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I remember in the mid 90’s that most young Brummies’ at their earliest convenience would skip the mundane concrete mess that was Birmingham and gravitate to universities to take on degrees, or careers, in vibrant cities that had more to offer than one designer boutique and a string of dying nightclub chains.
Understandably, there was very little to come home for, which is arguably why so many Brummie urbanites settled down elsewhere and haven’t been seen since. That said I was one of the few Remainers, but for many years I felt like I’d missed the boat of opportunity out of here – somehow left behind to face a city on the verge of a complete creative-cultural collapse - certainly not a town that was about to experience a dawn of spectacular change.
At this point I must affirm that Birmingham was not totally deprived of a creative fix. Its underground dance scene was thriving and did hold one or two golden nuggets in its pouch. At Bonds nightclub the infamous Miss Moneypenny’s delivered glamourous hedonism, weekly - along with numerous early-morning ‘walks of shame’ – whilst the legendary Que Club, Wobble and Atomic Jam, were also regularly raising the roof.
I was operating a dance music magazine out of Birmingham’s