The Stockroom: A love story. Sex, Drugs and Rock ‘n’ Roll

The Stockroom, Leadmill Rd. RIP

Hi everyone, just wanted to introduce you to a new (hopefully regular!) blogger, Aurore. She’s a French language assistant working here in South Yorkshire and is here to give us a foreigner’s perspective on the place she now calls home – Sheffield. Last night the two of us went to the last night ever at the Stockroom, as it is now closed. It was a bit of a wild party…

Thronging crowds in the Stockroom

Everything began as a love story: one night, good music, a good meeting , and a lot of alcohol.

First time  I put my toes on the sticky floor of the Stockroom was on the 10^th of December, quite late in the year, it was one of my first nights out which was not a house party with my foreign mates, or in the Sheaf View pub. Quite exciting isn’t it?

That day I was entirely pissed off, it’s one of those days when you don’t want to get up. All day I had been walking through the city to try and change my mind, but nothing changed.

Then one of my mates, Noelia, called to tell me that she wanted me to come to the Stockroom to see the Violet May playing. I was not really enthusiastic actually, but when arrived there it felt like a slap in the face. When you get there,  you just feel the soul of that place, the sticky floor, the sticky counter, the lovely ginger barman with his  lovely impressive sheffield accent calling you ‘love’ every two seconds… the best part was the toilets, which don’t flush, or where you have no toilet tissue anymore – if you read that you must think that I am describing a shithole(!).

For some people  it could be seen as that, but the best thing I have learnt in England is not to judge a book by his cover. Everybody and everything is different, and we better not judge by our first impression, we must accept and learn from all those differences.

That first night at the stockroom was for me one of the best nights I had here, it was purely Rock ‘n’ Roll: beer, cigarettes, a good band on, people dancing and enjoying themselves; I was entirely absorbed by the atmosphere.

And then every time I returned , I got that atmosphere of a mythical place. If the walls had a mouth they would tell you stories that you can’t believe, like joe cocker jam sessions, someone having sex in the dirty non flushing toilets, some guys doing drugs in the rooms upstairs.

Some saddos in the aforementioned grungy loos.

The best thing about the Stockroom is also the variety of music you can find there, but also all those people with all their different influences, mixing, talking and jamming while they drink a flat and mild Moonshine, and finally you get a proper melting pot of music and sound that gives you the sound of Sheffield.

At the end you realize that the setting is not so important, it’s just the unique moments you spend there that count.

That’s why for me that last night at the Stockroom was so important. The Stockroom gave me more or less a Sheffield education in terms of music, I saw The Wet Nuns, The Violet May, Hope Explosion, Electric Tape Recorder, Flying Squad, Jungle Lion,and so on…all different in style and influences but all of them have their definite place in Sheffield musical stage.

The Violet May @ The Stockroom 30/5/2010

Last night at the Stockroom began as all the other nights at the Stockroom: with my two elbows on the sticky counter shouting to get a pint of Guinness to the nice blondie retro barmaid. I caught some faces I was used to seeing regularly at that place, regular customers, musicians from other bands, just coming for the event, like the Monicans who were playing the day after at the Frog and Parrot.

And  then  the music began and you began moving your feet and finally all your limbs , many bands were on, Electric Tape Recorder, Death Rays of Ardilla, then later The Wet Nuns singing the Black Keys song ‘thickfreakiness’ – electrifying the whole crowd who began to dance on the wave of the guitars’ riffs, all jumping, shaking, ondulating. The night finished with the Violet May coming straight from another gig, just for the final gig at  the Stockroom.

That night was the occasion to see again all my mates one last time. That place for us was a symbol of good night, of common interest in music, and also of friendship. At the same time, that event was quite important; we  had had our first night all together at the Stockroom, and the last of the year should have been at the Stockroom, and unfortunately, that place was closing in the same time as my foreign mates were leaving england. Was it a sign? A sign of separation maybe, of revolved times without regrets but with good memories  and full of laughs, tears, alcohol and Rock’n’Roll.

The only thing i can say about last night is that it was a great night, good bands on, shit beer maybe, but it’s the spirit of the place, you don’t come to the Stockroom to drink quality Ales.

The Stockroom: a place that will be maybe regretted but never forgotten.