The late noughties hang out for Sydney Uni arts students of choice, there was one real reason why we loved the Fair Trade Cafe in Glebe, which recently closed its doors. Was it the ethically correct, fine tasting coffee, or the fact the proceeds went towards volunteer projects in third world countries? Or was it the fact that you were bound to hear at least one overly loud conversation about someone's documentary project, short film or band?

No, it was the fact that, ironically, unlike the ironically titled Well Connected cafe next door (one of the first internet cafes in Sydney), The Fair Trade Cafe actually had wi-fi.

After the closing of the Hopetoun and countless other venues, yet another Sydney music institution is under threat from gentrification and developers: the Abercrombie Hotel.

Arguably the smelliest dance floor in the state, the Abercrombie was nothing but an ugly, under-utilised "old mans drinking" facility of the six o'clock swill age, attached to the site of a former inner city brewery and on a very busy street corner - Abercrombie and Broadway.

It was however in a great location for students, literally just across the street from the University of Technology and down the road from the Uni of Sydney. Being on a main intersection also meant it could trade late into the night. It wasn't long until promoters discovered this smelly, nostalgic dive bar and turned into a hipster dance hangout - and it started with niche electronic music parties.

The Foreign Dub DNBBQ crew were the first guys to seize this grungey smelly den for one of their all-day, all-night jungle-music-and-cooked-meat-athons (sometime around 2001 I'm guessing), bringing in crowds to dance the night away in the carpeted bar and the outside beer garden (and of course to try and navigate between the two via the incredible small single staircase). Uber Lingua's world music fiestas soon followed, as did the anti-establishment performance night Creative Dissent.

But the Abercrombie remains synonymous with one night: Purple Sneakers. Named after a You Am I song and with a lineup generally stretching around the block, the sneakers became Sydney's see-and-be-seen Friday night for the Strokes/Franz indie uni student generation, getting to the point where wanker celebrities like Andrew Stockdale from Wolfmother were turning up to hang out, non-professional DJs like Chris Taylor from The Chaser came to spin tunes, local bands did DJ sets, record companies launched albums and many, many drunken pick ups took place. It's not much of a stretch to say that for indie kids, there really is nowhere else to go out late on a Friday night in Sin City.

Being down the street from my work means I've hung out at The Abercrombie far more than I should have for someone with a full time job, and looking back it was more than a venue, but rather a microcosm of my whole sordid twenties. At the Abercrombie I've kissed girls, reunited with old friends, cried my heart out, performed slam poetry, thrown up in the bathroom, danced like a crazy man to The Who at dawn, been ushered into a VIP room during a police shut down and been called a "good lookin' man" at the bar by Aussie rock legend Tim Rogers. We even had a work Christmas party there once, complete with professional decorations (but still the same godawful stench mix of sweat, beer, piss and puke).

Hopefully the Abercrombie will be back - with a new, less smelly carpet. Until then, Sydney seems to have run out of dodgy old man pubs for hipsters to reclaim for dance parties. What are we to do?

In what could actually be the straw that broke the camel's back of me deciding to move to Melbourne, The Hopetoun Hotel has closed suddenly and appears to be on the market, with the likelihood of it re-opening as an intimate music venue looking pretty damn unlikely.

Current uni-aged indie hipsters might have trouble believing me, but around the turn of the millennium, when both DJ culture and pokies were at their peak, i distinctly remember there were only two or three decent music venues left in Sydney where you could go see local independent bands seven nights a week - the Basement, the Annandale and The Hoey. Having survived that onslaught, it makes the sudden closing this week all the more unbelievable.

All throughout my twenties, the Hoey was always worth going to no matter what band was playing - as it always guaranteed a decent vibe, a laid back local crowd, intelligent music, cheap entry and a decent range of beers (including three Coopers on tap). On a quiet night you could sit on the floor with a drink in your hand - on a busy night you could never get to the bar and the dance floor was packed and sweaty. For years it was home to the Sunday electronica night Frigid, itself also a Sydney institution.

My favourite memories of the Hoey (in no particular order)

• The Hive (aka Baggsmen) + Pivot, winter 2001. Also, the Baggsmen's cinema shows playing along improvised music to movie scenes from Peter Seller's The Party and Indiana Jones.
• Also in 2001, rocking up randomly to see some up and coming band called Faker, which my friend Chris just happened to be in at the time.
• Jason Molina solo - frustratedly couldn't get his guitar to work for like 10 minutes, but managed to win over the crowd anyway
• Spod + Bluejuice on Christmas Eve, 2004, which also featured some birthday cake-wielding gatecrashers.
• The fact it welcomed great Melbourne bands that probably couldn't get a gig anywhere else in Sydney, like post-rockers International Karate and Laura, etc
• Sarah Blasko covering Kermit the Frog's The Rainbow Connection at a friend's private 30th.
• Rocket Science, September 2008 - last gig I saw before I left Sydney was at the Hoey, and it rocked out.
• seeing Thirsty Merc back when they were simply called "thirsty".
• Waiting For Guinness' annual anti-Homebake night crunk-jazz fests
• The Hauntingly Beautiful Mousemoon passing out improvised scrap metal percussive instruments to the crowd while also cooking pikelets onstage.

R.I.P. The Hoey.



Above: Betchadupa featuring a very young Liam Finn - onstage at the Hoey - Feb 5th 2003.





Above: A very early incarnation of the international prog-tronic exports Pivot onstage at the Hoey - winter 2001?

Is there a better cinema in Sydney? Tucked away in Glebe next to the sumptious Craven cafe, The Valhalla is my favourite place to catch a cool Sunday double feature, the latest cult Ken Loach offering or ask your favourite filmmaker a question at the weekly Popcorn Taxi Q&A.

What's that? It's closed down and been turned into offices, sucking down the rest of that section of Glebe with it? Oh fuck.

The Excelsior in Glebe was home to some of the happiest memories of my early 20s. As an underemployed TAFE student at the time, this was the place a poor person could rock up and get a great nights entertainment. Their regular rotation of free bands included many future stars and under-rated talents, including Peregrine (who had like a 3 year residency from memory), Melanie Horsnell (before she did TV ads), Andy Clockwise (before he was cunt), Bertie Blackman (back when she was still a folk singer), Panda before they became Extended Family and starting selling out the Basement, Paul Greene, Tim Ireland and The Hands. Wednesday (and then Thursday) nights were programmed by Brett, the lead singer of Peregrine, and such was his friendly demeanour, he could convince anyone who popped in to jump on stage and join in on a song. Rai from Thirsty Merc would sing a future hit on a solo acoustic, Peta Morris would re-imagine her Paul Mac with Wesley Carr, Panda would lay down a 20 minute version of Rollercoaster that would blast into outerspace, ditto Peregrine with a drunken train-wreck of the Dave Matthews jammer Jimi Thing. Bertie had Andy Clockwise on drums, and has never sounded better or stronger. And it was always free and welcoming, and the music was generally always amazing. Nights ended either at some stranger's house party or the Different Drummer.