Bonita Louise

The eighties were a decade of excess, an era where extreme hair, attitude, and greed created a world where extroverts thrived. Bands had to generate drama to become noticed, and it was no secret that Motley Crues notorious off-stage antics were just as famous as their metal songs for propelling ‘sex, drugs, and rock ‘n’ roll’ into the limelight. Like most people, my music taste developed in my teens, an eclectic soundtrack for a turbulent life. I remember walking into Costermongers, an underground dive bar that had a strong mix of eau de toilet and beer, a pool table that

I walked into The Sunflower Lounge, an indie venue full of students in the heart of Birmingham, notorious for its grungy dive bar feel. I found my friends, and after shouting my order over the din to the bartender, I managed to squish in next to my somewhat intoxicated companions. Spirits were high, and everybody was singing Babyshambles ‘Delivery’ that thumped through the speakers. When it had finished, my friend, who had stolen Pete Doherty’s style straight from the mans back, declared them to be the greatest band. “Say’s someone who is literally dressed like a druggy.” One of my

My shoes stuck to the dancefloor of the large concert room as I worked my way around the tables, collecting empty beer glasses from noisy patrons. It was rock and roll night and I was halfway through my shift as a barmaid in a busy social club. The cover band were currently hammering out The Who as I strained to hear the clientele. I finally filled my basket and headed around the edge of the alcohol-soaked carpet, when the singer began talking into the mic. “Ladies and gentlemen, can we give it up for the barmaids tonight, keeping the beers