Lament for an Empire

The Empire is one of Dunedin's oldest pubs, built to cash in on the Otago gold rush of the late 1800s, but left behind when the centre of town drifted northwards down Princes Street towards the university. That just led to its arguable heyday when it became ground zero for the Dunedin sound of the late 70s and early 1980s ,with the pub heaving to all sorts of strange new sounds

I never saw it in its prime. But late at night in a brutal Dunedin winter, living by myself for the first time somewhere in the mid-90s, the Empire was a crucial stop on the way home. 

It was there when I was heading back to that first flat, a horrible little room in a creaking old thing teetering on the edge of a cliff. I would go out to movies, or go for a few drinks with mates, but eventually I couldn't put it off any longer and would have to take the long walk home to that flat, and the Empire was on the way and there was always some dodgy band cranking out the noise of the top floor. How could I go past that?

Sometimes I had to convince them that I only had my last $2, instead of the $5 demanded at the door, but I didn't really have any more money to give - I still feel sorry for the bar owner who probably got $20 in drinks out of me during that whole year - but you could usually talk your way past that.

And while I'd missed the high days of the Chills, The Verlaines and the Clean, (although you would see members of all these bands slumming it with their mates on some noodly bullshit), there was always something on every Saturday night. Sometimes you might get a Shayne Carter wailathon, but most of the bands were things you'd never see again, and sometimes made up of mates of mates.

And it was a shitty venue up on the third floor - a tiny L-shaped room with the middle corner supporting something you could laughably call a stage. But you could usually find a spot along the wall to lean on, and dig the vibe.

And I dug it. It was just the sort of place you want to be when you're far away from home, for the first time. I might be a city full of good friends, but I was still so lonely, and still had plenty of time to get lost in my head, especially when I wasn't working.

And even if I was there alone, and rarely talked to the other souls I shared the space with, it felt like being a part of the world.

While these thoughts are universal in all young folk, that exact experience is long gone now. The Empire shuffled on for a few years after I moved away and stopped dropping by, and eventually shut up shop (maybe that $2 helped out more than I thought). The live scene shifted to places like the grotty old Crown, or out in fucking Port Chalmers, which is literally on the way home from nowhere. (I also still have weird faith that Sammy's will rise from the dead again.)

Still, for a young man who felt so lost and rudderless, it provided some warmth and a lot of noise on some dark nights. I'll always have that, ringing in my ears.