Posted in: Comics, Current News | Tagged: blacks, blacks club, london, Mark Millar, soho
The word has gone out to members of Blacks Club, on Dean Street, Soho, London, that after 260 years, it is closing its doors… for now.
The word has gone out to members of Blacks Club, on Dean Street, Soho, London, that after 260 years, Blacks has had its own last night in Soho, and has closed its doors… for now.
A decade ago, I joined the private members club as a place to write Bleeding Cool. Long before working from home had become the norm, that’s how Bleeding Cool happened, frankly, my wife was sick of me being around the house all the time. I found working in coffee shops to un unbearable and unsage, and shared workspaces to be sterile. Blacks of Dean Street, Soho, was an old private members club initially set up by the dictionary inventor Dr Samuel Johnson, Joshua Reynolds and David Garrick as a supper club in 1764 and, through the centuries, had evolved into a gathering spot for ne’er-do-wells, including at one point the Women’s Suffragette movement. The owner of Blacks during the nineties, the gentleman poacher Tom Bantock who kept the kitchens fully stocked, renamed it such in opposition to the establishment of London’s Whites Club, initially for those who had been blackballed from the place. And so I found myself a member, often writing Bleeding Cool from its second floor, looking down on Dean Street and once, heckling a passing Charlie Brooker with Black Mirror ideas from far above his head. It was a great place to meet people, whether that be Benedict Cumberbatch, Stormzy, Kiera Knightley, or Steve Merchant at one end, or a variety of witches, hippies, counter-culture activists and drag queens at the other, including the amazing Pandemonia. I named my cat after her. Blacks got me out of the house, was beneficial to my mental health, and also provided a late-night watering hole for all manner of comic book-related events, courtesy of being round the corner from Gosh Comics. On the Elizabeth Line, it became a place for pre-and-during MCM drinks, I was able to host a little shindig with Alex Paknadel, Caspar Wijingaard, Will Mullane, Dan Watters after a recent Forbidden Planet signing.
Then there was the time earlier this year which, after catching up with Tony Lee, I found myself working in the basement alongside the cast and crew of The Mischief Theatre, as they performed – and rewrote – Peter Pan Goes Wrong to each other – and me, the sole audience member. With new jokes written on the spot and making it into this new script, which I later discovered was what would become their Broadway revival of the show for April.
I’d written about its significant collection of Hogarth prints up and down the stairs before. as the cartoonist and printmaker was one of the club’s earliest patrons, allegedly paying for his meals with the self-same prints, which came with the lease of the club and so the modern-day version keeps that connection alive. Recently, his modern day antecedent, the cartoonist, cartographer and creator Adam Dant’s amazing artwork has become a recent addition to the walls, living up to his reputation as a modern-day Hogarth in the way he records London.
Recently, the club was sold by Roger Payne and Luke Thomas to a cryptocurrency organisation, who turned it into the world’s first “crypto club”, intended to expand into the neighbouring property as well as spin it off into other clubs, the first being in Dubai, named 1764 after the date Blacks was first set up in Soho. New “lifetime” memberships were sold as NFTs, though previous members were grandfathered in as “legacy” members.
And the club settled back to being what it always was, a place to hide rather than to peacock, for friends to gather in their little secret place at the heart of London’s West End and enjoy the finest mojitos in Soho. A few cryptobros joined, but we had gone through the process, in great British style, turning them into us. And it was working.
I even discovered that Mark Millar, who moved from Scotland to Surrey, also bought in. He posted on Instagram, “Here’s a fun fact: Did you know I’ve invested in a sizeable percentage of a London Soho Club? It’s called BLACKS on Dean St, and I chipped in with my friend when he acquired it recently. You can apply for membership on our website. Instagram doesn’t allow links, but we’re very easy to find online. Come in and have a drink!” I never saw him in the place, but did once hear staff members asking who was meant to be paying his bill.
But today, the sad news came to members, that Blacks was no more, at least for now. Current owner Jonathan Willis sent a letter to members, telling us “I regret to inform you that Blacks has been compelled to close its doors until further notice. The financial resources of our company have been depleted, rendering us insolvent, and we are unable to continue operations at this time. Please be assured that this decision was not made lightly, and we understand the deep disappointment this will cause you. We truly appreciate your loyalty and support, and we deeply regret the effect this closure will cause. In light of our financial situation, we are taking the necessary steps to address our obligations and responsibilities as a company facing insolvency. We will be working closely with legal advisors and relevant authorities to ensure that all legal and regulatory requirements are met during this difficult period. Our commitment to Blacks remains unwavering, and we will explore all possible avenues for the club’s revival in the future – welcoming support from any individuals who are both able and willing to help in that regard.”
This will come as a shock to members and guests. Blacks seemed to have been doing sterling business of late, which new members joining and old members returnign, with many events, from the Golden Slipper Club, the Rune Readings, the Writers’ Club and the rapper Dave’s venue choice for making music videos. It will most definitely come to a shock to the cryptobros who bought lifetime memberships, qualifications for which just closed.
But Blacks has an extraordinary cultural and historical gravitational mass, in that it seems to eventually revert back to what Doctor Samuel Johnson set it up as, two hundred and sixty years ago. It’s always fun to take Americans to a place older than their country for drinks. I hope for the opportunity again some day.
Maybe it’s time to join Groucho’s? If they’ll have me as a member?
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