Tuesday nights in Covent Garden carried a particular electricity. By half past ten the queue would already coil around the corner of Great Queen Street — young men in piratical ruffled blouses, girls with powdered faces and riding boots, all rehearsing the expression they'd need to pass the door. Steve Strange stood there in full Weimar regalia, a sash across his chest like a minor Balkan potentate, turning away anyone who looked insufficiently committed to the cause.
The Entrance Exam
The Blitz Club was never really a nightclub in the conventional sense. It operated as a weekly theatrical audition where the audience performed and the performers watched, a living parade of pirate ruffles and cabaret tuxedos under a single white spotlight.