The thudding bass that seeped from London’s Fabric nightclub in the early hours gave away no clues. It was just after midnight — earlier than usual — when the contents of the club began stumbling out on the pavement, revealing the first signs that something was amiss.
Inconspicuous in a uniform of jeans and T-shirts, from a distance they might even have looked like normal clubbers. Look closer, though, and indisputable signs of age were on display. Frown lines etched into skin. Pepper grey hair. Umbrellas. These were middle-aged people.
The concept of Gigging For Grown-Ups was simple enough: a night for people in their 30s, 40s and 50s who want to hear cutting-edge musical talent ”without having to wade through kids with glow sticks”.
The grey array of bankers, publishers, lawyers and management consultants who lined up from 7.30pm could have been forgiven for feeling a bit superior. They were, after all, brandishing £250 tickets that their children could never afford.
Some were unaware that the night’s dress code would be enforced. Those in suits, chinos and ties were removed from the line and corralled through a metal railing to the back of the building to meet a stylist who dressed them in something more casual.
The brainchild of Sybil Bell (37) — ”Although I don’t act like it!” — and Ric Yerbury (52) –”Oh dear! And proud of it!” — the Rage Into Spring event offered a series of emerging artists, a stand-up comedian, free drinks and a canapé supper.
”People who are slightly older who don’t want to hang out with 16- and 17-year-olds in a mosh pit,” said Bell. ”Yes, they have families, but does that mean they shouldn’t go out?”
Early on, it seemed the night would be an unmitigated success. Adrian Balcombe, a 45-year-old lawyer, said the £6 300 he had spent for VIP tickets for 18 business associates was well worth it. ”I don’t think people grow up any more,” he said. ”I think they just get older.”
Ian Connolly (52) felt the night catered to his needs. ”It’s a safe environment,” said Connolly. ”It’s a good place to come if you haven’t come out for years and years.”
But they had one gripe: the schism. No one knows where they came from, or why, or how. But by 10pm hordes of twentysomethings had arrived, commandeered the dance floor, and barricaded the vodka bar. Worse, it was impossible to find a young person who hadn’t wriggled in for free.
Apparently leading the invasion was a 26-year-old Australian called Tailor. Boasting a skunk haircut and designer T-shirt dress, she breezed past the stylists on the door. ”Pay?” she said. ”No. A ticket? No. I don’t think so.”
By the time the appropriately named DJ Rob da Bank concluded his set at 3am, an informal survey found twentysomethings outnumbered their counterparts nine to one.
Yerbury was still there, though, and at the end helped the bouncers shoo revellers outside. He said despite the youngsters and the fact the night failed to make a profit, he was happy with the launch of the Rage brand, which will see three more parties for grown-ups later this year. — Â