The Cavern

Haunting music of a by-gone age mingles with furls of smoke. Then the crooners come onto that hallpwed stage, playing the old music that the original band once played. Amongst them were Queen, Eric Clapton and the Stones. Old rockers with trailing hair dance to the tribute band. Possibly they were here when the bands played in the sixties. The nostalgia suffocates our senses, in the forms of sound, smells, and seeing people re-living their childhoods. smaller children crowd round in awe, I wonder whether they appreciate where they are, what they're experiencing. Smoke unfurling like the forgotten memories of a past generation. Shadows are cast from the musicians on the stage, causing us to question their existence. Fans inscribe their names on the infamous walls hoping to be included somehow in their histories. Crude guitars strum along to the well-known tunes that once caressed the ears of listeners many moons ago. Accoustically astounding, the cavern being an astute name for it. We can only guess of what the place used to be before a club...maybe a merchants storehouse. We eventually have to leave, up some dirty, smelly dark steps into the clean fresh air. This underground time-capsule is overwhelming. My memories of being brought up on such musical talents as these help me to feel at home. Inspirational riffs allow me to create these words. People crowd the crudely lit cavern in search of comfort. If only we could have heard these bands whilst they were in their prime. I am almost envious of the walls that have been priviledged enough to be there, eavesdropping on astounding conversations, observing things we can only ever imagine.