A BACKWATER, a bummer and a big country town – for decades, Brisbane was known as an entertainment dead zone where nothing happened after 6pm.
But while the River City got the name “Brisvegas” with more than a hint of mockery, nothing could be further from the truth.
“People go on about Brisbane having a live band scene now, but it’s nothing like it was back in the ’50s right through to the ’70s,” Pauline Bell said.
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“You really had a choice to go out in those times. It’s quite amazing just how many places were … offering such a range of entertainment and live shows.”
Ms Bell is the founder of Clubbed Out, an online social research project dedicated to unearthing the history of Brisbane’s clubbing scene from the 1950s right up to the new millennium.
From the explosion of rock ’n’ roll to the 1980s, live music thrived in inner-city clubs like The Primitif, El Morocco, Red Orb and De Brazil.
Add to that places like The Underground, Transformers, Fridays and City Rowers, Mary Street, Cafe Neon and Alice’s Rock Cafe as well as dozens of other places throughout the suburbs.
The Mansfield Tavern was a popular venue for loud Aussie music, even if it did take a bus or an expensive taxi fare to get there. Easts and Souths leagues clubs were also good for bands.
There were the popular pubs - the Regatta and the RE with the uni crowd, as well as the uni rec clubs and Dooleys in the Valley.
“You were spoilt for choice in both the city and the Valley for where to go,” Ms Bell said. “Every club had their own band, or visiting bands, so it was a very healthy time for musicians as well.”
On the Gold Coast, The Playroom was an epicentre for live music and shows, including regular shows by hypnotist Ron Ricco and owners Beryl and Claude Carnell.
“The Playroom was such an institution that hosted so many different people there, it was amazing,” Ms Bell said.
Other Gold Coast haunts included The Patch and The Jet Club, both at Coolangatta, and Bombay Rock at Surfers Paradise. There was also the institution that was the Surfers Paradise Beer Garden.
But while Brisbane’s club scene was a melting pot of different styles and subcultures, it was also marked by a tragedy that became a defining moment for the city as a whole.
In 1973, the popular Whiskey Au Go-Go club in Fortitude Valley was gutted by a deliberately lit fire, in which 15 people died.
The disaster left the city reeling, but the clubbing scene continued to evolve and by the ’80s, live music was being replaced by DJs, ushering in a new generation of clubs alongside the decade’s outrageous fashion and questionable hairstyles.
Images in the CBD’s SGIO Building boasted a rotating dance floor, while Adelaide St played host to clubs like Sibyl’s, Rumours and Tracks, which was famous for its podium dancers out the front on a Friday night.
Fortitude Valley attracted a different crowd, and while Ms Bell said it had a reputation for being rough, it was a safe haven for subcultures.
“It was a very alternative crowd,” Ms Bell said. “You would see a heap of drag queens walking down the main street, you would have a lot of amazing Italian restaurants with dodgy licences and you had these funny little clubs that you could club hop to.”
Now many of these are gone, replaced by offices, apartment blocks and, in the case of the Playroom, a car park.
But Ms Bell said Brisbane’s old-school scenesters had begun to relive their glory days with reunions of their favourite haunts, including the Greek Club’s GOYA Disco, Treasury Hotel’s Marilyn’s and Elizabeth St punk hangout White Chairs.
While many of these clubbers may have put their partying days firmly behind them, Ms Bell said they shared a lot of fond memories of a time when going out meant having fun rather than just flaunting it.
“You used to go out and dance your buns off and then come home, whereas now you’re just supposed to pose your butt off, I think,” she said.
“I think we had more of a sense of humour about ourselves back then (but) everybody wants to be cool now.
“No one wants to dance like a dag, nobody wants to go to funny places and enjoy the Jatz and cabanossi … It’s a shame we’ve lost a lot of them.”
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