CLUB SPANGLE, you say? That rings a bell. And so it should. But only if you are of a certain age and, quite possibly, plagued by an uncertain rage. Where were we while you were getting high? We were hanging out at the Dublin Castle, of course. For a short-but-sweaty time in the mid-‘90s it was the place to be each and every Monday evening, primarily because Club Spangle straddled the post-weekend gigging universe like a big-bellied behometh, and partly because Club Spangle’s gig-addicted organisers worked out that every other show in London on Monday night was rubbish.

The memories are hazy. The gigs are legend. The bands are improbable. As Britpop burned we were putting on Christmas parties with Lush and Menswe@r; getting frisky with Feeder, risky with 60ft Dolls and misty-eyed with Marion; hosting UK debuts by Tortoise, Smog, Low and Yo La Tengo; catching a youthful Ash supported by an even more youthful Placebo; watching Morrissey watching Earl Brutus brutalising the venue; and hatching plans with Babybird and Blur and Brutal Juice and lots of bands beginning with letters other than ‘B’.

Now, fully fifteen years after those glory, glory days CLUB SPANGLE is picking up its boots and stomping back to its roots. The original three-headed booking beast – namely Messrs Laurie, Myhill and Williams – has reconvened in darkened ale houses to reminisce and ruminate and has wisely decided that as of October 25th 2010 Tuesday evenings – always the moody teenager in the family of live school nights in London – will once again be illuminated by a gig devoted to putting on Good New Bands playing Great New Music. It’s a simple formula. Maybe we should dabble with it more often.