The fabric Nightclub Book Edition

On communicating purpose, London, and good operations

Colin here. I recently received the excellent fabric 25 book in the mail, and it brought back incredible memories. For those unfamiliar with the subterranean space in Farringdon, London, fabric (lower-case on purpose) is a long-running nightclub known for its amazing booking choices, sound system, and cultural history. What sets it apart is how it has remained consistent, inspired, and perpetually innovative throughout its entire run.

These are descriptors you rarely associate with nightclubs, which often engage in a race to the bottom in terms of greed, standards, and behavior. While Berghain is the black clad belle of the ball and seems to get much of the international buzz and intrigue, fabric has quietly operated with consistent, music- and fan-centric excellence, and—notwithstanding a five-month closure in 2016—for an absurdly long time.

I was a regular at the club from around 1999 to 2002, and I had some of my most impactful musical experiences there. It is one thing to listen to Photek or Roni Size on cheap Sony headphones as a junior in high school in California; it is quite another to be at the ground zero of a musical movement a year or two later, experiencing these records on one of the best, most meticulously tuned sound systems on earth. I still remember the snare drums from James Lavelle’s UNKLE intro, an MPC edit of “Rare Earth - Get Ready” bouncing off the walls and sounding amazing as he began his Friday night sets.

I also remember looking over to my good friend Aaron while watching Ed Rush and Optical obliterate a dancefloor in room two, sharing an incredulous look that said: This is something we have never, ever seen or understood until now. It was revelatory in its intensity, and that was just another night, one of thousands.

The book's blurb:

"Back in 1999, converting a derelict meat store in an unfashionable part of London into a venue seemed like a great idea. 25 years later, we are still here. With stories about fabric's birth, struggles and successes collected by Joe Muggs, as well as an introduction by Bill Brewster and foreword by Annie Mac, the book celebrates the impact of fabric on club culture and vice-versa. Above all, it's a story about the misfits and visionaries who made it happen, the curators and resident DJs who have kept it true to its roots, and the experiences of dancers on the dancefloor. A 300-page book about the last 25 years of fabric featuring rare photography, archival images, old flyers and iconic club artwork."

Leafing through the book, you start to recognize an iconic brand: there’s consistent art direction, but also evolution throughout the years. You see the care and investment from the staff (Judy Griffith, who books talent, has worked there from the start and remains on point). You see the role that superstar talents have played and the reverence fabric has for them, but also the up-and-comers, the rogues, and the underground performers that have all played their part in the ever-morphing melange. Every player was unified by a common, passionate mission to promote interesting electronic music.

Why is this interesting?

As I reflect on some of the most important sets, mixes, and people I've met, what really stands out is the concept of hospitality. I've been writing about hotels and very high-touch experiences for more than a decade, but as I pull the thread, I see that my first deep understanding of customer experience, hospitality, and operations was really presented to me in those early nights at Fabric.

Everything communicated purpose. Just as the artwork and the curation were top-notch, so too was the door experience, the efficiency of the coat check, the politeness and professionalism of the security and staff, and the manner that people pouring out of the club were safely ushered into licensed rides home.

It takes a village, but I suspect much of this can be attributed to Cameron Leslie, one of the club's co-founders, who had a background in hospitality. The revelation for me is that it's only possible to have a truly transcendent night, to find yourself in a communal trance to interesting music, when the practical details are taken care of: when you feel safe, secure, and looked after. This core of hospitality, attention to detail, and care for others was the beating heart of the club, and one of the key components that made it so special. I'm excited to revisit the place with fresh eyes sometime this year, and while it might not replicate those earliest, innocent, opening-to-closing time visits (including waiting for the Tube to start operating again and take me home), I'm sure it will confirm these feelings to be true. (CJN)