Some people refer disparagingly to it as a grubby goth club, but it was far, far more than that. It was on two levels – downstairs was a long corridor of a rats maze, lots of seating areas in mad nooks & tight corners, often overshadowed by HUGE bass amps & bins. Down there you had what was considered indie cross-over (you’d get the latest fad music, which tended to veer towards popular indie dance, some hip hop, some gansta rap etc.). It’s there where I first experienced NWA‘s Straight Oughta Compton, sat on the shoulder rest of one of the wall sofa’s, leaning against a bass bin, & it was a perfect King of New York experience. The world looked all that bit more sinister as I was pounded by the bass & beat & the dance place had that beautifully sleazy bacchanalian vibe/post-Roman orgy feel it was infamous for – regularly people were ‘caught’ fucking in the various little nooks & crannies & in the office doorway halfway up the stairs leading to the second floor.

On the second floor you had your more ‘hardcore’ musical element, it was a much smaller dance space with seats around the walls, a DJ booth with a lifelongb resident DJ (Lizard) who played everything from Happy Mondays’ Wrote For Luck, to Big Black’s <Kerosene, to Soft Cell’s <Memorabilia, to Butthole Surfer’s Cherub, to Bongwater, Galaxie 500, Nitzer Ebb, The Cure, Depeche Mode, Pixies, Sonic Youth, etc. etc.

I met my first serious girlfriend there (when I was 17) at a private party that I & a few friends had put on for a series of coinciding birthdays (the Baz, Daz, Shaz & Gaz Bash) & I ended up abandoning the party to go back to her place (she lived with her parents in Dinas Powys) & pretending I was a friend from her college course (she was 24) in order to get them to agree for me to stay the night. 6 months later I moved in with them all (£100 a month, shared room, separate beds) & commuted back to my home town of Caldicot to finish my A Levels. I stayed there for almost 2years.

The only other place that really compared was Subways, which was the basement of what was the GWR pub on the bottom end of St. Mary’s Street – but, it became populated by a mnacing posse of genuine skinheads & all hell used to break out when one of them decided he was sick of smelling Dewberry Oil (the body masking scent of choice for most students of a certain ilk back then) & would smash a bottle across someone’s cranium. We didn’t go there that often, only when the SC was shut de to license irregularities.

Yes, very fond memories of the old Square. It was a fucking marvelous place.

And a smell of piss and beer doesn’t necessarily prevent anywhere from being a good venue!

When started living back in Cardiff at an age old enough to go out without my mum, it was 1996 and I was 21.

I don’t remember the Square (Apart from that awful barn on St. Mary Street, and I know you don’t mean that dump!)

Sounds like I missed out on something a bit special!

The thing with Barfly is I’ve never used it like a club. For one thing it smells of piss stale ale. I only ever went there for bands & fucked off as soon as the kiddie disco cranked up — unless I was meeting the headlining band, for whatever reason, after they’d packed up. So, I’ve avoided knowing the names of the bar staff unless, obviously, I know them already.

Now, if I mentioned The Square Club I bet you haven’t got a clue what I’m on about… although, depending on when you started going out drinking in Cardiff, you just maybe old enough to recognise the name & understand the significance of the place.

It’s where I saw Spiritualized 2 years before Lazer Guided Melodies was released & about 2 weeks after their first single, Anyway That You Want Me (which I still have), quietly snuck out.

It was an ENORMOUS gig for me – the best I’ve ever been to, period. I was at the front, dead centre, face buried into the stomach of the sole ‘security’ guy for most of the first 20 minutes, as the 100-odd crowd kept surging forward towards the whole, original line-up of the band crammed into what would normally have been a seating area at the back part of the groundfloor of the club. For most of the gig I held onto the neck of Jason ‘Spacemen’ Pierce’s guitar (above his capo) & propped myself up by grabbing onto the mic stand. All this to stop myself from being pushed into him by a stupidly enthusiastic audience.

That’s what I remember more than anything: JP rooted to the spot because (a) that was his wont, (b) there was no room to move with the whole band jammed behind him in a tiny space, & (c) me hanging on to his guitar & mic so he simply couldn’t really move anywhere anyway. Then him, mid song, catching my eye & winking at me. I was 18. Nothing would better that for fucking years.

Last time I went in I’d been living in Edinburgh for two years and was back home for a visit. Me and a couple of mates went in and Mike the DJ recognised me straight away and put Debaser on (My usual request).

Which I thought was nice.