In 1999, it led the charge against plans involving a shopping centre and “snow dome”. Duckie also repeatedly defended the RVT against profit-led redevelopment. And one of London’s first drag bingo nights, hosted on Mondays by bearded eco-dragster Timberlina, built a big following off its experimental left-field humour and laid-back vibe. Trans-led showcase Bar Wotever forged a powerful fusion of radical sex-positive cabaret and inclusive grassroots solidarity, giving early platforms to artists such as Travis Alabanza. Punters are liable to be on the receiving end of both political challenge and bodily fluids, like those flying during an act by Mouse, a signature Duckie turn who regularly finds innovative new uses for various orifices.ĭuckie put the RVT on the map as London’s home of alternative queer performance, paving the way for other influential weekly residencies at the venue. New York underground legend Penny Arcade says facing the crowd there is “like running with the bulls at Pamplona”. They catalyse lifelong bonds among devoted punters while insisting on live performance as a kind of blood sport.

For Amy Lamé, being there “felt like us carrying on this torch” of experimental queer culture.ĭuckie’s Saturday nights are a kind of alchemy.

The RVT hit a lull in the 90s, open just two days a week until the Duckie gang moved in and proved an instant hit. In the 80s, its prominent community role at the time of Aids and section 28 provoked police raids, one involving resident drag act Lily Savage. The RVT became a space of gay socialising after the war and was central to London’s 60s drag boom. And rather than Soho’s shiny new bars, Duckie found its spiritual home in a run-down boozer south of the river: the RVT.Īround 1860, the pub was the first building to go up when Vauxhall’s notorious pleasure gardens, home to early cocktails, pop songs and classless cruising, closed. The acts were short and scandalous – radical praxis meets music hall. The Readers Wifes’ eclectic playlist ranged from X-Ray Spex to Abba. Less consumerist-aspirational gay, more sarky art-school queer, the crowd was thoughtful, bolshie and (mostly) kind. Rather than gym culture, dance music, strippers and pills, Duckie melded the boozy bonhomie of gay indie-pop night Popstarz with the live-art vibe of the ICA, creating what it called “homosexual honky-tonk”. And, like many other misfits, weirdos and queers, I felt right at home.Īll this went against the grain of the 90s gay scene. On stage, “anti-drag” act the Divine David castigated liberal complacency. On the speakers were David Bowie, Kate Bush and the Smiths. It was liberating and intoxicating but, as a speccy, self-conscious type more into my parents’ 1960s LPs than house or techno, I didn’t really feel at home.

As a gay teenage Londoner in the mid-90s, the first club I went to was Heaven, which felt somehow compulsory.

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