All truly relevant youth movements begin with a hunger for a place that doesn’t seem to exist – until, suddenly, it does. Rock’n’roll, mod, punk, disco, house… each had its sanctified ground, and for the original Cult With No Name, theirs was tucked away on the edge of London’s West End. Aside from its neon tube-lit signage, the Blitz was just another dingy backstreet nightclub. But on Tuesday nights, with a mongrel playlist made up of Bowie, post-punk, new wave, synthpop, glam and anything that could get a floor full of teenagers breaking a sweat, a duo of visionaries – and an inner circle of 20-odd ambitious creatives – established something wonderful.
A large half of the story can be told in pictures, of course, and none enjoyed the flash of the bulb quite like the New Romantics. When Steve Strange chose to untether his unique sartorial consciousness into the streets of London, it felt – for a small clique of misfits and fashionistas – like an itch was finally in the process of being scratched. But in tandem, beyond the fantastical wardrobes and fastidious self-sculpture, a savvy music obsessive called Rusty Egan was importing vinyl from mainland Europe; his sets, buzzing with machine-made electronica, mixed experimental sounds with all-out party tunes to add brio to their enchanted new playground.