Bottoms

A ramshackle double story house on New street, Bottoms was two doors up from Horse’s vetkoek paleis opposite the Vic. It was 1994’s kept secret, a speakeasy, and an unlicensed shebeen for illicit after-hours drinking. Entrance was gained with a not-so-secret knock. You could get a shot of Mothers Shots there for 50c, several of which got you in the mood real quick.

Tear-Gas and Bullets

We kept a tear-gas grenade taped under the bar, just in case the crowd got too rambunctious. It was used only once, and turned out to have indelible green dye in it, which left for a crowd of red-eyed, sneezing, green patrons, who stayed dyed that tinge for days.

Another night, a careless Squonk had stashed his revolver behind the bar. A gurningly drunk Hay-sus de Costa snatched hold of it, swung it around amid the crowded bar, then fired a shot into the ceiling, narrowing missing Brain P asleep upstairs. Much shrieking ensued, and the party was moved into the garden.

Music ‘94

1994 was a sublime year for music: Counting Crows, Blur, The Breeders, Oasis, The Crash Test Dummies, Smashing Pumpkins, Pearl Jam, The Cranberries, and so much more; but James’ Laid was the Bottom’s official anthem. Listening to it now takes me right back, to people sloshing drinks as they danced on the creaking wooden floors.

Parties

Beth’s 21st fancy dress party was a show stopper, with people dressed as Hannibal Lecter, to Martina Navratilova. You can see some photos of it here.

Kurt Cobain’s recent death inspired a Dead Celebrities party. The home-made free drink at the entrance was christened the “Kurt Cobain”: black sambuca, vodka, aniseed grains, gulped down out of a 12-guage shotgun shell. The Party was a roaring, dancing, vomiting success; so I’m told- I lost conscious embarrassingly early in the proceedings.

Most weekends we’d just chuck an amp and some tape decks on the lounge-sized dance floor, a few steps up from the bar. It was at one at those late year parties, that I first played Blur’s new song, Girls & Boys, which sent the whole place onto the crowded dance floor, pogo-ing up and down like pre-schoolers on a sugar rush. That, and Counting Crow’s Mr. Jones remained beloved party songs for that year.

Slumber Parties

Late late nights, where a handful of the denizens were too drunk to walk home, we’d cover the dance floor with mattresses and duvets from the attic, and the drunk casualties would pile on and sleep snugly in front of the fireplace til the morning after night before. Coffee and cigarettes were doled out, and the walking wounded would shuffle off up New Street.

An Anachronism

Bottoms could only have existed at that time and place. I’m surprised we didn’t burn it down during one of those crazy nights. We certainly did some lasting structural damage, to the house, and our minds.