Bring Back Door Pickers

In the late 90s, Toni Tambourine was a door picker at some of London's most legendary venues. Now, a handful of UK clubs are reviving the practice. Here Toni explains why door pickers are a good thing for clubland - and what a decent one really does

I was a fanatical clubber in the 90s and 00s, a time that was very different from now. It was a time of outrageous clubwear, with brands competing to outdo each other with their garms; a time when young British designers like Alexander McQueen, Nick Coleman and John Richmond were out wearing their own designs, Rankin was in clubs photographing and documenting everyone who looked outside the norm and everyone wanted to look as though they'd stepped off a catwalk. And door pickers were everywhere.

"Sorry, not tonight" are words spoken by club gatekeepers since the 80s – and not in a clichéd, 'Your shoes are shit and you have fake ID' kind of way, either. Instead, think the Blitz club (the post-punk new romantic breeding ground for today's modern scene), or early house clubs like Love Ranch, The Wag or The Brain, and legends like Phillip Salon at Taboo or Jenny Rampling at Shoom. More than a decade later they were still part of most weekends across the nation. Notorious pickers were firmly in place at London venues The Cross, Hanover Grand, The End, Turnmills and the last remaining London superclubs, Ministry Of Sound, Home and Fabric. In the Midlands and the North of England, Miss Moneypenny's and Chuff Chuff, Golden in Stoke, Vague, Speed Queen and of course the institution that is Back 2 Basics in Leeds all had their feared, militant door people – in fact, Basics' Gaz Lethbridge was on the door for an honorable 23 years.

At that time, clubbing wasn't just about who was DJing. It was about the whole experience, the venue, the decor (some clubs would spend more on decor back then at the time than on the DJ's fee), the soundsystem and of course a flamboyant door picker who would be central to the whole experience. I remember standing in line at The Milk Bar – a small and painfully cool venue owned by Nicky Holloway, who was instrumental in making Ibiza what it is now, with Rampling and Paul Oakenfold. I remember taking hours to get ready and look my best, trying to appear confident and hoping and praying I would be let in. When I saw other people being turned away and eventually they let me in, I don't think there are words to describe how good it made me feel – it set the night up in the most glorious way. I felt like I belonged. Like I'd earned it.

Continued...

I became the picker at the now demolished Hanover Grand in the late 90s/early 00s. It was a place where fashion met music; there were no rules and everyone was beautiful. It had drag queens on the door dispensing unlimited glitter, the soundsystem was powerful and the DJs were burgeoning young upstarts like Lee Burridge and Craig Richards and the then superstar Seb Fontaine. The queues we had were large and bustling and people arrived early; there were no tickets in advance and you took your chances queuing in the cold. When you eventually got to the front of the queue you would meet me: a skinny bloke with blue hair dressed in a silver metallic jacket.

If you didn't fit the look of the people we wanted to come to our club then it would be an instant no – "Please step aside, you didn't cut it tonight," I'd say. People wouldn't, of course, so the doormen often had to step in. Those who were borderline, I would test to see if their attitude was good. We would ask them to sing their favourite Elvis song or other camp classics – it was a mixed gay club, after all. If they obliged then we'd let them in, but if they got funny or angry we'd filter them out. Jo Jo Kelly who used to run the door at Vague in Leeds used to get straight boys to snog their own mates – a little uncomfortable for many, but they did it and would get in.

The result: everyone who got in was totally up for a laugh, and the atmosphere inside was always electric. Of course, it made peopIe angry when they were turned away: there'd be physical threats every week, people who would promise to wait for me outside until I'd finished, or who said they were so rich they would buy the club and get me sacked; sometimes they'd say "Do you know who I am!?" – especially the famous footballers I kept out. Once, a guy whose mates we wouldn't let in tried to drop-kick me, jumping into the air and lunging but somehow failing to connect. He fell to the floor and didn't even spill his drink, so we applauded his skill.

And then, suddenly, door pickers seemed to vanish from the scene. Legal requirements mean that even pickers have to do their SIA bouncer exams these days, and with tickets sales pushed way in advance to counter the pressures of filling a venue, a good door policy is a lot more difficult to enforce. And that's a shame.

The very presence of a door picker shows that whoever is running the club is attempting to create a little universe for themselves, and excluding people actually brings everyone else closer. The clue is in the name: a 'club' is essentially a collection of like-minded people to which you want to belong. If you are lucky enough, you will get to know the door picker, the gatekeeper to this world, and they will become good friends and sometimes, an important ally. They will protect you from the beer monsters, the fighters, the gropers, the dreadfully un-trendy, the gangsters and the hoi polloi. They take the flack out the front while you party in style inside. It's not an easy job. There are down sides. Pickers have been known to just let their mates in when the venue gets very busy, and the system can be abused by people with prejudices about race, gender, or class. It's important to strike a balance so as to avoid cliques and keep fresh blood in the club, so you let people know that if they try hard enough they will eventually get in. "It's not always about the way you dress," says Jenny Rampling; "it's about mixing it up. When you are running a small capacity club, the door picker's job is harder if you want the night to be fabulous and have longevity".

Continued...

It seems that lately door pickers might just be making a comeback. And that's probably because of the new centre of clubland: Berlin. Berghain is a special place that has an atmosphere and reputation that are fiercely protected, guarded by one special gatekeeper: head doorman and photographer Sven Marquardt. "I feel like I have a responsibility to make Berghain a safe place for people who come purely to enjoy the music and celebrate – to preserve it as a place where people can forget about space and time for a little while and enjoy themselves," he explained to GQ magazine. ''The club evolved from the gay scene in Berlin in the nineties. It's important to me that we preserve some of that heritage, that it still feels like a welcoming place for the original sort of club-goers."

Just as Berghian's music and design have influenced clubs all over the world, so has its selective door policy. There are a handful of clubs empowering the picker once again. Clubs like Fuse, Abode at 338 and The Egg are bringing the practice back, protecting their brands, their clubs and their people – making it better for everyone who does gets in.

Lucy, who worked on the door at Fabric for seven years as well as at Matter and The End, is now a door-picker at Studio 338. ''I think the most important role in a club is a door picker" she says. "I believe that I'm a host, and am there to show off the club. And to make clubbers feel that they are in a safe environment, where it's OK to become intoxicated and vulnerable."

And not everyone can do it. Pickers have to have very, very thick skin, not be scared of confrontation, be honest, unbiased and a good judge of character. They must be able to restrain themselves in the face of provocation. They have to be in tune with the philosophy of their own club and the people who come to it. They have to have style – they're the ultimate representation of what they would like inside the club. They are the masters of their own little universe and they can create the kind of world that we'd all like to live in. Gaz Lethbridge at Basics had his own way of getting the mix right. "We wanted gay people and straight, all races and everyone together.

I always used to look out for and befriend the Asian people who came to the club – they always looked worried that they wouldn't get in. They are the people who I encouraged to come and be part of the crowd'. Good door pickers don't just make clubs better, they can make the world a better place. Bring 'em back.