Memories of The Punters Club

Institutions come in all shapes and sizes and many wild and varying ideologies. During the nineties my dogma-riddled ideology was a mongrel called rock and roll and its kennel was the Punters Club in Fitzroy. On hearing the news last week that the hotel will be remembered and celebrated with a series of reunion shows I immediately experienced a powerful flashback during breakfast, and reflected on how much the Punters Club at the time personified the vibrant and accessible inner city music scene. It was a great gig no band ever took for granted.

Like an old brown boot the Punters Club had a character and cosiness that I have yet to find and feel anywhere else. The public bar had a particularly colourful clientele from young hard rockers to philosophising country and western outlaws through to ornery and elderly inner city stalwarts, who were all ultimately side show fodder to the hectic roster of explosive and innovative indie music bands on offer at the time.

Apart from the hundreds of local and international touring acts to play at the venue, one fond memory was a cold and wet Tuesday night as Telly Savalas (aka Kojak) entered the near-empty bar. Savalas told us he was filming a mini series about boxing World Champion Lionel Rose. The only other punter in the bar asked Mr Savalas if he could sign something for him.

“I live round the corner in Rose Street - I’ll be right back.”

“OK Kid, but don’t take too long,” Savalas drawled in his laconic New York television cop voice. Within minutes the young bloke returned with an old vinyl album with Kojak on the front sucking his trademark lollipop in front of a Christmas tree. Savalas signed it with good grace and a ton of cool. It was simply hilarious.

Another strong recollection was a case of mistaken identity I experienced as the drummer for local country rock band the T Bones on a hot Friday night. As Nirvana’s Come As You Are pumped through the PA and the guitarists tuned up, I sat behind my drums making the usual last minute adjustments and checks including the set list, beers, towel and spare sticks.

Waiting for the performance to begin I peered through the smoke and bright lights, scanning the packed crowd for friends or acquaintances. I noticed someone frantically gesturing in my direction. A large, highly agitated bald man I’d never seen before was pointing at me, clearly mouthing the words “YOU’RE DEAD” while clearly miming his intention to cut my throat.

Initially mystified, I looked around the room for his target before looking back at him, pointing to myself, and mouthing “You mean me?” He gave an exaggerated nod as he continued his tirade and sinister slow cutthroat motion.

“This has got to be a joke,” I thought, as the DJ set ended and our singer welcomed the noisy crowd amidst the squeals of microphone feedback. Counting in the beat with four sharp clicks we launched into the opening track. I glanced to the left of stage, where to my growing discomfort the maniac’s cold stare met my eyes. His sneer turned to a malicious smile as he raised his thumb like the Roman emperor Nero, before he dropped it sharply and mouthed again, “You’re dead.” Then he was gone, vanished into a sea of flannelette, smoke and leather.

“Probably just a crazy drunk, someone playing a joke…. Who knows and who cares?” I reassured myself and focussed on accenting the change. I pounded the ride cymbal with such pent up force and nerves that the drumstick shot out of my sweaty hand like a greased lightening bolt. Wreathed in smoke and coloured lights it tumbled like a bullet in slow motion. Between the guitarists and past the lighting guy it flew toward the audience, where inexplicably it slammed into the baldhead of a punter hurrying for the exit.

Spinning around with mad bulging eyes, it was the same Neanderthal. He picked up the stick that had hit him and used it to give me a final definitive cutthroat sign, before pointing to his watch and retiring ominously to the public bar. “What are the odds of that?” I thought, groping for another stick and rejoining the final chorus safe in the knowledge we had twelve songs to go and I had another ten sticks in my bag.

The Punters Club was a live music venue whose impact on the local and wider Australian music scene is still felt today. This weekend’s planned reunion shows are not only a celebration but also a testament to all those great independent bands that called 376 Brunswick Street home during that time.

PUNTERS CLUB REUNION SHOWS

Punters Club Reunion Show - The Corner Hotel, Richmond
with Spiderbait, Hoss, Little Ugly Girls, Guttersnipes, Kim Salmon, Tirany and Spencer P Jones & The Last Gasp
Punters Club Reunion Show - The Corner Hotel, Richmond
with Frent, The Fauves , The Hollowmen, Kirsty Stegwazi, Ron Peno (Died Pretty) and The Glory Box

Share this article on Facebook