(Credits: Far Out / Benji Wilson / The Washington)
Tue 28 January 2025 15:53, UK
In my third year at Sheffield University, I learnt the beauty of a smoking area. I didn’t smoke, that wasn’t it. It was the glow of the red heat lamps in the winter, the people standing around in circles laughing, the names being thrown around in introductions that would quickly become friends, the music fading in and out, floating out into the space each time the door opened with people going out and people going in. At the Washington, with its Gatsby-esque eye mural staring out over the city, it felt like all the coolest people in the world were there as I learnt the beauty of a smoking area, the joy of new bands and the magic of a local music scene.
It wasn’t that I’d never been to gigs before. Growing up in Middlesbrough, however, I’d never really encountered a ‘scene’. I’d catch the train up to Newcastle to go to O2 Academy gigs or to one of the mid-size venues in the city. But in my actual hometown, there wasn’t really a crowd to slot in with, half due to a lack of local venues in our funding-starved home, and likely part due to the fact that I wasn’t even 18 and was far too cowardly to get a fake ID to sneak in anywhere fun.
When I first moved to Sheffield, I spent two years giddy with excitement over the sheer number of music venues right on my doorstep. Between the O2, Leadmill, and the student union’s own venue, I managed to see so many of the bands I already loved. But it wasn’t until my third year that I discovered the joy of seeing acts I didn’t know—and fell in love with the thrill of getting to know them.
I remember the first time I visited very well. The Washington sits on the far corner of Devonshire Green. When you’re on Division Street, the cool one littered with the bars we loved and the vintage shops we’d browse, you can see that painted eye staring at you. In September 2018, the first week of my last year, I finally went in, invited along by a friend who had some friends playing.
The Washington is the perfect local venue: easy to get to, full of fun and interesting characters to make friends with, half the musicians playing have at one point worked there, the toilet doors are littered with poetry and signatures, the stage is small, and the sound system is loud. At that point, there was a card limit, and a pint came in well under that. Everyone would pay for two at once, either challenging themselves not to lose the receipt to be able to come back in a bit and claim their second, or spend the night double parked, balancing two pints of Blue Moon with orange slices bobbing like buoys. That night, the drinks were shaking, the floor was shaking, and the various frames and mirrors on the walls were shaking because Femur were playing. I let my body be thrown around in their busy crowd, and then afterwards, Felix, the lead singer, hugged it, and we became friends. We still are.
(Credits: Far Out / Benji Wilson)
That’s really all that needs to be said about the beauty and necessity of a local scene and the joy of being part of one. Of all the bands I saw play at The Washington—spending time there nearly every week, eager to see whoever might be performing—we’d often just wander in, knowing the gigs were usually free and almost always great. Over time, I came to know many of the bands, and they came to know me. I watched their friendships unfold, seeing how members of one band would cheer from the crowd for another the following week, or how a group might vanish and reemerge as a new amalgamation of musicians.
There was a ritual to it all: seeing the show, then filtering out into the garden, where everyone buzzed with excitement, chatting, and patting band members on the back as they walked past, throwing out deeply meant praise like, “That was sick”.
The Washington introduced me to all of that, but even as I moved on and found that this feeling is a universal one existing in some form in every city, with a different pub or venue and different band names subbed into the story, The Washington stands as the best of it. Maybe it’s the Sheffield way or the mentality that comes from being neglected in the shadows of Manchester or Leeds – but the attitude and energy of the city’s scene is unmatched. People are giving it their all but doing it in a way that defies the evergrowing commercialisation of new bands that demand a ‘brand’ or a clear path or an obsessive, hungry desire to climb a ladder.
The city’s scene maintains a level of fun, reflected in the fact that artists there seem to sincerely support and encourage each other rather than treating one another with competitiveness or working against them. The Washington always reflected that, not just in the bustling chat of the smoking area but even just in the layout of the place, as the pub and the venue are one and the same, with the music and the crowd mixed in with everything else, so anyone simply popping in for a drink gets involved, integrating the city’s music with the city’s people.
The Washington would become my regular haunt for that whole final year and a place I eagerly rush back to to visit. But even when I can’t, the bands I see there bring it to me, like when I go see Femur in London and even in a different room in a different city, it feels exactly the same, and I realise it’s less about the buildings and more about the people these buildings can bring together as perhaps the most human a concrete thing can be.
(Credits: Benji Wilson)
(Credits: Benji Wilson)
(Credits: Benji Wilson)
(Credits: Benji Wilson)
Related Topics