So, RIP The Foundry (and Bardens Boudior and The Cross Kings while I'm at it). The last real bastion of anything truly left-field on Old Street has been replaced. Goodbye to the sense of individualism, of a semi-unregulated place full of strange and weird things going on, where there’s multiple TVs bunched together showing weird stuff, where people snog under banners saying ‘I SH*T’ and where bands prance around with people dressed in Roman toga gear dancing to the sound of saws being bowed and transvestites singing about No:ID cards (see picture below), backed up by women mummified with tin foil covering their heads stumbling blindly around the stage.

Goodbye to a place that serves lots of local ale (*) as opposed to only cans of Carling at £3:75, and that has a sense of anti-corporatism. Goodbye to a place that shows local artwork, weird improvised theatre/music hybrids, drawing classes and ranting poetry. Goodbye to the notion of being able to go to an interesting place that doesn’t have a half-witted security guard instructing you what to do (see also: the demise of the Spitz). Goodbye to that big sign that said “Awesome: I Could Fuckin’ Do That”, or some-such. Goodbye to memories of playing in an analogue synth orchestra for three hours and watching people bash huge metallic pipes that stretch to the ceiling in the name of art. Hello to mediocrity and another hotel, most likely anodyne and exactly the same as the one around the corner, sponsored by Hackney Council (authors of the Hackney Ocean and Stoke Newington Sports Centre - remember that? - no less).

Hello to no atmosphere and zero character – or a PA playing Zero 7, if you like.


(*) admittedly you can buy the locally-brewed beer at the Flea Pit, Café Oto etc. too, but still...