

From what I can make out your once-again shifted goalposts are now defining anything with "well-known names" as not a club night.

Which is absolute nonsense.

'Well-known names' even play his 'club night'.

Making it up as he goes along.

I'd say you're a bit late with the idea...

I understand what you are saying. It's the editor's hysterical reaction to one single event there, (and ensuing insane logic in responding to my points) that I'm taking issue with.

If all they ever do is commercially driven nights then of course they are mis-selling themselves as a "community arts space". Maybe judge them on more than just this first night?

What about go-go girls jumping out of a giant gateau and dancing the can-can?

They're putting on something a bit different, a live show for a fiver. It's not members only - anyone can go as far as I can see. There's no obligation to eat there. It's in a space which it seems would otherwise be unused.

The 'free' events mentioned are obviously paid for out of the bar takings. I can't imagine they'd last long if people didn't buy pricey drinks. I wonder how many people manage to get away with spending less then a fiver? That's not even two pints.

Give they guys a chance FFS.

I don't think he's being deceitful. It's a good point well made - you just don't happen to agree with it.

And the £40 is for a four-course meal with entertainment, which is not an unreasonable amount. And they're taking over a space which is currently disused - it's not like they're pushing anyone else out. There's room enough in Brixton for all these things, imho.

Brilliant.

They charge admission when putting on acts/performances, which is exactly what Brick Box is doing, to cover costs. And they're charging £35 for a four-course meal, which is a pretty average price these days for a restaurant meal.

And last time I looked, DJs play clubs, no?

The point is clear IMO, and basically true. If they maybe only charge a tenner 'regularly' and a bit more when they have a big name DJ, or whether it's a 'gig' or a 'clubnight' it's really not relevant. It's still true that a lot of Brixton venues already rely on a relatively wealthy young crowd. I can't see that's at all controversial tbh.

Hubert Vibrant-Hubb here. Well if it's anything like this it should be wonderful. A lovely "supper club" in a formely working-class West-Indian pub. How could anyone object? I expect I will adore it. I may rattle off a cheeky little review of my experience there, which I am sure will be, well, er, lovely. Just like the other lovely experience I had at "Right up My Back Stairs" in Acre Lane. Lovely things for lovely people, georgeousness everywhere. How could anyone object....

Right Up My Back Stairs, Brixton

My lovely lady and myself recently dined at the “Right Up My Back Stairs” eaterie in Brixton.
Gritty ghetto-chic? Tres bon. What an incongruous delight it is, sandwiched between such
proletarian banalities as a “laundromat” (whatever that is) and a Pakistani purveyor of news.
Who uses these quaint little mercantiles I've no conception. You certainly feel special, and we
are special aren't we, as you are ushered in through the discreet side door, unsignposted as it
is, cleverly deterring passing trade, local coloureds, ne'er-do-wells and the London poor.

“I'm surprised they bothered really”, I confided to my partner, “putting a restaurant for our
class of people here”, as we entered the bijou Victorian attic, a room artfully accessorised to
look like a salon of the French Renaissance (or something, we don't really know, but we love
feeling like we're in an exclusive clique where only people like us know to what we refer.
Apparently it used to be a cupboard).

I surmised the intended ambience is ultimately that of what some might call Fin de Siecle
Neoclassique, but... “does it pass the acid test of our refined sensibilities” my English Rose was
want to enquire. Well, we shall see.

Ensconced at a window table we were able to observe omnibuses and passing ethnics in the
street below, certainly a diverting pre-prandial human zoo, I mused, while quaffing my
somewhat recidivist champagne. Our waitress was an apotheosis of sneered disdain as she
took our order. Her indulgence of our guilt a titilating frisson. The menu? Extensive, if a little
derelict – a nod to the inner city locale mayhap?

We alighted on an eighteen course repast – a snip at £3095 (excluding fawning, which
customers are required by the owners to do themselves). Our starters were a liver and lager
consommé (a tad aggressive) and a pate of lemur heart (authentically Madasgascan but rather
perfunctory; Mrs Posh was quite upset). For main, I had guinea-pig tongue in a rhubarb
hollandaise sauce (exotic, erotic, sumptuous), and my partner in culinary and topographical
posturing optioned for the warm mousseline of mallard imprisoned in a marzipan sarcophagus
and drizzled in sputum, pavement-matured in the environs. (They don't tell everyone about
this for fear of overwhelming demand, it is organically harvested). She says it didn't deliver in
the flavour department. “How was it in the haberdashery department darling”, I quipped. I am
so funny and erudite.

To follow; a simple peasant sausage each (an homage to the native population), garnished
with a bounteous arabesque of crème fraîche and Pickled Onion Monster Munch. Impressive,
especially when one is distracted by attempting to appear familiar with the vacuous etiquette
of the aspirant classes, isn't one. The other sixteen dishes, suffice to say they were insouciant,
adequate, perchance to dream, even a little insolent. Cheeky chappies all – rather like the
adorable piccaninies begging for scraps outside. Mrs Posh says that something else she had
was also “very nice thanks” which adds much to this review I feel. What a cherubic little
poppet she is. I do love her so.

Our fellow diners were a teasing compote of hee-hawing nonentity, racism and wasted
education. “This is absolutely what Brixton needs” we chirruped (for we never disagree), now
stuffed like gluttonous dictators in our eerie perched high above Chav Street. Somehow it was
all so deliciously reminiscent of the sacking of the Jewish ghettos during the 1939 to 45 war, I
ruminate retrospectively as I pen this now, at this moment, myself, here.

“Right Up My Back Stairs” must be the best kept cliché, er, secret, in south London. A soupçon
of the Third Reich on our doorstep! We are such lucky, lucky people. “Chacun a son gout” I
conclude. Whatever the fuck that means.

By Hubert Vibrant-Hubb

The £15-20 admission was what you came up with when moving some goalposts. It's not unusual to spend £40 and more on going to a club night or gig night. It's not unusual to spend £40 on a meal and drinks for those who can afford either. It's not unusual to spend £40 going to the pub on sunday and buying drinks and sunday lunch. You'd prefer to spend your money on gigs/clubbing and booze. Personally I'd rather spend mine on a meal. Whatever your or my preference the supper club launch is just as valid a thing to spend money on as clubbing or gigging.

What is a more salient point is that it's looking like there isn't enough room for both social provision for the relatively well off and social provision for those less well off.

£35 for the meal, £5 for the entertainment.

I eat out a lot more than you do. You are not a food person, tbh. As quimmy says, you'd rather spend your money on other things, which is fair enough. I like spending my money on food because that is my passion and £40 is certainly not an outrageous price for four courses and a cocktail in London.

Well you could argue that they have already introduced themselves to the local community, as they run a very popular cafe in Brixton Village and have run several free events already, including some kids' art events. Equally, Saltoun Supper Club is a well-established Brixton business.

I wouldn't class us as 'particularly poor' but spending £40 between us on a meal once a month is more than enough for us to spend on "going out".

Who said anything about doing every time you go out, or several times a week? If someone spends forty quid on a night out once or twice a month that isn't unusual is it? That sort of leap, and attempt to get people to defend things they never said, is exactly where the diversions you're complaining about start from.