If you’re old enough then you might remember Kicks Like A Mule’s 1992 rave hit The Bouncer and that classic sample-chorus: ‘Your name’s not down, you’re not coming in’. Novelty beats, yes, but a sharp reflection of clubbing culture at the time. House music was in full revolutionary swing; parties were springing up everywhere and, in turn, guestlist queues were snaking around the block.
For every punter paying their way onto the dancefloor, there was another blagging VIP guestlist entrance with some clipboard nazi outside. The divide within a scene supposedly uniting all creeds, colours and backgrounds was enough to spark comment from the Junior Boys’ Own label’s highly influential fanzine Boys’ Own:
‘Guestlists… either you’re on ‘em or you’re in the queue, but is it fair or just an old relic of that wanky mid-eighties ‘West End Trendy’ mentality? If you look at the dancefloor, it’s packed with the payers whilst the guestlist packs the bar moaning that “It’s full of kids in here.”’
Guestlists have been around a lot longer than the 1980s - dusty historical parchments dating back centuries undoubtedly reference special arrangements for certain dignitaries attending mass social entertainments of the time. However it was in the 1980s that guestlists truly exploded and became culture in their own right.
“Things really kicked off with [legendary Mud Club promoter] Philip Salon in the early 80s” explains Defected’s Press & PR Manager Toni Tambourine, former ‘door dictator’ for the London Hanover Grand’s seminal club night Malibu Stacy, 1997 to 2003. “The New Romantics thing was in and his parties boasted guestlists to help keep the unfashionable scumbags out.”
A decade later, Malibu Stacy’s policy was much the same. “Our party was fashionable and glamorous” Toni fondly recalls. “We had a tribe; a true club of like-minded individuals. They made the night what it was and we didn’t want any scumbags or gangsters ruining it. We had a super-strict dress policy and if we still weren’t sure about some of the straight blokes queuing, then we’d make them kiss each other in front of our resident drag queens to prove they had the right carefree vibe – they’d do it too!”
Toni turned down thousands, including pop stars and top flight footy players, during his Malibu tenure and, shockingly, attracted several death threats: “It was crazy. The more hyped a club gets, the more crazed clubbers are about trying to get in. Today, it’s even crazier; perhaps it’s our current obsession with celebrity… everyone thinking they have a right walk straight in without paying. Guestlists do filter out the bad apples, sure, but these days they’re often a bigger deal than the club itself; there are actually companies that help ‘sort’ celebrity-style entry and freebies once you’re in. It puzzles me why people no longer feel comfortable about paying for a night of quality entertainment.”
Perhaps the answer lies in pioneering parties like Fused in London’s Brick Lane. In order to preserve its unique vibe, the cult house jam operates one permanent guestlist onto which you will only get by recommendation and the joining of a special Facebook forum; entry is free but members only. Fused’s huge, harmonious success speaks volumes.
And certainly the more promoters able to maintain the needs of the party over and above those of the spoilt individual, then the better our clubbing adventures will be. That’s something, surely, we’d all rather put our name to.
